As I recline here on Lesbos sipping Ouzo and munching dolomathes, I must drop a line to Hegelochus, the actor, who did a smashing job of showing me how hemlock would cause me to sneeze and twitch and froth and curse my own mother. Normally, I loathe thin-shouldered thespians with their fastidious primping and puppy-like cooing, but this one certainly rescued my dialectic. The ever-resourceful Phaedo came up with the cold toes, ankles, knees bit, some thingy he plundered from Meleager. Paying off the slaves and guards drained me down to my last drachma, but by Zeus, it's worth it to retreat here to Sappho's Isle. And I've made some terrific changes in her work already, adding to that one lovey-dovey piece a "phainetai moi" to create at least some objectivity.
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