an image diary

"And if he left off dreaming about you, where do you suppose you'd be? ... You'd be nowhere. Why, you're only a sort of thing in his dream! If that there King was to wake you'd go out -- bang! -- just like a candle!"

"Hush! You'll be waking him, I'm afraid, if you make so much noise."

"Well it's no use your talking about waking him when you're only one of the things in his dream. You know very well you're not real."

Saturday, December 11, 2004

You're jealous:

It is currently 78 degrees in Tucson, Arizona. I'm going out.

* * * *

Was cooking a roast that needed wine for flavor, and had no wine, so thought to go buy some, but got into the car and felt the wanderlust take hold. Drove for an hour or more. Drove out to Gates Pass, watched the sun sink into the mountains and the sky turn pink, orange, violet, dark. Took pictures in black and white: probable failures. The man standing next to me looked towards the sun and chanted while it dropped and the gold turned blue. He's Native American, the same as the guy selling silver and turquoise on a sheet. I feel thankful and stupid. I, native, tour and snap pictures, but what I want is a prayer at the close of my days, the beginning of my days, everyday. Hail Sun! Goodnight Sun! Then I will understand, know, that I abuse, exploit, disregard, and take for granted the only events that are sacred. Not Christmas. Sunset. Sunrise.

"and what is the use of a book...without pictures or conversations?"

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