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."

Wednesday, February 16, 2005

My cat bites me.

I've loved people like that sometimes: what else is there to do but bite you to remind you I would eat you, overwhelm you and swallow you whole, and have of you what I want in me, and then you could not leave the house on days like this, unless I did.

But I must leave the house, kitty, though you don't suffer my long days at the office well.

When Frank was here he asked me: do you suffer? He said: I've given it up. I don't think it gets you a thing. I said: I don't know. I'm looking for a quieter place. --Both of us speaking as if there is a habit to quit, a lifestyle, a fix, both nodding as if we are saying something wise and attainable.

The P&S course makes me nervous now. I've thought my way through it, but I've avoided thinking about my relationship to the material. What am I teaching? That suffering is necessary, pleasurable, empowering? That suffering is a choice? That beauty is a choice, is sublimation, is another form of repression, is trauma, is not trauma?

The class is full already, and overwhelmingly full of women, which somehow though I'm not surprised, I hadn't anticipated. --Precisely the kind of blind spot that makes me nervous about this course.

--What I'm not seeing.


Oh, I really am very sad about Alberto. I missed his last post before it disappeared, so I don't know what's happening, but I know I will miss hearing from him and miss reading his posts. Alberto, thank you for your sincerity and generosity. Querencia.

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

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