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."

Sunday, February 6, 2005


has gone fucking Mars. The coffee house seats about 30 people at most, but 80 crowded in, seated themselves beneath tables and in the aisles for a two-hour event. I worried about the fire code. Now I wonder: what is it? What need are we not meeting at the college that this thing happens so emphatically?

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

[contact me:]

what o'clock it is


live flowers