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, July 31, 2005

Woke. Heard something in the house before hearing the rain in the dark and the coyotes whimpering outside. I opened the front door and stood on the porch. Lightning. Warm street, smell of dust and water and I will myself to wait. It is here.

Another thing skulks in the rocks below me. I can't see what it is. I am alone with it.

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

[contact me:]

what o'clock it is


live flowers