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."

Tuesday, August 16, 2005

This morning I dreamt of cherries.

Cherries on the mannequin's dress, cherries I abandoned in the fridge. The kitchen was dark and empty when I forced myself up and remembered that he touched me, put his hands on the back of my head to see what had gotten into me. We were in a warehouse. No. Your garage but bigger. I'd cut my hair to the nubs. I could feel his hands on the back of my head, his fingertips got into me at the nape of my neck where the skull ends. The cherries were in crates and ripe for pitting. There's a hard bone in here he said. I have no idea who he was.


"Evident it is, that horses, dogs, kine, oxen, sheepe, and goats, doe dreame. Whereupon it is credibly also thought that all creatures that bring forth their young quicke and living, doe the same. As for those that lay egges, it is not so certain that they dreame; but resolved it is that they doe sleepe."

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

[contact me:]

what o'clock it is


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