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."

Monday, November 6, 2006

week ten

Nope. No sun today. And no hot water! Drew a bath and found it cold. A lone crow squats on the branch in front of me and weighs it down bobbing a little. Otherwise all is still and hazy. The non-color of a strange soup. I dreamt of playing hooky, of going fishing with big poles. Maybe C's story of the old fishing pole factory. Maybe the poem a Dartmouth student asked me to read. It sounds like a great idea, fishing. Haven't been in more than a decade. How about you? There's a bait and tackle store down the block. Live bait from a vending machine.


Meanwhile, I'll go get the suitcase from the car so I can dress this morning and go to school proper. No, I wasn't serious about hooky. Well, I was. But you missed the boat.


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

[contact me:]

what o'clock it is


live flowers