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, December 31, 2006

. . . . . . .


I'm here for the night. Wish me better weather in Illinois tomorrow. It doesn't look good: snow, heavy wind, rain.

I drove 377 north from Del Rio to Forth Worth through river country early this morning just as the sun broke. It was cold, silvery. A low fog hovered just over the water with the light in it, the river crossings all bearing their signs: "watch for water on the road." And the water rushed by. Low trees and long hills. Three sounds on the radio. Spanish, Country, Gospel. I listened to The Picture of Dorian Gray when I hit the open highway and left the hills behind for the flat lands and gas stations and strip malls of small places I couldn't find on my map.

Two goats grazed head down beneath a full blown cottonwood glittering in the sun: barbed wire between them and me on the road: a silhouette at dawn: the photo I didn't stop to take.


Happy new year, ya'll. To which we are all resolved.


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

[contact me:]

what o'clock it is


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