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."

Saturday, January 6, 2007

. . . . . .


Loud dance music from upstairs just now as I settle in for a quiet day in the house. A day of sun. A day of writing. You know I won't last fifteen minutes before I say something.


Stood at the door knocking and waiting for a break between songs when she might hear me knock--we've done this before--then: nothing. The music cuts out, she doesn't arrive at the door. I stand in our hallway listening. Someone coughs from somewhere above me.


"A new conception of of the human is thus being constituted with contributions from the fields in which we work, these new humanities where transcendence is immanent. This conception is synonymous with the desire for meaning, which is inseparable from the pleasure rooted in sexuality and which commands both the sublimity of culture and the brutality of acting out."

--Julia Kristeva, "Thinking in Dark Times," Profession 2006


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

[contact me:]

what o'clock it is


live flowers