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."

Thursday, January 25, 2007

. . . .


Go tell Suzanne she's awesome. Go. Right now. Suzanne? You really are awesome. You're going to Miami. You beautiful Cuban you.


In my dream you called me honey, you said hold on honey--we were on the phone as we sometimes are--when someone walked in your door and started talking to you. And in the dream I thought the dream has dreamed you wrong for you would hardly call me honey and though it's a good dream I am therefore only dreaming, we are not really on the phone, and I looked at the phone in my hand in the dream and saw it was not a phone but a funny thing that made music which I placed on the sill supposing it might yet ring, though all it did was play a tinny transistor radio song fizzling with static, and the dream ended abruptly, fleeing from my dreamer's scrutiny.


Walked into my sunny kitchen from the gym, the light glancing off the surfaces--the snow outside, the glass and chrome and steel and wet sink and countertops--and I couldn't see for all the light.

My legs (really) hurt.




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

[contact me:]

what o'clock it is


live flowers