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."

Friday, January 26, 2007

. . . . .




Dreamless uninterrupted sleep. Bliss. Woke with the alarm to make tea, pack clothes, prep the last of The Mill on the Floss and Frankenstein. Woke to wake at the time of day when my head works best and nothing much worries me and you are probably sleeping in your bed in your room in your house somewhere out there in the dark. Only the trains work hard at this hour nearby, and even I am not moving much around. The dishes soak in hot water. The laundry is half-folded on the coffee table and couch. I am thinking of pulling a small duffel from the front closet or from under the bed--I don't recall which--but I am not yet getting up from the desk. I am trying to imagine where I left my tea cup and what sorts of things one takes on retreat.


I'm off to buy my first sleeping bag.




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

[contact me:]

what o'clock it is


live flowers