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, January 8, 2007

week two


Still living in the Southwest, I suppose. How else to explain the chill I can't shake, all day yesterday in the house with a blanket around my shoulders and a beanie on my head? The one trip outdoors bracing my bones against wind chill in layers of fleece and a hooded jacket? And now in thermals and flannel, emerging from beneath the two down comforters to look for my hat and shoes. Accompanied by sneezing? Yes. Strange dreams? Yes. Do you remember your dreams? Only that I sought treasure in the sea. What treasure? Buoyancy. The the thing that felt infinite. I was not alone. I had company. But the sea was cold, nevertheless? And grainy like a memory.


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

[contact me:]

what o'clock it is


live flowers