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."

Tuesday, February 13, 2007

. .


Feel as if I've made a wrong turn and can't find my way back. You're okay I say to my head and my head says sure sure but I can't account for the pain thrumming in there or the things it's telling me to do. Woke to the windows rattling in their casements, the snow blowing against the glass like sand, and then there was no longer sleep to be had. I wanted to see the snow haze out the distant lights. I wanted to deal with my head where there is also snow hazing out light. In the dream a gallery of tiny photographs taken by a dead woman, all in yellow and blue. I got up and took Suzanne's advice: I put a chicken in the oven.


"Don't they make a nice pair?" I have to stop thinking this way. Deboned the chicken. Now I identify with the chicken.




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

[contact me:]

what o'clock it is


live flowers