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, February 17, 2007

. . . . . .


Ghost in the machine: click through the image and you see her face to face: quashed smile in a red dress: eyes made up for summer: carnival beads, gold hoops: the bottle said "Honey": and is that who lives in the red light branches and brick: in the blur: in the ice a strappy thing made for sand and sun?

I had nothing to do with it. I'm telling you, there are ghosts.


Dinner with Eric with long wonderful roving conversation ... childhood stories, fathers and mothers, teaching gigs, Pentecostalism, Philadelphia, fettuccine, good ways to do laundry, Midwestern wind, road trips ... our table an island among chairs put up on tables as the restaurant closed up around us.


Mysteriously as she appeared she is gone again.




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

[contact me:]

what o'clock it is


live flowers