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, February 23, 2007

. . . .


Remarkable, faces and carnations both recognizably faces and carnations without color or distinct form. Image of images and a reflection: so far mediated, and still an image of a face is still a face, a reflection of a flower a flower. The difference between image and thing-itself seems to me more theoretical than experiential, here at least, more interesting than frustrating, more pleasurable than traumatizing. More subconscious than conscious. The conscious mind simply latches on to what it knows (is familiar with) and begins to nurse and suckle. Both.


The thaw here makes big promises--green grass beneath the melting snow--but the weather prophets say we're in for another ice storm.


The unidentifiable noise upstairs, morning and night like a grinding fan, like a regular groan--too regular for consciousness, too deep for pleasure--? Took me awhile. Tina's girlfriend sleeping most of the day. Snoring.




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

[contact me:]

what o'clock it is


live flowers