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, February 5, 2007

week six


Now negative seven feels like negative nineteen with a high sometime today of five feeling like negative seven, relentless since early January with no sign of letting up towards a mild thirty in the next ten days. I am fragile in this. One life ended, another begins. Or the same life arriving with lucidity: boredom: work without pleasure: loneness: nothing much to see so why see? I miss H. I miss walking outdoors with my hood down and the sun warming my head or driving around with music pouring out of the open windows. I miss colors running together like running water. The gutters running. The sound of thaw.


Hot water pipe in the kitchen? Frozen of course.


Impress me.




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

[contact me:]

what o'clock it is


live flowers