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."

Sunday, March 4, 2007

. . . . . . .


Leaving Atlanta. In the dream my mother came for me just as my father moved into my room, dumped my things from my suitcase so he could use it, and put folks to work on a buffet lunch for his new young bride. When my mother arrived it was a surprise. She was the happiest I've ever seen her. She walked in, hugged me, said: are you ready? Okay then let's go! And led me down the hall away from my father's family. I looked for my bags, I apologized to my cousin for leaving her. She shrugged, looked uninterested. My mother said leave them don't worry. Let's you and I go. I've come for you.




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

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