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."

Wednesday, March 21, 2007

. . .

3-19-2007-01b




week one, first day of school

Lightning without a rumble, and general, as if it stormed all night and is now settling into pacified, involuntary, after-long-sobbing hiccups. It is very dark, darker than usual, and I'm unable to say why, I notice. Cloud cover, haze in the few lights I see. My little potted tree blocks my view of the building clock, so I notice the tree needs turning. I notice I wake later since the time change and am not sleepy at night. That I must settle into bed with big dense books. That on the worst nights the incantatory rosary is calming and brings sleep eventually. But I am not anxious, not now. Though I have two new classes to teach this morning and a life's confession to prepare in the coming weeks. It is scheduled. Holy Thursday. For Karen: the portrait you watched my confessor avoid all night. He looked away from me at last, embarrassed, and hid the glass of wine between his hands.

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&.

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


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