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, January 25, 2008

. . . . .


1-9-2008-23



So how is it done: the I seeking itself in itself now where what is finished requires finishing, the I determined in its I to bring the I forth in its own regard, the I in realization, in conception, in equation, the two symmetrical halves of its head spiraling east and west into the thicket, the head ramming its way into the midst by the horns, by the haunches, where sinews divided into sinews and mounted the bones and bound them, too, tooth to jaw, eye to socket, articulation to articulation, and the ribs on either side thrust their panoply from the spine and met in the middle, and the spine held the head alert while the head willed the spine to hoof it forward, and the spine did, shoulders, hamstrings, heaving behind the coiled head which way it turned, though the head stuck fast behind the eyes rolling in the head, though the eyes held fast to the wool of the thicket, it did.

&

***

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


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