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."

Tuesday, February 19, 2008

. .


Houses on the mind. Because the Arizona house is in danger? Because I don't have a house? So I dream my cousin moves into a luxury department store--a new rage in extravagant living space I hadn't heard of--after the new marriage and new baby, and it's a VIP cocktail party the size of an airport as soon as we arrive on the scene. Chandelier lighting, crystal and mirrors, velvet displays of imported cheese and cognac. Everyone's wearing a bikini and nibbling from serving platters and hanging around the enormous black marble fountain at store central where servers in white gloves and jackets look suggestive: anything I can get you. I'm pushing a shopping cart around the meat department, embarrassing my cousin as I tend to do. You don't shop here, for meats or fragrance or fly swatters. You never go shopping again.


The world wants to be deceived. If they won't pick you up at the airport, they won't visit you in the hospital either.


"Mundus vult decipi; but there is a hierarchy of deceptions." At the bottom, oblivion. Forget everything. At the top, forget only what is unpleasant.




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

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