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 11, 2008

week seven


The saint was in my head all night saying "creatures will always present themselves as your end." I dreamed of moving to a house with a back porch facing a grassy field. The house was cheap. The field soon filled with a carnival of rides, kids telling me it's either this or the water hole. They were hanging all over my porch. It was summer. I was waiting for my mother to get home. I like this town, I thought.


First dream in what? A year? My body kept me in bed with cramps. I'm afraid to eat.


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

[contact me:]

what o'clock it is


live flowers