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."

Saturday, April 12, 2008

week three: spring


Last year's yesterday post reminds me April is like this. Wintery minded, fiery. I am restless, a little bruised somewhere, as though having forgotten there was a fall. There was a fall, several, all those years, each night waking in the dark, every light in the house on, a blackened thing on the stove, a spilled cup of squeezed limes wherever the blackout left me to sprawl against the wood. The stained wood bleached white, the spread of ashes.


78 days and waiting.


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

[contact me:]

what o'clock it is


live flowers