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."

Sunday, December 7, 2008

. . . . . . .



Blessed Be the Paps which Thou Hast Sucked
(Luke 11)

Suppose he had been tabled at thy teats,
Thy hunger feels not what he eats;
He'll have his teat ere long, a bloody one,
The mother then must suck the Son.

--Richard Crashaw, 1646


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