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, February 27, 2009

. . . . .


AWP Chicago 2009 #7


Spooky dreams. Many ghosts. Just as I stepped into the shower, a woman stood there enjoying my hot water. I was furious and sad, I felt tired as I do now, I was afraid, and I said again and again this is my water, you know this, and she smiled and nodded and pretended not to speak English for a moment, before she became indifferent and ignored me. All the showers on either side were filled with her red print dress and her lipstick. She stood in all of them at once as in a hall of mirrors. Elsewhere in the house the lights flashed and the fans whirred as I stepped past. The assassin was there. I saw his face.


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

[contact me:]

what o'clock it is


live flowers