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."

Wednesday, May 13, 2009

. . .


What do you see? I see a moment in which I hurt someone, unintentionally. Twice on this trip I was the jerk with the camera. Either you get better at being or not being the jerk with the camera, or you put the camera down. Hopefully the middle one. Which is the hardest.


The same every spring. Months I deceive myself into the cloud of the big blue chair, I make allowances until it is my favorite, until the pit at the bottom is stuffed with pillows which the chair eats and eats, until my back is screaming: no more blue smoke, no more: and I groan to get out of bed, to walk up and down stairs, to go to and fro upon the earth carrying my own weight. Only months of long slow hard hot runs through the desert will fix this. And still I have a month to go before I get there (I say from my hollowed chair).


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

[contact me:]

what o'clock it is


live flowers