there are no dreams here they are but fragments of thought dismissed and abandoned to the wilderness of our imaginations to intersect or collide perhaps hundreds or thousands at a time to create some kind of patchwork mosaic of tossed millisecond ideas and flashes of imagery that have nowhere to go these are not dreams a vast wasteland of connected disconnected energy of the mind
last night we walked together and discovered our shared love of art and ghosts while the world slept while I slept I later met you in a book store where we paged through Vangogh prints and discussed the peculiarities of 'The Smoking Skull' I awoke to a beautiful Sun and for a few joyous seconds…thought to call you