Besides this place, I keep writing a “regular” journal by hand, currently in Moleskine notebooks like Bruce Chatwin (who would be one of my literary idols right now if I ever got around to having them any more — not sure why I don’t) did.
Last night’s dream: I am, in waking life, coming to the end of one of the volumes. In dream life, I pick up the book to write some more, and — pen in hand — I turn to where the ribbon marker is, where I left off. But there are more scribblings there. I turn the page to find empty space, but more writing, notes, scribbles, doodles fill the pages. I don’t remember writing them or finishing the volume, but there they are. As I leaf to the end of the journal and find stuff on all of the pages, I remember with relief that I have a brand new, untouched Moleskine waiting to be written in.
So ends the dream.
Playing:Another Look at Harmony (Robert Bell) from the album “Glass Cuts” by Philip Glass
white pebble 