Wednesday, January 12, 2005

(I dreamt: caught kissing a lady with red hair, kneeling on chairs, my lips on her collarbone, my mother at the doorframe. I am not in love with a libertine.

And the fallout of these kisses: an argument, Catherine wheels, Catherine's Palace, with my lips on her collarbone. I'm stuck in Russia, in other people's bedrooms.)

All I do in France is dream.