A fell upon a well shod woman as I flipped along the arcades by the louvre. Her shoes echoed under the stone in the lonely night there, but when I passed her alas, she had a sort of funny face… a hook of a nose like a Falcon or an Italian queen I saw once at the Ufuzzi. It reminds me of the nostalgia I’m feeling now. I’m having these strange intensely real dreams that are filled with mundane detail of trying to accomplish rather banal tasks: where in life I’m painting and writing and drinking wine and eating and crying at some fever pitch. When I sleep, I’m getting paper clips and trying to mail a letter.
