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...It's a thousand pages, give or take a few/ I'll be writing more in a week or two.....

It is time, it is time... I am at the tail end of work on this project with Steve, and my mind thrashes and gnashes at language and image, stretching and flexing. I am ready to write.

I dream an image, a freeze-framed photograph, with no writing on the back, no name or date. I dream an image, an arm outthrust, palm overflowing with something weighty and wet. Peeled mango? Heart fresh-torn from chest? Brain matter? -something, a lump of something, the urgency of the gesture indicating an importance with which the item might not otherwise be imbued.

There are rats in my neighborhood. Not only the usual metaphoric bipedal sort, but also real rattus norvegicus actual rodential creatures. I do not know why this disturbs me. I suppose there are rats in every neighborhood. Should not being presented with proof of their existence provide me with more reassurance rather than less? Some things we'd rather not face, perhaps.

Rats. Dreams. Death. Reality.