This dream wasn't as random as some of the others I have. I've been writing poems about fixing pigs like old motorcycles. I usually write just before and just after sleeping. Dreams about pig building seem inevitable then, I guess. This picture is kind of gross. Really gross. I like drawing gross things. It's easier than drawing pretty things. Clean things.

I read this today in CA Conrad's "the Book of Frank," and it reminded me of what I was drawing at the time (I was drawing this, by the way):

"no blood flowed
so he gained little satisfaction
ripping off her head"

I'm glad that I looked for those lines. I've been meaning to swap this book out of my bag for about 2 weeks now, but kept on forgetting. I've read parts of this book 3 times. I've read the other parts 4-5 times. About every third page (on average) is now dogeared. I really liked it, which I've mentioned earlier, but think it could have been only about 2/3 as long as it is. So many of the poems are so tight, so forceful, that ones that fall just left really stick out. But don't let that sway you from reading this book immediately...I found great guilty joy reading it, especially surrounded by all the suits at the U of C business school (which is where I go for lunch).

It's dark out, but still feels cloudy...