Miss July | Visual Diary


There's this 1972 Playboy pin up in my room. She's Miss July. These days, I look at her and the Indian pillows beneath her, and she almost asks me questions. Maybe she'll come to my dreams and tell me things. 
   I had a dream the other night, where concentric lines had eaten away at my eyes, and I was in that strange, soft but heavy, almost inter-dimensional feeling you get while bargaining with sleep. It made me realize that I've been sad lately, in that way where you're the last one to know. I had another dream where these pink spheres kept pulling me towards things, though I couldn't hold or touch any of them completely — only partly. In it, I had become La Maga and the wild spontaneity of Cortazar rested in this contemplative absorption of reality.

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