so, the last few nites of sleep i wake up and all i can think of is henry darger. it's super weird, but normal cuz i have had one of his books at my disposal.
the other nite i dreamt that i was on this huge broad beach. the sun was shining and the wind was gentle. beside me was my mother. my birth mother. i wrote her a letter earlier that evening. i wanted to know what she was wearing and if she wore turquoise about her neck. she sat with her toes in the sand and her hair was really long. turquoise was the only color i recall about her. we sat and then i looked down and i was showing her henry darger.
i need a different book for real. but i do love him a lot. it baffles me that one person can live such a solitary life and not be found out about until it is past their time. better late than never i guess.