Time to dye

There is a town in north Ontario, with dream comfort memory to spare. In my mind I still need a place to go, all my changes were there.

How bored you must be of me reciting my dreams! I feel like telling people about our dreams is something we're all intrinsically compelled to want to do. Listening to other people talk about their dreams, however, unless you really love and care for the individual - is not. I think the reason we are compelled to tell people our dreams is because it is sort of our subconscious looking after us, telling the one's we love in a coded way, what we're feeling, even when we don't know ourselves really. Our dreams are our friends because they want everything to be okay for us. Do I sound insane? I think so. Anyway I'm feelin' pastel pink vibes and terrible LA Hotels with signs for 'Color TV' and bad D grade wax museums, and driving along looking out the window seeing only the smallest snippets of people's lives and then imagining their entire future.

This photo is just of some stuff in my studio. The time to dye thing is a macabre sort of title thing I cut out of a 70s instructional book on tye dying. I really like it or something.

All of the other images are from an amazing blog called 'Bad Postcards'

http://www.bad-postcards.tumblr.com

 (I gotta say, I don't think any of the above are bad) Be careful, endless scrolling means you can get sucked in for hours...

Hope you dream well,

Minna