bourbon dreams

via dale cooper on the book of faces: I must admit I feel...out of sorts. Weeks have gone by. No. Years. (there is a nagging fear it could be decades) Time moves at a peculiar pace. I sense it (time) contains holes, like runs in stockings. The wind whistles through.
Description of my current state: Pieces of myself have been blown apart and spread like dandelion seeds, drifting off in various realities. I know who I am, but not what I am...

or, in other words:
I can catch the moon in my hands
Don't you know who I am...

post script. it's all about freezing time in a skillful way...