Friday, July 28, 2006

the party life



Alan Alda's new film about his life includes him playing ping-pong in a college lecture hall with a guy named Garrick. I'm passing through the front and back doors of the other room. I am so glad I'm not there in the ping-pong room. They keep reminding each other to "get on the luxurious side" before having to serve again.

I'm waking to the alarm a lot but no more dreams to enter into...


I was working so hard it was 5 pm before I realized I hadn't taken a break. Andrew let me go anyway.

Where to go? Sarkis (the Lebanese place) was closed. The Grill? Nah. Couldn't sink that low.

I saw in the parking garage the town bus. It would take passengers downtown to Flat Street--someplace I usually like to go. The driver was an elderly woman with white hair.

"When are we leaving," I asked her.

" Four minutes." I couldn't wait. I left.

My break time was probably up anyway. I headed back to the store. At the front entrance, I saw the lights inside are off.

Oh no!

Andrew must have left. I was about to round the back when I noticed Andrew come out of the shadows in his coat. He was smoking a cigarette, waiting. I thanked him--a formality. He unlocked the front door for us. He only intended to say until he lights are back up. It was past time for him to leave.

I went to the back, where the light switches are and had trouble trying to figure out the configuration. There are three long rows of buttons and switches. More lights than I even know about. One button activated the new sign out in the window. It looked like the bullseye logo for Target department stores. It's blue on blue with letters spelling out the word, "books". It started thumping like a heart. I don't think any of us knew that was possible. It looked cool so I left it on. Andrew had put on some trance-like / lounge-y music. Coupled with the sound of the heartbeat, I felt like we were in a danceclub. People entered in in droves.

Finally I got lights situated well enough for people to read by and for us to see everyone by. Up at the counter with Andrew was a friend of JK's--someone who looked like him. I went over to greet him.

We kissed in the European style. I was managing the store like a party. Having to go to the kid's section and figuring out the lighting there. Came back and saw JK and the counter.

We kissed heartily in greeting.

It was so good to see him. God, I can see him so clearly in my mind even still. Burgundy shirt. I hung out at the counter with the boys for a little bit and went into the crowd some more. They'd started an impromptu reading. Someone was reading a story--a girl. And many people near the front of her audience were listening.

Then I realized that the underwear / shorts I'd beenwearing were really sloppy. They'd grown too large and you could see underneath it sometimes when I walked and it shifted off center. Throughout this dream: I started off naked and then at the store again, wearing normal top with cute "cancer" panties--comfortable and fitting. And while working there, they've become loose, a little worn and white.

I was embarrassed and went to bathroom to see if there's anything I to do about it. Especially embarrassed as JK was here and had to see that. I tried turning it inside out, backwards, whatever. Only slightly better, but not by much.

Back into the crowd again. I was still aware that Andrew is still working here. No one's keeping him, except the crowd. I was glad he was here, though. He knew he could leave if he wanted to. While in bathroom, I decided to change my bra. Had it loosely over my breasts and asked A or JK to clasp it for me behind.

"Can I clasp it for you," Andrew joked. And he did. And I sidled up close to JK to hang with him. He muttered to himself, "Would you kiss Ruby on the lips and forehead... would you kiss... Phayvanh wouldn't." Ruby was at the door inside, and Rose was outside talking to someone. He was gonna go kiss the dog--she looked like she needed it.

He then also announced he was leaving--going back to NY. I tried to play-act sad, put on a pout-lipped face, but he wasn't budging. I wanted to ask him so many things but time wasn't enough.

I remember that in the end, I probably left Andrew to close up the store and count the change and all that. Felt badly about it, but it happened the way it happened and it's all right in the end.


Female in mental ward finally realized that she's got a "problem".
"This isn't the only place for me," she said to her nurse.
"You're right--it isn't. There are a number of solutions to choose from." Patient was wearing a blue bath robe.

lost dreams 2006

The dreams between Jan - Mar 8th 2006 are lost as of right now. They may be in random journals in boxes strewn about my place. I've been looking and can't find them. So someday...

I've been waiting till I found them, but cannot wait any longer. Will start the next post with March 9, 2006. Yippeee!

Monday, July 03, 2006

new year approaching

I know I haven't written here in a while, and actually, my dream log is 7 months behind. .. ..

I've been homeless for these last few months and my notebooks have been pretty scattered these days. The scrawls I wake to in the morning have yet to be transcribed. It may take another few weeks for this to happen.

While we're waiting for that... here's some journal art. Often times, when the visual is more compelling than the story, or when it becomes hard to describe, it jo
t down pictures of what's in my head.

Three of these are from the same dream--can you guess which ones?

end of 2005 dreams



JK. Alternatively we are with people then not. Second time, I walk him home. He said it’s weird that second time with these people (whom he knows) and how he just wanted to take care of me. Twice his mother / Connie came back with the keys—mine, which he’d gone home with in his pocket. It was good excuse to come over—she wanted to go through photos of my family in Laos, ask me questions.


I was at Peter Haven’s for lunch. DL walks in. He’s meeting with a black guy named Leroy (but not the Leroy whose sitting by himself at a table close to us). Someone offers that I sit down and join them, but I said thanks. I was just here for lunch.


Impromptu dance party in harmony



slowing down—ways of relaxing ~woke up to sounds of my housemate talking


confusion at bookstore—bosses are gone. Ann’s there—I’m late getting back from break and so many people (including my friend Suzanne) are trying to run our new software program to sell books. I go ahead and try to jump in, since it’s really my job. But they’re using some sort of fantasmagorica site to manage the books and icons, which touts the interbreeding of people and aliens.

“Why are you using this,” I ask. No one can give me any good reasons—they don’t know. There are tons of notes Nancy left for me when I was out. Suzanne has them in her purse.


lots of cars stranded—in the storm—roads got diverted. And some folks dorve their cars into the Whetstone Brook to advance around it, but it was so flooded that water pushed the cars backward with tremendous force. Folks jumped out of their vehicles to avoid injury. It was like a time lapse movie, watching the cars move forward, then stop, then get pushed down.

Many people survived. They climbed to a “wall” where volunteers (like me) helped them land safely to shore on the other side. Reach out our hands, gently pull them off wall, “catching them”. It’s really easy but they are grateful. One man tries to strike up conversation and asks me where I work.

“At The Brattleboro Reformer.”

“Oh? Me too.”

“Yeah, I know.” He’s one of our absentee supervisors. Maybe I or someone next to me tells him my name and why he should know me. It was another instance of him not knowing me. I complain about it to my friend.

Later, at my performance review, in front of his colleagues, he asks who I am again—seriously having forgotten! I remind him gently and to save him embarrassment, I hand him a typewritten list of all my accomplishments that year. I received a very generous raise. My friend/co-worker was mystified. I revealed my strategy.



Matthew Bozetarnick (?) poetry at some store. I’m so offended. Customer buys enough books for today and tomorrow—lots!



I’m washing windows at store—K is outside giving advice to Rich who is sincerely listening. I’m dumping some rotted plants. Something about Common Grounders doing something they’re not supposed to. Ann’s trying her best to help customers while also putting away books.


They guy named Larry Yes is picking up a book *for school? I have the hardest time punching the numbers—machine broken?

Ginger, Tony and someone else and I are planning to go on a road trip poetry tour. We were to meet at the library then leave. 12:30.

I was in an abandoned lot behind the library (killing time—hadn’t even packed yet) I saw something that looked like legs ascending in an air conditioner. I moved the air conditioner and saw there was a face underneath it. I was looking at a dead body. I went to go find a phone to call DB then call the police. The phone in the library was out of order. I could see out the window Gary Sachs in the same field. I think he might also discover the body.

Anyway, went to the Co-op to use the phone—not working! All three pay phones! By that time, I was really supposed to meet the crew for the road trip. Running late. Finally use Suz’s phone.

He already knew. ___ upset (?) I think about not going. He’d heard from Ryan who gave him so much info. DB thinks Ryan did it.



Creating an organized system for housesitting & gardening—this is some wooden trellis type structure. Lots more.



Ingenuity. The message I woke up to: Find ways to make the things you want / make your own reproductions. This has something to do with making Brenda a birthday gift.


The thing about the dream was that it was about a party that Brenda was hosting. DK and Dina were both there.



a baseball-ruffled pillow that I sew myself.



Opera as street theater … chocolate .. . How to Shoot a Texan Moving Star… etc reviews of Monica’s opera. A film review / documentary that highlights opera. Being shown “cult-style” in carnivals and college campuses. I was putting specially-marked food in the fridge. DK was at one of the screenings. Stand on the steps for some reason, not on the seats. I walked up really close to the screen with K et al. Justin (who happens to be naked) comes to sit right next to me and pecked me on the cheek and began acting joyfully, sexually, familiar with me.



Borrowing money. Visiting with E.B. Woo. I’m serving them bagels with a celery/tomatillo spread which they all love. I’d woken up with Johnny Cash songs in my head.


I haven’t been writing down my dreams—so this one which is so intricate, but odd enough to remember is now lost. Oh well. I haven’t been doing the review techniques and telling myself to wake up to write it down. Must start to do that. But usually I’m so tired that I just want some dreams to go by. Just to release my brain. Part of the dream:


At a big outdoors banquet at a college or something. Food is everywhere. We’re only allowed to take two items from the tables so everyone gets enough to eat. It’s honor system.

I was being sneaky—hiding food I my coat. My “friends” who knew were offended that I took four things.

“Whatever,” I said, and kept shrugging my shoulders. Then someone—Ann Gengarelly—found out and told me that there were some security people coming down the hill to talk to me.

“Ok,” I said. Then bolted as quickly and discreetly as I could. I saw Brenda among other faces in another part of the party—maybe they haven’t yet heard… I ask to use her phone and for a note. She says sure. But something else to indicate that maybe I should wait for authorities. I agree? I continue eating my food. I have to wait—because she’s helping me to realize how silly it is to get in much deeper trouble (by running away) than I already am—and really—how silly is it to be hunted down for some cheesecake? What I did was not to their rules, but their rules are silly and the enforcement of them sillier.


More after that. I remember: JK + folks bringing in cases of wine and freezers and fridges being full to the max. Some sort of small building on an anonymous strip somewhere that could be mistaken for a recording studio or a small warehouse. A good-feeling-about-to-party place.


Woke up from some intense realistic-seeming dreams without memory of them—it’s because I have to wake to the alarm.



Big Snow--it’s a saying at the bookstore. A lot of my high school friends. Very crowded there. EB Woo sets up to play a set too.

I’m at the bar Jonathan is tending and run into Jason McCue. He asks me who AT is. (it’s the monogram on the shirt I borrowed from DK).

“I didn’t know.” We catch up, carefully. (I know he’s probably still with the woman he’s been with for a long while.) His son Tyler’s got a kid of his own now. I was trying to do the calculations in my head. I didn’t think he could really be that old.



I’m with a man in his trellis garden. He asks me what I want.

“This,” I said. There was a casualness about it all. “I want a peaceful something. A place I could go to.” Some of the wooden crossbars were strong enough to hold me as I hung upside down, which I did.

Saying “This” was a bit presumptuous in the relationship, I was aware. But he let it slide, which made me want it more. I said, “If this were mine, though, I’d have some sprawling ivy and flowering plants going up here along the canopy draping down.” I motioned with me hands. “I’d grow bushes of gardenia and pomegranate so they would perfume in the rain.” He agreed.

There might have been a swing. Or it might have been perched really high. He was DK / Suz / Eric / JK / someone else altogether. I think he might be the one I marry. I know something about permanence and fearlessness in the dream—so that I could say “this” with him and have both of us understand it what it meant. Acknowledge and move on.


DL. A bed. His wife Kim and daughter Christol had to leave temporarily. They’ll be back soon. I climbed in bed with him and held him as he shook violently and cried. His body, his life, his future. He missed them already and they hadn’t left the room. Kim and Christol stood there a moment, watching. The sadness was overwhelming and because I loved him so much, I was also (against my will) crying too, in my trying to console him.

Kim said to me that she’s glad that I also love her husband, too. Because he and she can trust me to take care of him in this way—emotionally.

“We can say we’re both in love with the same man?” I know this must be really hard for her to say. Yep. I had to reply. DL still shaking. It was a permission granting, and acceptance / acknowledgement of my previous / current relationship with DL. Keeping it holy and respecting it. Acknowledging that my love for him is emotional rather than sexual.


I realize there are two JKs. The one in real life who is so elusive and who keeps me at bay whenever he can. And the one in my dreams who is at least consistently there for me—even though he, too, is elusive. Had a dream the he was in, but I cannot remember it for the life of me. but that he was there in it—he was sweet in it for me.



Tiger by the streambed edging the house I’m staying in. We must live there.

I try to run away and hide, have it not notice me. But it soon climbs the edge and is in the yard with me. It seems to not notice me but stays in the same vicinity as me—like a pet. I’ve come to think of it as that.

I’m no longer afraid of it. Though I wouldn’t touch or provoke it. It is really beautiful. I am inspired to pick flower bouquets even though its out of season

DK’s playing the guitar—stand in last minute for wedding ceremony I was catering/working the wedding.

Ode to my yacht inspired to write this poem really late at night


Lek was marrying Nick—Laotian style. She was micromanaging everything even as she was walking down the “aisle”. One guy (who wants me) muttered under his breath how curious it is that now I have some clout with Lao weddings. It was he who used to.



I’m hosting a Kundiman retreat at my place with my family. I take forever to come out of the shower. It’s the weekend of the big festival with block party and band.


Johnny Carson and Ed McMahon getting back together to do shows and will incorporate whipped cream

Very captivating 10-yr-old gang activist named Jack Kirby speaking to large crowd in DC about respectful treatment of children. There is a reverence about him.

“They that live have small minds so they feed us this cereal in” (?)

“[school] is first time here to recognize ourselves with Jack Kirby and answer to that”. Etc.


Ode to waking Alone
The world of my own warmth
Against my skin.
Could have Been anyone’s breath
The soil of my sleep
Oh, to be an earthworm digging deep



A white dog wrote me a note. He drew me as Wonder Woman giving him head. I really wanted a ride in the “magic staircase” I found no magic in it.

I was going to DL’s as I needed the spare key to my car, which I left (I think) in the parking lot of a festival that Dina, Joanna, and I went to (several hours away). My keys were in it, so I couldn’t even get into my house. DL had previously invited me to do something else, which distracted me from my real purpose, so I had to go back to ask him for them again.


Earlier, I was trying to figure out what to do as I was downtown for Gallery Walk… Anyway, I’d either called or run into Whoopi Goldberg to invite her to my party. She called me back accepting. In her hurry, DK & I caught up with her. He talked about his disadvantaged youth. We both were like, you? (because we’re both colored and female) it was a big deal and egos were crushed. DK huffed off to his truck. And I left Whoopi’s side to run after him.

“Oh well,” I shouted. He opened the door so I could get in there and hug him. His body convulsed as he let go his emotion. But I knew he was feeling better.


Earlier: downtown. I was hanging out with Eric Frye and there was a really nice melody in my head, but no words. (I was at Marlboro College, eating donuts, while waiting for DL)



K and I are the last of a group. We escaped from the open wooded swing area where our friends were. Everyone (especially those in the water) was getting shot at and killed. K and I were on the big rock. I asked Rose Watson why she was killing us.

“That’s a good question,” says the young boy whose guarding us.

“Because it’s easier this way.”

K and I decided to risk it, mumbled within earshot of boy that he might not notice us leave (there were assassins everywhere). He didn’t notice s take off into the woods.

We end up back at the house where we’d been captive. The “owners” were coming back—their cars crunching gravel in the drive. I give K plans for sneaking out, we’re caught.

Our folly was using standard exits (doors) and not considering it all. they don’t kill us so K and I continue our captivity, always plotting and playing with the hope that the next day will be our first day of freedom.


The Native is cutting his son’s hair in the bathroom of the house I’m rooming in. The woman is Island. I’m a little embarrassed because the house is a mess.

We run into each other and I am happily surprised. We exchange greetings. He’s got a huge painting that he did recently. It’s of a door, monochromatic. I like it. There’s a note attached for feedback. It’s very realistic, in the tin ornamentation edging, everything.

DK can see a lot of this. He’s across the room macking on a girl I was talking with earlier who had the healthy assumption that DK was also seeing another woman, all of whom were charmed by him.

Then she looked at the expression on my face and said in all sincerity, “You’ve been trying to break up with him (for three weeks), haven’t you?” I nodded. I had been having salad with her and another girl.


Housesitting here at Kojak’s, another dream re: JK.



part of my dream: DK was confirming our date for next Thursday, but it’s when I have a dinner date with Chuck. We’d obviously had some miscommunication, but I think it might all work out in the end anyway.

Jesse & Mark’s band van, was very impressive—nothing at all like a $900 vehicle was supposed to look like. It was big and white with broad brown racing stripes and it wasn’t all banged up.



the only thing I remember from my dreams is: reading Hollie’s cards and advising her of something like, whatever you are looking for, you will find….

…just had some sort of déjà vu scare this I think now must have been a dream in that I had sex with someone shortly after my period which gave me a pregnancy scare, which I knew for real didn’t happened. Must have been a dream…



I’m installing something permanent in the house and have issues with it. But then when, where, might only well if it’s yours…


Visiting someplace. Share cropping like farm with other workers. They lived in corn stalk houses—made literally from that. It gets burnt down, burned every season actually. I was carrying gifts for them wrapped anonymously by my friends.


I have had my dream so vivid in my head but the few minutes of just lying here truly wiped them away Definitely.



Someone’s organizing a “secret walk”. No one’s supposed to know where we’re going. Though, I’m not in on it. I volunteer to carry the jumper cables. Then (I forgot) I had to carry a piece of copper wire in my mouth. I had practiced before, but still we were all afraid of getting shocked. I think the person this secret was for already had an idea of what was going on.


I had been in bed (a communal family bed) with Becca Murchison—her sister Erica was a few bodies away. I’d already slept over as Erica’s friend before. We were all talking as we were falling asleep. Erica said her girls (the children she took care of—or her own?) wanted to make big earrings, like I do, but they were told they had to be writers. It’s a good way to get hem to write. It was so weird to be stuck in the middle of them. Friends to both of them, but there that night, for Becca’s benefit.

Breakfast was communal—a camp sort of environment. Served at 8:30—which I’d been missing the last couple of days.. Barely make it on time. Muffins.

There’s more, I’m sure but that’s the gist of it.



Kim’s a teacher in Mozambique used to study under the same professor of psychology that Matt Groening did, so had him as a visiting professor once. She liked him.


Bart Simpson traded Lisa his “yucky smells” collection (scraps of paper with smells on them. I can’t remember in dream, but like farts, dried up boogers, etc.) for her to buy for him some (now) useless worthless old toys he broke. Bought for Matt Groening. Lisa was not able to trade in Bart’s old smells collection for something. Bart’s lamenting his loss. This is all a cartoon.