Wednesday, January 31, 2007

dream poems

sifting through my computer files, found some dream poems recently:

written in late 2006:


in this dream you were hungry
and I hid from you what you desired
the half-eaten box you asked for
repeatedly while I feigned no knowledge
this I knew: nothing in your heart
turned for me though perhaps I desired
you feigned no knowledge until you could not
and so you know I hid from you
so to receive from you
and by deceiving you have lost

written sometime this month:

[dream 124]

halls flaking white paint
wind under the earth
endless tunnels in which we play
at being lost behind doors
opening to anything
slingshot in your hand
attached to a box
and I crept into ghostly shadows
to avoid the bruise of the ball
as it echoed off the walls


Monday, January 29, 2007

I have to get over te fact that this journal will not matter

July 2006


Nature goes into rest. I’m with DK

Someone says, “Hey, Phayvanh, did you notice that?”

“Yeah,” I replied. We had met eyes as we walked in the same room. Table in the corner. He’s dressed in a button-down shirt and slacks. Very nice.


At Kundiman: I need to move my car from the garage so we can drive it. I’m blocked in by some trash bags. Everyone is making way. I run over the bags, even though that was what I was trying to avoid. S & J are sad that they’re not supposed to be bringing anything uptown anymore—furniture, which is what they were moving earlier.


In some natural environment. A skunk slips out from its hole. After a while it sprays a few choice spots, including the place where I am sitting.


The Native has been present throughout my dreams---oh, and I’m sooo hungover.



I think it’s my fourth or fifth year at Kundiman. I was just staying on until we found a more permanent spot in Gary, IN.

~lot’s of dreams. I forgot to remember them. They’re all about writing.



It’s the last days of Kundiman. Folks are returning books and making printouts. R & N are there walking around. Lastly we’re filming, for the archives and broadcast. MK, Valerie (RCM), and Suz were there. Suz had borrowed by navy & white polka-dot dress. She said it worked really well. We’re in the print lab/bookstore, which is part open field. There’s a storm outside. The Native was just going to talk to my group.



An Issac Hayes-type character has a blog. We’re all Kundies—especially Cuba Gooding, Jr. Cuba says to Issac, “one of the girls was real helpful. You’d better watch out.” Issac returned resentment to him, how it reminded him of his dead wife. How it seems selfish.


Walking up and down Elliot Street block.



Tanner Lee was faculty at Kundiman—Harper Lee’s (great?) grandfather.

“Little Asian kids won’t let me on the computer.” Trying to print something off them. I say I use them all the time. They grumble and someone hits the ESC button.

“No sala el juego,” I say. They’re playing their a multi-player game on all the computers. I’m late for my 6 pm critique. It’s 6:15. I don’t know what I’ve been doing, but I haven’t even started writing.

I was rooming with Soham, who when I’d gone up to get my printing card, etc, was in bed. I told her it was workshop.

“It’s not my time,” she says. She just wants to stay in bed. “Ok.” I’m flying down the stairs thinking of asking S to look in on her when I pass Tanner Lee as he’s coming up. He’s a quiet man, like Arthur Sze. East Indian. I fly past him.

Earlier, I was at the bookstore looking at the displays of books for our conference. There were two Tanner Lee collections, The Greatest Works V. 1, The Greatest Works Collection V. 8 & 9 for $3.50. Number 1 was bigger and looked more expensive. They were Roman numerals for 8&9. That’s all I could make out.

The whole program had earlier visited another program. I didn’t know what was going on and so dawdled until someone (Marlon or Yuzun) told me I’d better go up to get dinner. It can be taken off your meal card but they just closed the card machine down. I go anyway to the cafeteria and start loading up my plate. I’m talking still to the boys of the other program. Someone says, “Phayvanh, you might have to pay for that. I think they’re closing up.” I think I have money in my pocket. But at the register, I’m talking to one sorta cute guy about the classes I’m taking—karate—just to know it. He suggested I try the fiddle, to which I responded that I’d already started learning that. The lunch lady kindly takes my credit for my program even thought I didn’t have my meal card, and she’d closed down that part of the operation.

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