Dreaming Posts

What makes me happy today
Hanging out with gorgeous & fun people the night before.
Fresh clean laundry.
Listening to silly K-Pop.
Hugs. Big squeezy hugs.

Remember my sadness for the Shmoo and his lack of dream memories?
He told me today that he remembered his dream last night. He was shopping for groceries to make breakfast. For me.

I am a flutter with shmoopiraci.

In Consideration of Dreaming

I’m baffled by the fact that the person whose snoring that I deal with, does not, in fact, remember anything from his dreams. Nothing. Nada. Zippo. But then again, he also doesn’t talk in his sleep. Or mumble thanks for such oddities as volunteering to jump into volcanoes while they are in the throes of slumber. *I* am the one who’s weird like that.

For those few gasping moments of awakeness, my dreams are still flashing against my eyeballs in oft times trivial, but sometimes brilliant glory. For a few moments in the morning, while I’m still trying to wrest myself from the covers, I can sometimes still feel textures, temperatures, and pressure within my skin’s nerves. I feel sorry for folks who only dream in black & white. I see colors. Lomo brilliantly saturated colors. I taste things. I dream of food and I want to sink my teeth into something or someone as soon as I wake up. I smell bitter mangos, sweet pears, and a lover’s skin and hair in my sleep.

Have you ever found yourself so enthralled with a dream that you wanted to stay asleep to see how it turned out? Somehow, after pressing the snooze and trying to return to the narrative that you’ve been seized from, it’s not ever the same. The pace and brilliance of the dream has been tampered by the zealous overconscious and the subconscious feels slighted. Instead the dream takes on the flavor of instant coffee from a dirty cup when before you had been sipping excellent espresso on the steps of a Roman Cathedral with Marco, your Adonis of a lover. It’s not the same but sometimes you still can’t leave a good dream alone and without an ending.

The quality that I adore in Columbian fiction and Japanese anime, that experience of magical realism or superreality which amplifies the intensity of every tactile experience enthralls me and I am ever the protagonist/hero within my dreams. I can be either Man or Woman. I can be a historical figure, a celebrity, or a friend and experience their adventures in the first person. I slay demons. I taste blood. I kiss the girl at the end and ride off into the sunset. I swim underwater with a reptilian tale whipping behind me. I fly without wings but carry a crystal feather between my lips. And if I should I call out your name, I’ll fall, fall. I even dream of jello.

Is it any wonder that I’m not a morning person? And your dreams?

Not the least of which is my state of emotional stability. I think I’m either coming off of bad vicodine induced dream sequences or over indulging the transitions in my life. Or hormones. One can always place blame hormones.

Like the other night, I had a dream that you were hosting some sort of genius minds conference in Lausanne, Switzerland at the Palace Beau Rivage. Which really is nothing less than a palace. I was a bellhop but trying to impress and with so few staff on hand, I wound up checking in an odd assortment of brilliant luminaries. And I felt special in their company…deemed worthy of being in their presence by serving them. And as they were your guests, by serving you. One gentlemen looked like you but had an extravagant mustache and smelled like cinnamon sticks and nutmeg. I could feel the air move when you turned your head from across the room and my hair whistle against my ear. He was not you. And when you greeted him with a hearty handshake, I saw this clearly. You weren’t yourself either and you failed to recognize me though I knew, distinctly, exactly who you were.

And last night… well last night, I went to bed early, also confused…and well.. didn’t sleep as well as I’d like either. Last night I dreamt of other strange things. Like a discussion. A laugh. A turned back. And a slow walk away. I did not like this dream either. It reminded me of things in real life from times past.

And tonight? Tonight I’m hoping for a night off from dreaming.

I’d like my mind to undress privately, unburden itself from weary shackles and step lightly,y nude, from it’s clumsy encasing. I’d like my mind to dance above my head for a moment or two before flitting up into the sky to stare closely at the moon, full and bright and lovely. I’d love my mind to lean down close to the moon, and lick it… tasting a liqueur that is not unlike wild clover honey. I’d like my mind to come back to me in the morning, refreshed, and calm, comfortable in it’s supernatural possibilities and it’s natural realities.

Yes. I’d prefer that quite a bit.

11/07/01
Well here’s a first,

My dream life, of late, has far exceeded the excitement of my daytime life. And making unexpected itnerruptions and visits in there as well. Does anyone else experience metathinking while in the midst of a dream?

Like take Sunday. After an exhausting day of training I went over to Paris & Ernie’s place. Bel was there chilling
with a box of Krispy Kremes. My kinda gal, ya know?

As Ernie just moved, the place was a total warzone and I carved myself a small place to sleep on their couch. I crashed out in 5 seconds flat. Hard. One of those sinking into your spine exhaustions of sleep.Meanwhile, they’re pounding, screaming, and dragging stuff through the apartment.

Anyways, during my dream, I’m in a nightclub standing on day glow jello cubes. Huge ones. About 5 stories tall each.And it’s like a craggy canyon or something, but all made from various colors of jello.And there’s trance music.

Hey, did I remind you that I don’t take drugs? Anyways. To continue with the dream.

I’m walking arm in arm with Ernie when he leans over and shouts into my ear “You’re going to have a great time” and then he puts his hand on my ass. Um yeah. Let’s see how that makes sense. That’s the first meta thinking oddity.

The next is when Dream Ernie picks me up by the ass of my pants and dangles me over a jello ravine.
My next meta thought was “WTF? Why does Ernie have superpowers?”

And then he chucked me over the cliff of jello to fall for miles and miles and miles.

And while in the dream, I stop screaming because I’ve run out of breath.
And think to myself, MY GOD, I MUST WAKE UP BEFORE I HIT THE BOTTOM OR I”LL DIE!” Have you ever been panicked and still managed to stay asleep? Hmm. Anyways I’m alive. I didn’t die. Nor did I wake up just then. I hit the bottom and well, sort of *bounced*. J-E-L-L-O. A girl’s best friend when a gay man chucks you over a ravine.

After waking up from my nap, I wandered back to Ernie’s room, sat on his bed, and before he could say “Good Mornign Sunshine” to me I punched him in the arm and said “Fuck you.”

Of course, after I explained my dream to him, he threatened to push me off the bed. To which I of course responded “Fuck you.” And then ate a donut. And another one. And then punched Ernie again for good measure. Ernie of course, found this charming and I quote “I love it when someone’s mad at me for something I didn’t do that happened in their dream. That’s just beautiful.”

Today I had an odd dream.
In it a younger Richard Gere, myself, and potpie, my current roommate, are reading the sunday paper and magazines in bed. Nothing kinky, just reading up on the latest events in fully clothed powder blue pajamas. I get up to brush my teeth and pop back into bed lying facing him, leaning against the foot rest, demand the funnies, and potpie makes a discrete exit as young Richard puts incredibly smooth moves on me.

Me, in neurotic incapability to believe that such a gorgeous and charming man should be hitting on me, not in a bowm chika bow bow way but in a “when are you going to realize i’m stuck on you in a big way type of way and so what that i’m a sexay thing i think you are too but that’s not why i dig you”, starts shuffling through the comics. Cindy Crawford’s in the papers and while young Richard says nothing disparraging about his ex-wife, he dismisses her and tenderly grabs hold of my foot.

The phone rings and the answering machine picks up, it’s one of the pretty pretty boys I know who leaves some odd message about me living in Novi Michigan, his parents, and which direction to slice shitaki mushrooms for a dish he’s planning on making.

Young Richard continues to elegantly throw himself at me and the most I can do is allow him to spoon me as I try to figure out how the goofy fabu girl that is me, wound up in his arms & bed.

Now, it’s a pretty sad case when i have intimacy issues in my *DREAMS* with young Richard Gere.
And no, no discussions of gerbils *EVER* came up in the dream. Mmmkay?

In Other News
My step mom & dad called last night. Dad is treating my poverty as an object lession. But is no longer stomping my face into the situation that I am in, whereas before it felt like he was attacking me and blaming me for being unemployed. We’re actually pretty mellow ok now. They asked how I was doing, if I was alright, was I eating, etc.
I told them I was dating for food. They thought that was funny and laughed. I think they thought I was kidding. Pbt.

Stepmom shared a conversation that she’d had with some fellow church mates who’d known me my whole life.
“You know… Joo-di-yah would make a good nun”
“Yeah, i think so too… she’s sucha good girl…”

Me: “Oh, that’s nice…but I’m pretty sure that’s not my vocation”
StepMom: “You know.. they don’;t have to worry bout nothing. Nun habuh good life, serve,
God, happy, you know?”
Me: “Yeah, I hear you, but I like the boys too much and they like me back too much…
besides, I’m pretty set on writing..”
StepMom: “Yah, I read the poetreee ub one ub the nuns, she’s very famous korean sister, this nun, and she write the poetreee and sometime, i cry, sooo beyoootiful, she makuh me cry.
That’s good writting huh?”
Me: “Um, Yeah, that’s great.”

Peace Out
Min Jung

08/06/00

Life is weird.
Like that’s news.

Today, I find myself chilling to the foggy day, listening to the tunes of angels & surrounded by music and bills.
Seriouslly, my bedroom looks like a cross between tower records & the Money Pit. How’d I wind up this way?

Two primary passions,
Self Reliance & Music.

Unfortunately, sometimes they are mutally exclusive. I can’t even believe how many cd’s I have. So many that I haven’t even listened to in years… I mean, why the heck did I buy a few of these in the first place? One, a CD of Deborah Harry – Blondie Fame…was bought just because it was the only way I could find the song “I Want That Man” a few years back.

I *am* weird.

Regarding most recent mopes about certain gentlemen in the past of my life, I can only come to this most recent conclusion. I’m not really mopey about that guy in particular (maybe). It’s just a placeholder mopyiness and if I didn’t have a guy to be mopey for, I’d be wondering why I didn’t and then I’d wonder if it was *me* and not him that has issues with dating, relationships, intimacy etc.

Listenign to live jazz and blues will do that to you. Purge & provide clarity to mopes.
Went to a live jazz show yesterday at the Urban Cafe in Oakland. Twas cool and my gal pal Audrey sang. She’s too cool.

Anyway – regarding emotiional clarity – It’s a placeholder mope…just like how in the past years I’d have frequent crushes of the week. No one to be particularly in love with but an infatuation that would keep my brain and heart happily preoccupied but not involved so I could focus more of my attentions on my real life and how trully selfish I am about my time, my life, and my interests.

I have a few talents in the world.
#1. I’m very fun to be with – God’s purpose for me is comic relief
#2. I’m too good at being single.
#3 Making Kimchi Jjihgeh – damn, mom & dad taught me well
#4 Occasionally I’m pretty good at the meta-analysis of my life and my state of being…

The rest, it’s all sweat & bones & luck.
Plus, on rare occaisions, I have a good hair day and I’m eye candy too.

Goodness, don’t I sound arrogant?

Were it not for the underlying truth of still always feeling like an ugly duckling that has to rely on personality to get by, I wonder if I would still mope more often about me and my state in life and less on projecting my mopey energy & bandwidth on missing some stupid boy.

The last few nights I’ve just really wanted to be held to sleep. I miss that…
Not sure if it was cuz I missed a particular or non-specific “him” or if I was just feeling burnt out and blue and wanted some comfortable cozy loving.

Unfortuantely, I know this about myself…I have serious trust & intimacy issues. I have tons of darling guy friends who would offer their left kidney for me in a heartbeat as I would for any of them. But sometimes, no matter how generous in hear t & spirit they are to offer, if they’re not the ones you want to get that hug from, it’s just not acceptable.

Plus situations like that often get sticky and I often tell my guy friends and myself that they are too valuable to me as a friend to screw things up by actually dating or anything.

Why is trust so hard for me? Especially with guys beyond a certain friendship/intimacy threshold?

I know several of the reasons why it is but it’s hard to say. Things have happened to me in the past that have made my heart ache to be held and loved in spite of my weirdoness and yet, my heart — it’s also wrapped in barbed wire. You cant’ get close enough to it. Though much better now then in years past, I used to really beat myself up by feeling damaged, un worthy, overly bruised, and scarred.

There is no such thing as angioplasty for the soul, and my heart sometimes feels like the new flesh is finally beginning to emerge again from a crusty scar.

So many harsh memories of nightmares, weeping, feeling lonely, secretive, dirty, dismissed.
Sins against myself more than anything else I suppose. I wish sometimes i could be a stronger woman.

What’s the truth? Sometimes I don’t know anymore.
Sometimes a visceral feeling of trying to understand and still love who you are is all you can allow yourself.

Mopey and refusing to do my laundry today,
Min Jung