a night out

There was a special city wide fireworks/laser light constellation show in the city where I lived. There were static images laid over the stars in the sky outlining the constellations and making up new ones. I was going to a special theater to see it all really well. It was on the top floor of a building. On the way in we bumped into some people we knew. One guy was laying on the steps next to the escalator. He was collecting himself, so we left him there.

There were two parts of this theater. We went to the back theater and looked for seats. The lights were still up and people were getting ready for the show. The theater was already pretty full. No one had saved me a seat. There was one seat next to my ex and his roommate. Though the view was better from there, I didn't want to sit near them. Moreover I wanted to refuse the seat he had offered me--as to say, "No I don't want/need/desire to be close to you anymore." I walked down the aisle and sat next to Alana Finkle. I went to grade school with her and haven't seen her since. She was arranging a blanket and a pillow in her oversized seat like it was a bed. I had a burgundy comforter from my childhood with me. I fixed the blanket in the chair so it would be more comfortable, then I sat down.

Everyone was in their seat waiting for the show to begin. People were chatting and eating snacks. Mike, the cute film guy I dated for a bit a couple years ago, walked in wearing a basketball jersey. We started to talk and everyone around us became a bit silent so they could hear what we were saying. He was telling me how college turned out to be much different than he expected. I was kind of uninterested in the conversation, but I enjoyed how I had captured everyone's attention.

Then I had to go to the bathroom to pour milk out of my sneaker. I had a sneaker full of milk. I wanted to drink the milk. I imagined how it would be refreshing--a bit sweet, thick and cool. The problem was that the sneaker had a bit of a foot smell and I knew people around me would find it strange that I was drinking the milk out of a stinky sneaker. I really wanted to drink the milk, but decided I would have to dispose of it. I went to the bathroom to pour it out.


When I got to the bathroom I took off all of my clothes. My body was all wet, like I had just finished taking a shower, so I took long pieces of brown paper towel to dry myself off. Just then, my old boss walked in. There I was completely nude, trying to cover my body with paper towels, and freaking out. I apologized and tried to have some kind of normal conversation like it was nothing. Meanwhile, she hardly noticed. She was too busy interrogating me. She wondered if I was in some kind of trouble because no one there was calling me by my real name. I explained that my students called me Teacher, some of my friends and people I knew through my artwork called me Koco, and that some of my Korean friends called me by my English name, Sally, though I don't feel that the name suits me.

earth woman

I was the surface of the earth. Dense green forests covered the flesh on my arms. My nipples were erupting volcanoes. Lava erupted from them mechanically, like a neon sign illuminating a series of lights. There was a large lake that sat from just above my belly button to mid thigh. I thought about the water cycle. Condensation, evaporation, precipitation. This is why we have clouds.

I woke up hot and sweating.

art

I was looking at some online work. The artist had just kinda blew up as a new media artist. I got some link from some place noting how this artist was recently getting a lot of recognition. He had made a couple short movies. They were simple animated outline drawings. Accompanying the work was a written description of the work and his influences/inspiration for the pieces. One mentioned was Ghostcatching. This was probably the most memorable and inspiring show I've ever gone to. Without a doubt it's a favorite. I was impressed and pleased.

The first work was of a couple having sex while floating. It was me. It wasn't graphic or detailed, I mean it was only outline drawings, but I knew that it was me. I felt a bit flattered and a bit embarrassed. The second was a series of impossible positions and mergings of two people. It looked like a woman flopped out of his spine and was giving him a blowjob, but then morphed and blended into his butt as he somersaulted forward. It had really graceful movements and was much better than the first movie mostly because it was so strange. I liked it more that the first, despite the fact that it was much shorter--and that I had a feeling that it wasn't me. I realized how much had changed, and how much my feelings had stayed the same.

It was some point far in the future. Things were different. I thought about how we used to be really close. Checking his new work was like looking at an old friend's profile after not talking for a while. It was like getting the update without actually contacting the person. There was some heavy nostalgia, a thick longing, and joy... for him.

one image

olive oil and spreadable chocolate from a tube (like toothpaste), together.

smell like cheese

I was with a girl I used to dance with. We were good friends there, but only there. Outside of dance class we couldn't really relate to each other. In this dream we were in a small room with white walls, florescent lights, and only one small window. We were in the basement. It was somewhat dingy and strange (actually a bit like the lobby of the building where I had dance classes in high school). She kept talking about how lesbians smell like cheese. I wanted to argue with her, but... I woke up thinking there was no point and that she would never understand.

2 songs

There were two versions of the same song released at the same time. They were by two completely different artists. I distinctly remember that one was Ghostface Killah. The other I can't remember but it was someone like Tori Amos, or Ani Difranco, or some ultra-female-singer/songwriter with a bit of a tortured edge. I was trying to come up with a fair method of comparing the two in order to decide which one was better. I was making lists of criteria and forgetting what I had just listed and then had to start over again.

I got some music news in an email a couple days ago that perplexed me. I'm in the middle of grading all these papers and creating a fair rubric for the upcoming midterm exam. My mind needs some silence.

dive in

I'm at a bar with a woman that I used to date. She's blonde. I never treated her right when we were together. She always loved me more than I loved her, and I was always busy doing something else. In addition, when she would call me on my bad behavior or the lack of attention, I'd somehow twist it back on her. I was manipulative in the relationship, but really I was a mess without her. Somehow we're back together. I'm happy about this, but I'm kinda upset at myself, because I know I'm no different than I was before. It's just going to end up the same way as last time and I'm just going to feel shitty about it.

She wants me to dive into a small square shaped pond filled with murky water. It's the entrance to another bar. The pond is no wider than one square foot and probably no deeper than 6 feet. There's some kind of magic with this entrance, but it's all very normal and logical in the reality of my dream. When you dive into the water you get sucked into another place, and exit completely dry. This place is special, only for certain people who dare to question a part of themselves, or truth, or something like that. There is danger in going to this place--a dark danger that I'm aware of and very much afraid of. I want to dive in, for her, to follow her. She does it all the time. She is so brave and open, and she just doesn't care about things like fear.

I get up on the bar and do a hand stand over the pond, preparing myself to dive in head first. Everyone around me is egging me on and being supportive, while at the same time wondering if I'll have the guts to go in. But, I can't do it. I get really upset that I can't go after her.

I sit at the bar with some guy who's searching for sedated cats. I know that there are some sedated cats in the closet. They don't want to be found by the man. I can see them with my mind. I open the closet and see them, not really, but like I'm visualizing the reality. I don't tell him about the cats.

Later, my girlfriend comes back from the other dimension and I try not to make eye contact with her. I actually kind of duck behind some people so she won't see me. First of all because I've failed her and secondly because Ian Love just walked into the bar.

family vacay

I was in the backroom at our old house, 703. I was fighting with Janine. I put a handful of small razors down her shirt. She tried to stick pins in me. I didn't want to play anymore at that point, so we stopped fighting and continued arranging colored tiles for some kind of art project.

Then I was on a family vacation. We went to some tropical island with a very small community of people living there. There were very few houses, but they were all big and beautiful. There were a lot of nature walk paths between the houses and roads.

Janine was dating some very handsome guy with long dreads. They looked good together. He was wearing a knit hat in the summer, in the water. Janine was on his shoulders in the water taking pictures with his friends. Then he was on her shoulders. My dad was cool about having him and his friends around. We were discussing how he seems nice and they seem to get along well, but he's not fantastic, not good enough.

We drove up and over a hill to get to the beach. At the beach there was some kind of film shoot. A friend of mine who went on vacation with us. She went up to the people working on the photo shoot who were passing out knee pads and grabbed a pair. She was acting like she was supposed to have them and I was her assistant, but really she was stealing for no reason other than to be mischievous. We quickly ran off and down a grassy hill. She trained for marathons, so she was a good runner. I'm not sure how I kept up with her, but I did. We ran back to the house where we were all staying. When we arrived at the house I turned to her and said something like "You go on vacation and turn into a thief!" I was shocked and exhilarated by this display of bad behavior.

Later a crazy couple drove up to the house and were trying to come in. At first I thought they had come about the stolen knee pads, but it turned out that they were just crazy, and lonely or something. The woman tried to barge into the house saying that she had to search the place. I stopped her by telling her that this was private property and she needed to present a warrant. duh. Then the guy wanted directions to the beach, so my father and I together gave directions. I retraced the way we took to get to the beach earlier that day, visualizing the hill, the street where we turned. Then we were at the beach again, with the crazy couple. The woman was laying next to me, somewhat intertwined in my body, outlining parts of my arms and legs with her finger. We were talking about something while my father continued to give directions.

dance night

There was a big theater . I was back stage preparing and trying to talk myself into a calm state of mind. I was in a pale peach chiffon dress. In the large practice studio I tried to run through the piece. I was going to be in Fragile, a piece I used to perform with Traci Hall & Co., but I couldn't remember the choreography. I sat in the opening pose, repeating the first few notes of the song in my head over and over, but nothing came to me. It was going to be a disaster.

This is a recurring theme in some of my anxiety dreams. I'm about to go on, I have the costume on and everything, and then I realize that I'm completely unprepared.

little pieces

gay guys in the subway smoking cigarettes
playing a game

I kept peeking
it seemed unsafe
it was desolate
why would you go over there
I want to see what they are doing
What are they doing? What kind of game is that? Are they on drugs?

lifetime of man

creeping through people to get to the exit of the subway
so crowded and everyone is walking slow
get out of my way
up and down steps
walls covered in aging wood painted over white
white halls and stairways
completely whitewashed

I have no idea what's up with me and the dreams about gay men lately. I do miss queer culture. I've never been around so many straight people in my entire life, but regular dreams of gay men... I'm not quite sure why. Dave Pugh told me once that there's a geeky teenage boy that lives inside me. I think there is some truth to that and I often wonder what it feels like to be a man. I like the idea of performing gender and sexuality. When I want to be "woman" I put on my woman costume and my woman make-up and put on the show of "pretty," "cute" or whatever it is that day. And to a certain extent it's the expression of the little gay man inside me through that too. It sounds funny, but I feel like the femininity and womanly beauty I display in these moments is more informed by drag queens than it is by mainstream female archetypes. There's something about the drag queen attitude, the style, the illusion they create, etc. that feels and looks to me more like being a woman. At least, maybe, it's the kind of woman I enjoy--fierce, fabulous, outgoing, bold, confident, uninhibited, bitchy, but still sensitive, mysterious, humorous, and the center of attention. Maybe it's the fact that it is a completely fabricated version of a woman, and created from a male point of view... (just like models... but better? because it's actually a man?) and then I feel like I'm all fucked up in my head. Could I believe that being a woman is only truly defined by male ideals of beauty? Don't I have my own secure sense of what it is to be a beautiful woman? The ideal female beauty (to me) is created best by men? The only thing better than being a woman would be being a gay man being a woman? oy. I think I'm tired.

grandma tanya

I was at my grandmother's old apartment with my mother. It was her old place near the art museum. She hasn't lived there since I was little, but I dream of it often. We were in my grandmother's apartment and my great grandmother had an apartment not so far away, but not in the same building. My mother told me that they moved Grandma Tanya to a new place so she could be closer to Grandma Vera. She told me it was the old smoking room down the hall. They had moved her in earlier, and hadn't told me because they thought it would upset me. I hadn't ever seen "the smoking room" before so I didn't know what to expect. We went down the hall Grandma Vera's to a cabinet door. She unlocked it to reveal a small room that looked like no more than an enlarged closet. It had nothing more than a bed and a tall wardrobe inside. It was dark and only had a small window. The blankets on the bed were messy and held the shape of a person who had recently been laying there.

I thought, and said out loud to my surprise, "She's coming here to die. She's going to die in here." I buried my head in my mother's chest and began to cry. I made short wailing sounds. She just held me. I was concerned that I'd have to leave Korea early, that it was too soon and I wasn't ready.

Just then, while I was still covered in tears, Grandma Vera and Grandma Tanya came around the corner. I didn't want Grandma Tanya to see me like this. I wanted to be positive like my mother who was saying that it will be great for her to be closer to Grandma Vera. I wanted to be excited that she had moved to a new place, even come up with something good to say, like that it was sort of like a secret sleeping nook... but when I looked up at her, all I could think about was her dying in there. And wanting to. And accepting that this was her last place.

When I woke up I was so sad thinking about how my great-grandmother, Grandma Tanya, was going to die one day. When reality finally took over, I remembered that she died over a decade ago and I was so upset with myself that my dream wasn't more lucid, that I didn't allow myself the chance to say things I never had the chance to, that I didn't ask her something--instead of standing there in tears.

I try to piece together the images and emotions to make sense of this:

• The smoking room was from the signs at the palace I went to on Sunday. They had specific places on the grounds for smoking that were pointed out on the maps with red X at each location. The only English on the sign said something like SMOKING ROOM.
• The size of the closet and the idea of death in a small space comes from the anxiety I feel in my new apartment. I've been aching for spring so I don't end up spending as much time inside my sleeping closet.
• I often have dreams in my grandmother's old apartment near the art museum in Philly. I have no idea why. It always reminded me a bit of a fancy hotel and it felt a bit special. I don't ever remember my father at my grandmother's old apartment so it was time I spent with my mom's family. These times with four generations of Brook women were filled with food, stuffed with laughter, dominated by complaints, sprinkled with Yiddish, and all involved some kind of "to-do."
• My grandmother sent me a letter this past week. At the bottom she wrote that the 18th of March would have been Calvin's (my grandfather) 95th birthday. He died exactly a year, to the day, before I was born. I was born a whole month later than I was due, maybe I was waiting. I always wondered what he was like. She said I would have liked him. I never had a grandfather. Not on my father's side either. However, I did have a great-grandmother, and that's kinda cool.
  
• Clyde died this past week. I was devestated to hear the news. I cried and cried and cried. I'm still crying, though I should be happy to have known him. I wish I was there for the memorial--to honor him, to say goodbye. I should have been there. I worry I'm missing out on too many of the important things by living my life abroad.
  
• I worry about having to leave Korea for some unexpected reason, and though I'm ashamed to admit it, I've wished for an excuse to come back. I'm not ready to let go of things here or back home. That's created a bit of conflict inside, some stress, and mostly a feeling of isolation. I'm neither here, nor there.
  

tennis lesson

There was a a steep hill with a long street. It was Olney Ave. in Philly, the street I walked down to get to school, but it wasn't. I had to return a comforter from a professor who had left a comment on my blog. The drop off place was on this Olney Ave., somewhere in the middle. I was being very productive and busy. I was at a writing class that Ms. Wolf was teaching. The class was filled with all these super queer people. They were acting ridiculous--hooting and hollering, being loud and outrageous, as well as overly sexual about everything. One guy unbuckled his pants and danced around giggling and rubbing his bare ass on some guy in the corner who was laughing hysterically at the whole thing (like Jules would laugh--a full open mouth joyful laugh that came from... who knows where). He thought no one saw him, but I did. It felt just like the good old times at Hayden Hall. I was having such a time that I missed my tennis lesson.

I don't play tennis. Ms. Wolf was my art teacher.