dream analysis in five parts:

"what is clearly the essence of the dream-thoughts need not be represented in the dream at all. the dream is, as it were, differently centered from the dream thoughts...dreams such as these give a justifiable impression of displacement."

-sigmund freud; from "the interpretation of dreams"


dream I:

R stands outside of my house next to the street lamp. i watch him from behind the curtain (all the lights in the room are off). R lights a cigarette (camel). i do the same. we mirror one another completely. R turns his head to stare at my window from the corner of his eye. i retreat into the shadows out of fear.

dream II:

R locks me up in a different house. the house is much bigger than the one we used to live in, but details such as this one don't mean a thing. i climb up and down the stairs, searching for unlocked doors, opened windows, secret underground passages...R is hidden elsewhere, in some other corner of the house. i can hear him, but he never appears before my eyes in the flesh. R is a voice that doesn't stop talking.

dream III:

i wake up to find myself sitting in the living room of the house that R grew up in as a child. his parents sit across from me, smiling. "we're getting married today," R tells me. i'm whisked off onto a plane headed towards our honeymoon destination. the plane crashes. moments before impact, my only thought: "i don't want R to be the one holding my hand when we all go down in flames."

dream IV:

R walks straight up to me in broad daylight, face to face, and sneers: "you've been a naughty little girl, haven't you?"

dream V:

i realize (nearly two years later) that R is me/my guilty conscience/my superego of sorts.

eve was framed:
(the virgin/whore dichotomy still exists after all)

post-women's liberation movement, and we have managed to de-construct
only to re-construct the same binaries in slightly less de-meaning
but still meaning-less narratives...

to be an independent woman in the 21st century you have one of two choices:

"i rise with my red hair / and i eat men like air"

fully embrace the independent whore in you. holding hands is for amateurs. you are all about sex and only about sex. oh, and please leave after you're done. none of this cuddling business. you take pride in your ability to FEEL NOTHING at all. shoulder pads may be out of fashion, but we know who's not wearing the pants in this relationship (oh, oops! the R word - so unacceptable).

"they thought death was worth it, but i / have a self to recover, a queen"

fully embrace the you-sans-boy(friend), 100% SINGLE, career-driven, a-sexual, girls'-night-out-going, wholesome lady who doesn't need that warm body next to her in bed because, hey she's too busy "growing" and "improving" and killing herself over the treadmill. wait, does using a vibrator count as submitting to the patriarchy? never mind, she's saving herself up for the real-deal, marriage-worthy man (not dude) who will let her have her independence and eat it too.

the girl.

at age sixteen, these two images of
"the girl" made a lasting impression on me:

[from "raise the red lantern" - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wihkr9yFXNs&feature=related]

[from "the lover" - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wYT0mQfHGD4]

young. clever. vaguely aware of her body,
of the male gaze. deliberately losing her innocence not because
she desires it, but because it is a simple fact
that has to be reconciled on her own terms.
when she falls [in love], it is as if
by accident. "the girl" comes before the artist.
sometimes, the artist is never born.
but the girl, the girl is always:
the fedora with the broad black ribbon.
the braids. the amateurly painted mouth.
the lone silhouette framed against
a house, a river, an entire nation.

(8:42 a.m.) on the L
"if you see something, SAY something."

[professor gibson would be so proud. i finally drew a picture
and didn't write anything on it. just about it.]

musings of my former drawing professor:

the LINE is just the result of your EXPERIENCE. this is so exciting, i can't even stand it! me: "my pencil sharpener keeps breaking my pencils." g: "now that is a tragedy." can a line express a force, an expansiveness instead of a name or limitation? can it do so and still remain specific? drawing is WAKING UP! awakening to the experience. if you don't like your graphite stick, just give it to a friend and tell them it's chewing gum.

"oh i'm sorry, did
you say
something?"


tomorrow, i'll go in hiding. settle inside a pack of marlboro reds with a matching little red sail. some kind stranger will set me gently on the east river. and then i'll be OFF! never to return...

you'll be lucky if you see me in your dreams.

les femmes américaines are less complicated:

sex is sex is sex is sex
until it rises to the status of
MET•A•PHOR

Pronunciation: \me-tə-fȯr also -fər\
Function: noun
Example 1: la petite mort
Example 2: body language

can be lost in translation
and is not universal:

french kissing requires the same
function of langue, but [dexterity aside]
meanings can vary depending on if
you stress your "r's"
or keep them silent.

[from france gall's "les sucettes" music video,
circa 1966]

unfortunately, ms. gall didn't know how to read
in between the lines.

[naughty boy, serge.]

just watch me:

[ah-ma = taiwanese for grandma]

ah-ma, it was you who beat your rough brothers at basketball, and quit when they said no one would marry a girl with calves as thick as tree trunks. you married the handsomest man in town. it was you, ah-ma, who smashed the pretty vase in the studio where your brother-in-law and his mistress slept, and the fox face turned as white as the shards of porcelain scattered across the floor. it was also you, ah-ma, who threatened to kill the same weasel when lil' sis died of a broken heart, and he was frightened he didn't show up at the funeral. you who swung a golf club aimed at your husband's soft ball of cartilage (ankle) because he broke his word to you. it is you, ah-ma, who i'm calling out to tonight. i need the strength of all the women in my family, and i need it now. ah-ma, do you remember when you told me, waiting at the crosswalk with my little hand in yours, that it was "dancing rain"— the kind that comes down so hard the raindrops seem to bounce right back up again, pining for the sky? well, the clouds are belly-full now, ah-ma, and the heat so oppressive you can feel thunder about to be unleashed in a quiver from the sky: this is an incantation born of wrath, listen ah-ma.

when you bought the dress, you

knew he'd never see you in it.

all lace. dark blue. second skin. va va voom.
the day i wear it is the day i know i'm free.
in the meantime,
i'll just stay exposed.