dreams of

dreams can be so physical, in the way of slapstick, wet with embarrassment and always falling over and then in the same breath starkly beautiful. what i like about dreams is that both do and don't belong to me, they belong to the realm of dreams, where the heights of anxieties and the mystique of power battle it out. Perhaps the parts I want to share the most is the moments where the conspiracy of friends wins out over both. — Oki Sogumi

November 2012

i woke up from a hilarious dream about going to an “American” grocery store in Korea and flipping out over kale. funny on several levels. i woke with a giant cockroach dying about a meter from my head, one of its legs was detached from its body. i woke up with a weird feeling and i think it is the poems i read last night that upset me. written by white people in korea teaching ESL

December 2012

last night i had a dream i was moving into a huge room in san francisco for 200 dollars, which is why even while dreaming i knew i was dreaming. i was planning to build giant bookcases and the previous tenant left because of loud gay sex in the parking lot below. one side of the room had a long narrow closet which i thought i should line with rhinestones and sleep in sometimes when i was sad and wanted to be inside a glittering cave.

• • •


most of my dream last night took place in this really tacky church of a unitarian universalist strain, and when i woke up i was convinced these churches existed (everything covered in carpet, vases of reeds turning into arches, gilt louis XIV chairs, decoupaged tables) it took me a good twenty minutes to realize that they’re just a reoccurring motif in my dreams, not IRL.


• • •

in my dream i was a poet and an amateur fortune teller

who drove a black racecar in a jacket studded

with the pins of failed states and the badges of dead cops

you were an experimental reality tv director

currently filming wild horses in their off time

edited to make them look drunk and anti social

dreamy 8mm footage of a pony sitting down

in a deep stream and pissing

we were falling in love by which i mean we were bitter

rivals, promiscuous, and writing anonymous bad reviews

of each other’s work on the internet


• • •


on trial as a member of Pussy Riot,

but it was a different band / US version

one of us was already in jail

i was being accused

of beating up this punk dude

(it was true, it was for revenge)

of having a history of extreme violence

footage of me breaking things

but i won; the judge was a poet / painter

who i developed a crush on

he gave a lecture afterwards

by making these incredible drawings on a

chalkboard, asked to borrow my pencil

but was disappointed it wasn’t a fancier one

pussy riot and friends snuck into a

buffet for library patrons to celebrate

and ate all this fairy food

paper thin star cookies

honey comb burritos

piled into a car with the band,

family, and poet crush

and my dad was driving and

tried to make a joke about Proust


• • •


breakup w/ a dream boyfriend who

is a total prick and real dumb

and happily console myself

by hooking up with a

series of beautiful and really cool women

in a castle where some kind of

art biennale is going on

i talk shit on some of the art

in a private rant to a lover, but someone

films it and the biennale ppl

decide i am an important art critic

but i roll with it because these

art ppl were a bunch of fascists

who were about to destroy

several of my friends’ works

so i convince them not to

and we scam them out of

a shitload of money instead

 

July 2014

had a dream we lived under a new feudalism, and i was coming out to my dad about having “NO MORALITY” except i was writing “just the love for comrades” over and over in my notebook and he was so disappointed because he worked for the Prince and he was telling my brother those with no morals abandoned their loved ones in the field, and i kept writing in the notebook, i worked in the kitchen of the castle, baking sweet potatoes, always trying to come up with new sweet potato recipes, supposed to be thankful for not being the scullery maid, being near a fire all day i dreamed of fire, in my spare time i tried not to sleep, do drugs to not sleep, and kept trying to go to this techno club, rather like Berghain, which was a castle and hard to get into, weird unknown hours, i had visions of comrades falling off one of the castles engulfed in flames, unsure if i was supposed to save them, if it was a drugged delusion, or if they were immolating themselves as a statement

 

December 2014

Dream where I call someone a diva, she overheard and agrees and starts crying, I comfort her and she buys me an overpriced sandwich that is just a piece of bread. (At a hip bakery that also sold pink cheese and gold leaf pepperoni pizza— her whole performance of tears and agony had something to do with white guilt and she kept clenching and distorting her body like it hurt her to be in that bakery)


I go to the library where I have brought special rice that is somehow an archival text. I am washing the rice on the library floor, it is a lot and the archivists are concerned. I reassure them that this is all there is of this particular text, though I have smaller caches of rice, like broadsides and pamphlets. As I am washing, different plums and stonefruit fall off a book cart. I eat some. I realize that the fruit is there for ESL students to do their research, in case they’ve never felt the heft of a plum in the hand, or known how it smells, how it feels against the teeth.

 

February 2017

Lol i had such a stressful dream about boundary setting with a person i dont talk to now. And it happened in a car to and at an anarchist space which itself was super stressful. At some point i was so frustrated at the person’s behavior of dramatically weeping on my best friend that i started yelling “i behave normally! I dont do this to your friends!”


Then i witnessed this bullshit in the anarchist space where this dude who looked like an alt right nerd came in and “explained” his freakout the day before when he smashed a bunch of glass vases onto the floor in a rage and was writhing in the glass and threatening people while yelling all kinds of slurs. He was taking some kind of “experimental antidepressant” and had taken too much or too little and then he demonstrated the swerve of chemicals in his brain that weren’t quite reaching the place that would make him act like a decent person. Incredulous, i watched all these ppl in the space believe this and agree he was still allowed in the space even though they looked scared. 


I turned to the person who had cried on my friend and said fuck you, you are like this person, always given permission to hurt other people but still feel victim to some group conspiracy drawn out of thin air.


I laid out my boundaries of how i did not want to process or talk or continue to be approached. I felt guilty as hell because it felt “mean” even though i knew i needed this. I also felt disgust but tried to not let that enter my voice too much. I didnt want to be poisoned by this.


On my way out i stared at the grotesque ceramics on display in the strangely fancy first floor lobby. The queer anarchist femmes tumbled out the elevator looking beautiful and laughing and we stole some bougie lady’s shoes and left some shoe donations in their place.


I was still prickling with doubts but the sky was lovely and huge and that saved me. We all piled back into the car to go on with our day.


Then i woke up very frustrated i had done all this work but only in a dream!

 

October 2017

The mind meld of the couple is gross and I love grossness, squishing. This thing happened to me last time I was on shrooms where I was seeing things from my partners pov and then would suddenly return to my abandoned body which, feeling safe I had left behind rolling in pleasure, & the return to the body, to myself, was hilarious. And now I’m stuck with this feeling that it is very hilarious. And love is a delight.


Then there’s the fear that someone who can make you happy is 1) powerful 2) partially you via projection. That in either case the lonely way of returning to the abandoned body rather than the hilarious way will be your way again.

 

November 2017

I watched a film about loss. I watched pine pollen, thick and yellow, drift and be carried by wind. When I woke up I thought “I made that film” & that pollen and all its gold is with me.