Not sure if I can remember all the details but the story was clear as water.

Last night, a group of people and I were boarding a train. Some CalArts people were among the group, such as Joy. We were excited to go to the beautiful place, which was a pretty picnic beach sight. The grass and water were wonderful.
Just as the train was beginning to stop, nearly all of the compartment trains broke off suddenly, and being in one of the ones that broke off, I made a dash to grab hold on one of the compartments still attached. Now, the beginning of the rails were like a line in an amusement park, so I had two chances for the train to come by and for me to grab on. I missed the first two times and finally, determined, I made a damn leap for it and managed to grab on the last second, and there I went on into the trip.

So this was when I arrived at the place. I enjoyed it and Joy enjoyed it and there was some other person or maybe two (if it was one, for some reason I imagine it was Katie Rose). There was a notable large woman with a pixie cut there. There were these walls where you could push out shapes, as if they were paper.
Now I can't remember how I caught wind of it but I noticed that there was something wrong with this world; I was experiencing deja vu, specifically, when I arrived at the place. I had arrived for a second time. The large woman noticed my awareness and began to act malicious. I tried to warn Joy, but she hadn't noticed at all, still caught in the loop. Every time I tried to do something the woman would restart the arrival, and it would reset most of my mentality to forget about it. There was always a small, weak part that always remembered.

I eventually found out that pushing the paper shapes on the wall was what restarted the world. It took some tries before I finally got Joy's attention again and I whispered into her ear, "This is a parallel world." although I'm p sure I meant to say a time loop. Maybe it was both, who knows. But right after that, the time loop reset, so Joy forgot.

Joy eventually remembered; I can't remember how, but there's a way to keep people from forgetting. So then every time the time loop reset, we remembered. Joy set out to find a way to break out of it while I kept the antagonistic woman distracted. While keeping this up, Joy alerted me that the way to get out (Idk how she found out) that pushing out the little star shapes would be the ticket out of the world.
So while trying to avoid the antagonist's attacks, I would try to find little stars on the wall to push out. Sometimes I accidentally reset the world, but it was no problem now that I knew how to get out. Joy mostly pushed them all out while the antagonist kept attacking me.

By the end of it all, I remember notably that I ended the woman by setting up a bomb that was in the form of a microwave(??) in one of the rooms in the picnic area. I saw the world beginning to go red before my eyes; it was a sign that it will explode--that the time loop will shatter, and I threw my arms in the air and screamed out,

"WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

And we returned.

-
There was also a separate part where I was with Wardell and Katie (girlfriend) and they were going to sleepover another person's place with their dolls. But I can't remember it enough.

But during the first part, I felt like a mixture of myself and Ruki, especially in the last part.

The dream was bigger, but this is what I mainly want to record. It was also part gamey.
Essentially, I was a girl who could see ghosts and for some reason I wanted to annihilate them--or perhaps it was setting them free? Or maybe the ghosts were not regular ghosts, but like a monster kind of ghosts. They had to be malicious because they were put in such a scary perspective.
At one point there were three choices I had to make, and I can only remember one of them was, "Become the next ____" it might've been Thing, but it sounds ridiculous. But the point was there was a rple to be /taken/, and I was already doing that role by bothering the ghosts.
While I was making my choice (like in an RPG horror game where they give you choices), I could see ghosts creeping up behind me. Scared, I tried to click all three choices but it wouldn't let me out of it until the very last second.
Before I know it, I am the next Thing. And in this new role I am warned that I must not let my presence be known to any of the ghosts--I can sneak and wipe them out very easily, however, when one learns of my presence I become trapped in the realm and I will be forever alone with the ghosts.
When I leave the room, there is a spirit at the end of the hallway. He is an old man cloaked in brown and he notices me; he gives me an intense stare that makes me super uncomfortable. The fear in my gut rising, I head over to the exit of the area. I even see some people along the way. I try to follow them out the exit only to learn I can't--it's like a glass wall. I learn that people can no longer touch or hear me, as I tried to reach out and call for them.
I am alone.

Two nights ago, early morning of the 30th, I dreamed of a waterscape. There were sunflowers growing out from the water, and when I dove, there were sunflowers there too, as if they've always belonged underwater. They were the prettiest, and something in the dream told me that they longed to get above the water for sunlight.

That's all the dream was. Just the ocean and sunflowers. No land. The sun. It was beautiful.

A kitchen. MAN and WOMAN stand centre stage, in front of a counter with drawers. They are arguing as lights fade on.

WOMAN. Look. It’s called a double suicide pact for a reason. I kill myself, and then you kill yourself.
MAN. Why are we doing this again? Do I have to kill myself?
WOMAN. Yes.
MAN. I don’t like the smell of blood.
WOMAN. So what?
MAN. I don’t like iron either. Probably because iron smells like blood.
WOMAN. Shut up.
MAN. Don’t tell me to shut up.
WOMAN. When you shut up, I’ll stop telling you to shut up.
MAN. You shut up.
WOMAN. You’re stalling.
MAN. Am not.
WOMAN. Are too.
MAN. Am not!
WOMAN. Then do it.
MAN. You were going first.
WOMAN. It doesn’t matter who goes first. We’ll both be dead.
MAN. I’m hungry.
WOMAN. We just ate.
MAN. I can smell them cooking next door. I’m making a sandwich.
WOMAN. Take the knife!
MAN. That’s my good knife.
WOMAN. So?
MAN. I don’t want to ruin my good knife.
WOMAN. What does it matter?
MAN. It’s a matter of principle. Use one of the cheaper ones.

( read more )

the thing is, i need
the deer to mean something.

-

i go to the soccer game and smile
and nod while something furious
inside of me is screaming.
a deer appears while the sun
is setting and it's like a scene
from a movie: green grass and gold rays
that spread out, tingeing our feet
with one last bit of wednesday.
everyone watches the deer and makes
noises of appreciation and i look
around and i think to myself
"okay, this is it, i am happy."

-

the deer is watching me and i try
to decide if it's a metaphor.
i want the deer to be death, see,
to represent fucking or blacking
out or apathy or loneliness.

someone does something heroic
with a soccer ball and i watch
my hands clap together over and over.
okay, or maybe the deer is supposed
to be happy. maybe the deer
represents attending social
events and sitting with people.
maybe the deer means that
i'm ready to let go.

the girl beside me looks over
and asks if i've written any poems
lately. (that's all she knows of me,
that i write poems and smile vapidly.)
i laugh and hold my wrists
and write silent excuses on
my throat with my tongue.

no, sorry, too busy wondering
if the absence of tragedy
is the equivalent of happiness.

-

the deer is just a fucking deer,
it goes as quickly as it comes
and no one notices enough to care.

the sun sets and it isn't beautiful
or mystical or meaningful. it just is.

it's so cold for june and only growing
colder. darker. i still my shaking hands
and try to write a poem while people
on either side of me whisper and giggle
and touch. someone tells a joke and i
can't remember if i already laughed.

if this is happiness, i'd rather be sad.

Brod's 613 Sadnesses

The following encyclopedia of sadness was found on the body of Brod D. The original 613 sadnesses, written in her diary corresponded to the 613 commandments of our (not their) Torah. Shown below is what was salvageable after Brod was recovered. (Her diary's wet pages printed the sadnesses onto her body. Only a small fraction [55] were legible. The other 558 sadnesses are lost forever, and it is hoped that, without knowing what they are, no one will have to experience them.) The diary from which they came was never found.

SADNESSES OF THE BODY: Mirror sadness; Sadness of [looking] like or unlike one's parent; Sadness of not knowing if your body is normal; Sadness of knowing your [body is] not normal; Sadness of knowing your body is normal; Beauty sadness; Sadness of m[ak]eup; Sadness of physical pain; Pins-and-[needles sadness]; Sadness of clothes [sic]; Sadness of the quavering eyelid; Sadness of a missing rib; Noticeable sad[ness]; Sadness of going unnoticed; The sadness of having genitals that are not like those of your lover; The sadness of having genitals that are like those of your lover; Sadness of hands...

SADNESSES OF THE COVENANT: Sadness of God's love; Sadness of God's back [sic]; Favorite-child sadness; Sadness of b[ein]g sad in front of one's God; Sadness of the opposite of belief [sic]; What if? sadness; Sadness of God alone in heaven; Sadness of a God who would need people to pray to Him...

SADNESSES OF THE INTELLECT: Sadness of being misunderstood [sic]; Humor sadness; Sadness of love wit[hou]t release; Sadne[ss of be]ing smart; Sadness of not knowing enough words to [express what you mean]; Sadness of having options; Sadness of wanting sadness; Sadness of confusion; Sadness of domes[tic[ated birds; Sadness of fini[shi]ing a book; Sadness of remembering; Sadness of forgetting; Anxiety sadness...

INTERPERSONAL SADNESSES: Sadness of being sad in front of one's parent; Sa[dn]ess of false love; Sadness of love [sic]; Friendship sadness; Sadness of a bad convers[at]ion; Sadness of the could-have-been; Secret sadness...

SADNESSES OF SEX AND ART: Sadness of arousal being an unordinary physical state; Sadness of feeling the need to create beautiful things; Sadness of the anus; Sadness of eye contact during fellatio and cunnilingness; Kissing sadness; Sadness of moving to quickly; Sadness of not mo[vi]ng; Nude model sadness; Sadness of portraiture; Sadness of Pinchas T's only notable paper, "To the Dust: From Man You Came and to Man You Shall Return," in which he argued it would be possible, in theory, for life and art to be reversed...

4:512 -- The dream of sex without pain. I
dreamt four nights ago of clock hands de-
scending from the universe like rain, of
the moon as a green eye, of mirrors and
insects, of a love that never withdrew. It
was not the feeling of completeness that I
so needed, but the feeling of not being
empty. This dream ended when I felt
my husband enter me. 4:513 -- The dream of
angels dreaming of men. It was during an
afternoon nap that I dreamt of a ladder.
Angels were sleepwalking up and down
the runs their eyes closed, their breath
heavy and dull, their wings hanging limp
at the sides. I bumped into an old angel as
I passed him, waking and startling him.
He looked like my grandfather did before
he passed away last year, when he would
pray each night to die in his sleep. Oh,
the angel said to me, I was just dreaming
of you. 4:514 -- The dream of, as silly as it
sounds, flight. 4:515 -- The dream of the
waltz of feast, famine and feast. 4:516 -- The
dream of disembodied birds (46). I'm not
sure if you would consider this a dream or
a memory, because it actually happened,
but when I fall asleep I see the room
in which I mounred the death of my son.
For those of you who were there, you will
remember how we sat without speaking,
eating only as much as we had to. you will
remember when a bird crashed through
the window and fell to the floor. You will
remember, those of you who were there,
how it jerked its wings before dying, and
left a spot of blood on the floor after it
was removed. But who among you was
first to notice the negative bird it left in
the window? Who first saw the shadow
that the bird left behind, the shadow that
drew blood from any finger that dared to
trace it, the shadow that was better proof
of the bird's existence than the bird ever
was? Who was with me when I mourned
the death of my son, when I excused my-
self to bury that bird with my own hands?
4:517 -- The dream of falling in love, mar-
riage, death, love. This dream seems as if it
lasts for hours, although it always takes
place in the five minutes between my re-
turning from the field and being woken
for dinner. I dream of when I met my
wife, fifty years ago, and it's exactly as it
happened. I dream of our marriage, and I
can even see my father's tears of pride. It's
all there just as it was. But then I dream
of my own death, which I have heard is
impossible to do, but you must believe
me. I dream of my wife telling me on my
deathbed that she loves me, and even
though she thinks I can't hear her, I can,
and she says she wouldn't have changed
anything. It feels like a moment I've
lived a thousand times before, as if everything
is familiar, right up to the moment of my
death, that it will happen again an infinite
number of times, that we will meet,
marry, have our children, succeed in the
ways we have, fail in the ways we have, all
exactly the same, always unable to change
a thing. I am again at the bottom of an
unstoppable wheel, and when I feel my
eyes close for death, as they have and will
a thousand times, I awake. 4:518 -- The
dream of perpetual motion. 4:519 -- The
dream of low windows. 4:520 -- The dream of
safety and peace. I dreamt that I was born
from a stranger's body. She gave birth to
me in a secret dwelling, far away from ev-
erything that I would grow to know. Im-
mediately after I was born, she handed
me to my mother, for the sake of appear-
ances, and my mother said, Thank you.
You have given me a son, the gift of life.
And for this reason, because I was of a
stranger's body, I did not fear the body of
my mother, and I could embrace it with-
out shame, with only love. Because I was
not from my mother's body, my desire to
go home never led back to her, and I was
free to say Mother, and mean only
Mother. 4:521 -- The dream of disembodied
birds (47). It's dusk in this dream that I
have every night, and I'm making love to
my wife, my real wife, I mean, to whom
I've been married for thirty years, and
you all know how I love her, I love her so
much. I massage her thighs in my hands,
and I move my hands up her waist and
belly, and touch her breasts. My wife is
such a beautiful woman, you all know
that, and in the dream she's the same, just
as beautiful. I look down at my hands on
her breasts--callused, worn things, a
man's hands, veiny, shaky, fluttering--
and I remember, I don't know why, but
it's this way every night, I remember two
white birds that my mother brought back
for me from Warsaw when I was only a
child. We let them fly around the house
and perch wherever they wanted to. I re-
member seeing my mother's back as she
cooked eggs for me, and I remember the
birds perching on her shoulders, with
their beaks up next to her ears, as if they
were about to tell her a secret. She
reached her right hand up into the cup-
board, searching without looking for
some spice on a high shelf, grasping at
something elusive, fluttering, not letting
my food burn. 4:522 -- The dream of meet-
ing your younger self. 4:523 -- The dream of
animals, two by two. 4:524 -- The dream of I
won't be ashamed. 4:525 -- The dream that
we are our fathers. I walked to the Brod,
without knowing why, and looked into
my reflection in the water. I couldn't look
away. What was the image that pulled me
in after it? What was it that I loved? And
then I recognized it. so simple. In the
water I saw my father's face, and that face
saw the face of its father, and so on, and so
on, reflecting backward to the beginning
of time, to the face of God, in whose
image we were created. We burned with
love for ourselves, all of us, starters of
the fire we suffered--our love was the af-
fliction for which only our love was the cure...