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Another haunting dream but I avoided the sleepmare by turning around the corner. . .Well, I went to Library West to do social research for my proposal's topic statement due this Tuesday. My social research I plan to do is on the Chinese American race relations problems in living in the United States, and the conflicts that today's Chinese American students face. I was in aisles looking for my books. . . Congress Library Call Number: E184.C05. . . but knowing my erratic sleeping patterns, I began feeling sleepy and unfocused. I decided to take a brief nap before my studies began.
I chose the desk for my slumber--the same desk that I sat in a year ago to do my French grammar homework. . . and still there in my crooked handwriting in blue ink was my contribution to the dirtied-yellow beige desk's front wall:
I am fortune's fool!
--Romeo
9:46PM.10:46PM: I wake up, no dreams, no nothing. I walk back to the same aisles to attempt my social research. I am in the aisles trying to shake off my drowsiness. Attempt fails, I walk back with my backpack lousily to the same desk. The desk is still warm from my body slumbering there just two minutes earlier. The window outside looks out to Anderson Hall--still being renovated before I even came to the University of Florida. The window shows nothing but a parked, University-owned, white truck with an empty mini-courtyard and lights shining brightly despite the heavy, lingering darkness. I go back to my slumber, backpack to my right, the desk lamp once again unlit, my green bracelet tapping against the desk as I rest my head on my folded-up, pillow arms.
10:50PM or so.12:03AM: I wake up once again, but haunted. . . .
The setting was my favorite high school hang-out: Largo Public Library. But more specific--in the depths of the library past the reference desk and to the left inside the aisles where there are white, spacious, walled desks. For some reason beyond my reasoning, I am holding a black, hard-plastic tray of food going back to the desk where I am sitting. I place my food on the desk and return to the line for more. I go back in line, but waiting for someone this time: my father. I tell him, 'hurry the food is almost gone. . . they are closing soon.' Then his character fades, he is not part of the dream anymore. He has his own autonomous being in my dream like each character unless they are fated by my dream, or should I say by my dream's destiny.
This time as I walk back to my desk from the front desk of the library, lights are slowly being closed in the back of the library, flickering off, heading towards the library like some tsunami wave going frame by frame. I sense something wrong, as if from the air in the library--that is sort of unrealistic to say, but not to imagine.
My pace is hurried--the lights have gone out where my desk is, my path is still lit by the lights not shut off yet, I reach my desk, my food is there--I am there.I wake up. Erratic breathing, haunted. I do not dare to plunge back into my dream. I am afraid about my setting for several seconds but then I gain sense of where I am. The window to my left--same dreary scenery. Sigh of relief? of expaseration?
12:03AM.While I was hurrily walking towards my desk, the air that I sensed was an air of death, of murders. . . I don't know why though not until I reach my desk in the back. Apparently, as I walk back, a sense of chaos is residual as the few remaining patrons and workers in the library are in a frantic sense of commotion. When I reach my desk, I learn the reason of the semi-chaos: two, little Korean girls are missing. They were under supervision or being taken care by an unnamed friend's sister--who had taken a (or at least one) picture of them.
I do not wait to find out what they look like. I am awake--shaken abit. Another missing children dream, this freaks me out because two weeks earlier I had a dream about the murder of a young girl. I am still shaken up by that dream because this time my dream was about two children missing and not one. I suppose when I woke up shaken up, I glanced at my watch and also considered the time (12:03AM) I had left to do my research in conjunction to whether or not to dive back into my dream. The library would be closing at 1:00AM.
I suppose that I do have control in my dreams too. . . and that I am not just 'fated', but the characters are though. I mean I could have gone back into the dream to find what happened, but I do not believe I was ready to learn what possible deaths or reasons for the girls' abduction or absence. I still can picture my last dream about the young girl's murder and how she died with her head pushed into water, her face literally facing my dream's point of view camera. . . the fear in her eyes and upon her face and the air bubbles surfacing.
I do not think I was ready or in the best of places and state of mind to continue the dream.
What could this mean? These two dreams? I am not a murderer--at least consciously I can say that. I know I should not connect these two dreams to movies, but I am going to anyway.
I am sure if most people are familiar with and have seen these films: Sixth Sense, Stir Of Echoes, and Unbreakable.
Okay, okay--perhaps they are way off, but maybe not Stir Of Echoes. *Shudddders* I am not comfortable about thinking about that movie.I know "the food" part in my dream was probably in regards to me going to dinner at 7:20PM tonight when I was planning to go about an hour earlier, and how I was worried about not getting any food. Maybe the children this time were Korean because of my social research--but how my friend's sister's cameo appearance in my dream is beyond my reasoning currently.
I am currently hungry though despite being offered and accepting two slices of Dominoes pizza about an hour ago. I was hungry before I ate the pizza too.
If you think of anything that may help me out in regards to my dream, do not hesitate to e-mail me at unpoete@yahoo.com. Thank you.
And now off to do my social research topic statment paper. Whewwwwww. . . and *sigh*
3:20AM: Murphree Dorm Desk
posted by John Khuu 1:46:54 AM
"Somebody killed little Susie. . . . The girl that now is dead".
So begins the song, "Little Susie" by Michael Jackson--on his HIStory double-CD album. The song very much describes just abit about my dream. . . I will include only snipbits of the relating parts otherwise one would assume more than there is about the young girl."Somebody killed little Susie
The girl with the tune
Who sings in the daytime at noon
She was there screaming
Beating her voice in her doom
But nobody came to her soon. . .
. . .
. . .
Everyone came to see
The girl that now is dead
So blind stare the eyes in her head...
And suddenly a voice from the crowd said
This girl lived in vain
Her face bear such agony, such strain. . .
. . .
. . .
Neglection can kill
Like a knife in your soul
Oh it will
Little Susie fought so hard to live...
She lie there so tenderly
Fashioned so slenderly
Lift her with care
So young and so fair"So there you have the quotes describing the death of a young girl from Michael Jackson's touching song, "Little Susie"--which goes along with my dream.
I dreamt the murder of a young girl at night. . . then I woke up.
(Eleven hours of sleep to make up for four all-nighters this week. . . a bad week of academia, a horrendous ride on the relationship rollercoaster, and just plain messes (figuratively and literally intended)).The girl was a young, five year-old, Caucasian brunette with light waves in her hair.
Her smile radiated the room, and her presence decorated the air.
And so began my dream. . . .I put myself in a car zooming down the highway; sometimes I saw myself from inside the car and sometimes I saw the car weaving through the traffic trying to catch up with a champagne-colored mini-van weaving similarly too.
Finally our destination is reached on the left side of the road. (Keep in mind this 'dream world' has no true parallels with our 'real world'). To left of the road though--stretched and deepened by years of running water--a ditch ran and bled underneath this dusky sky.
Suddenly, I'm trying to convince my parents (particularly my father)--yelling, panicking, fumbling on words and ideas to convey that a particular guy (to be kept anonymous) is evil and should not be listened to. Yet to no avail, no one listens and continues on about the dream, about the life. . . which I will reflect abit:
Just like our real lives, it is a wonder to realize that in our dreams,
We wonder about in search of something or so it seems,
Or at least moving towards a certain goal to be attained.
But whatever the case, I feel lost and disarrayed. . .
Travelling and wondering about this world contained by my eyes,
And seeking the perpetrator to my questions of "why?".
And soon after, there is a line-up of about 12 or so "disciples" (as I saw them as in the dream). Their faces are not distinguishable, but their silhouette presence is outlined by their figures standing on a wavy hill--with each trough and crest one of these disciples stand.
(I know I dreamt this "hill" scenery because of a Counting Crows song, "I dreamt I saw you walking up a hillside in the snow / Casting shadows on the winter sky as you stood there counting crows".)
Then I am too a part of the ceremony taking place--the sacrifice of sheep--that had abit of cartoony appearance yet dirtied-white, wooly, fleece covered bodies between the arms of disciples. . .So my travels to this place is suddenly warped into a different environment where night has settled. This young, brunette girl is by my side--but suddenly she's not there as if she was chased or ran away from the crowd of which I may have been near. All that is left is the idea and direction of her whereabouts. We all scramble to look for her. This leads to the park decorated with shadows and one merry-go-round.
We find her eventually. . . at least we discover the presence of her death through her missing appearance at the playground.
3:00PM: I wake up, but shaken that I could just wake up without resolving and laying to rest the death of young child. And so I dive back into the dream for a brief moment of 20 minutes that passed so quickly. . .
He's tall, sleek, and thin--with dark or black straight hair. His appearance reminds me of "The Thin Man" (Crispin Glover--"the nerdy George McFly from Back To The Future") from the recent movie, Charlie's Angels. He's dressed in black formal wear. Anyway, he is the murderer of the young girl.
His tactic of murdering this child was taking her to a nearby pool of water (blue water), and there he strangled her under the water--I could see from a camera point of view all that happened. . . the frightened face struggling to breathe under water as hands strangle, as air bubbles surface, the light blue tint of pool water against the black evening or early dawn sky.
And on the merry-go-round, as it spins slowly--as if unwinding, there are a pair of white socks (with gray padding) in the middle. (Those socks were in my dreams perhaps because I was thinking about my socks and the holes in the them before I went to sleep).
3:20PM: I wake up content that a young girl's murder is resolved to a certain extent.5:11PM: I'm exhausted from this recollection of my dream. I am dazed at my Murphree Dorm desk. After all that has been spilled, I do not feel moved by the murder. Rather the only reason I went back to dream was to resolve the murder--not because a young, innocent (?) child was murdered. What do you think? Write to me your thoughts and send them to unpoete@yahoo.com.
posted by John Khuu 3:08:07 PM
Last night was another rehearsal of us living together, but like a photograph we were torn in half down the middle.Did you sleep with your eyes wide open?
Did you hide in the blanket again?
I fell asleep at the desk at dusk,
Trying to avoid seeing us. . .
But I have a half-torn photo reminding me
And you have a half photo of me smiling. . .My body aches for comfort and rest,
My heart hardly beats through my chest;
This time we meant "forever"
But not with each other.
How do you feel?
How do I deal?Shhhhhh. . .
Just sleep the night away
And I'll wake up at midday. . .
Put away the photo of me,
Lock me away in your memory,
Lock me up,
I'll stay up,
Lay me down,
Smile like a clown. . .Wake me up from this daymare--sleep away the nightmare. . . .
11:13am / Murphree Dorm (Desk)
posted by John Khuu 10:31:35 AM
My insanity thickened by my insomniac hours of prowling in the night. . . while muddy waters turn into a cast of hardened mud.I'm sitting here as the hours tick-tock,
My thoughts colliding like sea water on rocks;
I'm sitting here alone in the night
And you lay there awake with the night.These past nights of insomniac prowling into the nightly abyss of emptiness leave me yearning for rocky nights we had. But like the snail in the early morning garden, we must move on before we become destiny's pecked meal.
These rumblings are just mere reflections of my fragmented mind--they escape without a prison to hold them. Their penetration into the heart goes undefended. So who am I to defend what isn't there inside of me?
Am I cold enough like morning dew on the snail's shell?
Am I cold enough shivering in the early morning's gail?
Am I cold enough to move on for you to survive?
But you don't want to live or even try.What do I do with you?
What do I do without you?::kiss::
~:sigh:~
6:50am / Architecture Computer Lab (E14)
posted by John Khuu 6:30:17 AM
Friendships are one of the most essential tools for sanity. Perhaps friendships are not "essential" for the existence of a being, but its offers of support, comfort, and love are soothing to the soul. . . .
My sanity and stability are often lost in the turbulences and discomforts that I surround and immerse myself in (unintentionally yet expectedly). This weekend has been a big mess and emotional downpour on me. After this weekend, I feel vulnerable and stripped of my humility and dignity. Of course, to look on a grander scale of life, I am perhaps over-dramatizing my "sufferings". However, to each person, pain and suffering are real to them; and their impacts are not to be ignored.
I shall not go into details of my weekend--those close to me know and keep to them the details. My sanity would be lost without the friends whom I have in my life--from California, Maryland, and to my 'Floridian' friends. I send my appreciation and sincerity to all my friends in my life. I love you all.
On another note, this is my first Blogger entry, so please pardon my brevity and my amateur familiarization with this semi-personal, reflective Web-journal of my life and life's offerings.
For now, I bid you peace and contentment--as I offer you this quote from Albert Schweitzer. . . "Sometimes our light goes out but is blown into flame by another human being. Each of us owes deepest thanks to those who have rekindled this light."
posted by John Khuu 5:38:25 AM
"Things are changing
But nothing changes
And still there are changes
Le roi est mort, vive le roi! [The king is dead, long live the king!]
There is no teacher
Who can teach anything new
He can just help us to remember
The things we always knew"
--Enigma (Odyessy Of The Mind)
Here on this page, I will lay upon to you, the reader, my thoughts that are not intended to teach but to remind us all of our past, mistakes, lessons, and all things that shape our lives.
posted by John Khuu 10:30PM
Woohoo, you are the 
th person to visit this page. I appreciate your visit to my poetry caf?
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