commonpeople1: (Avatar)
powerplant-night by wizmo
powerplant-night, a photo by wizmo on Flickr.
There was one section inside the house where a river flowed. A man with long black hair had been caught in this river trying to jump one of the many logs that crossed it. When I followed this river I reached a balcony in the house that overlooked a canal in Israel.

It was nighttime and I could hear singing on the canal and see, further away, the lights of Israeli homes and offices. The singing grew closer and I knew I'd been to this place before. The singing came from an ancient young people who lived in these rivers - had done so for many thousands of years, even before the arrival of human civilization.

They noticed me on the balcony. One of them jumped over the house's fences and easily climbed the walls until he joined me. I was afraid but he didn't do anything except continue to sing.

Something fell from the sky - the piece of an airplane - and one of the buildings across the canal exploded. More pieces landed near us - one of them hitting the house I was in. The singing had stopped and now we ran through the house, trying to escape the fire and the cries for help. Someone lamented they had seen a father and his child fall into the canal.

I was barefoot. I ran back to the balcony to collect my boots, ignoring calls for me to save my life.
commonpeople1: (Default)
The Mythological UnconsciousThe Mythological Unconscious by Michael Vannoy Adams

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

A collection of essays by a Freudian therapist who converted to Jungianism, exploring the use of mythology (mostly Greco-Roman) in therapy. I found these essays easy to read, despite their academic provenance, and synchronicitous with our current pop culture.

I know Jung gets a lot of flack - especially because of his interest in the esoteric - but Adams' essays made me rethink my views on him and of how there is a lot to be taken from his theories on the collective unconscious. The one thing that strikes me about Jung is how good he can be to artists - giving tools and ideas that lead into unique imagery and creative explorations. Also, Adams highlights over and over again how Jung found all cultures to be of equal value, and always pressed the importance of a therapist learning as much as possible about language, history and art.

Another interesting aspect of these essays are their explanation on how Jung's dream interpretations differ from Freud and Lacan. While Freud and Lacan see in dreams the meanings for "something else" (i.e. an umbrella is phallic, etc) Jung expands on dreams themes, finding in the general culture myths that fit the narrative and can be used to explain it. For Jung, a unicorn is a unicorn, and not a phallic symbol. The key is to discover what the unicorn meant in folklore and from there seek its interpretation. I like that.

View all my reviews
commonpeople1: (Default)
houseofglass by yyellowbird
houseofglass, a photo by yyellowbird on Flickr.
She was one of the carnies, a young woman with long black hair that worked in one of the amusement park's booths. When the fireworks accidentally exploded inside the booth, she had been wearing a white dress. But it was somebody else who stepped outside of the booth that night, took her boyfriend's hand and walked towards the other rides. Nobody could tell the difference but me. I looked at her and knew it wasn't the same person.

Her booth stood abandoned, empty after the fireworks accident. When I went to investigate it I heard a soft whisper: "I'm here... I'm here." Invisible, trapped - she couldn't be seen by human eyes or leave the booth until the body snatcher returned.

I threw a blanket in the booth and it covered her form. She was crouching on the earth. But the only way to get her back inside her body was to recreate the fireworks accident with the body thief present.

My Bubus

Nov. 22nd, 2011 08:40 pm
commonpeople1: (Default)
beauty after rembrant by Aquini
beauty after rembrant, a photo by Aquini on Flickr.
A few days ago Kelly Rowland told me she'd like to visit my mom's guesthouse in Brasil with her boyfriend.

'Are you sure Kelly?' I asked.

'I'm sure bubu,' she said with a slight smile. I explained to her how my mom would arrange for a driver to pick her up at her hotel in São Paulo then drive them for two hours until they reached the guesthouse. The room at the guesthouse would be smaller to what she was used to, but the views were fantastic.

When I told my mom Kelly Rowland was flying down, she asked 'Who?' 'Kelly Rowland!' I said. 'And get the camera ready to take loads of photos so we can then promote her visit afterwards and get more guests.'

Later, I was hanging out with Madonna and two friends of mine when the subject of music reared its head. 'What's your favourite music at the moment?' I asked Madonna, who kept flitting back and forth in the TV room, unable to sit still. 'Treme,' she replied.

'Treme? That's Sinead O'Connor's favourite too!' I said but Madonna was not impressed. She'd heard some negative things about Sinead.

'Sinead is lovely,' I promised to Madonna, and my friends agreed. 'Honestly, you should get to know her a little better.'

When Madonna turned her back, I asked my friends if I should log onto Facebook and check in "with" Madonna. They laughed and I realised I didn't know their names.

Just Dance

Feb. 10th, 2011 08:07 am
commonpeople1: (Log Lady)

cheryl-cole-bw1
Originally uploaded by sir_joeking
They came to the classroom and told us we'd have to put on a dance show. I turned to Cheryl and said that I'd be anything - the manager, the marketing officer, the PR, the runner, the designer, the photographer - anything but a dancer. She laughed and pointed out that we all had to take part in the choreography.

We could all dance, and we did with Michael Jackson hats and large steps across the stage in our white tank tops.

Later, I washed my hair kneeled by a bus stop with the water from a tap. Took us a while to figure out it was the wrong stop and we needed to walk back a few blocks in the dark until the right bus came along. In the rush to leave, I had no time to wash off all the conditioner.
commonpeople1: (Morrissey)

narcissus 2
Originally uploaded by dicartwright2
[livejournal.com profile] verybadhorse and three other girls recently visited and did some work in the cafe. They always seemed to be laughing together and helping the hours of work go by easy. It was then with surprise that I saw a black & white photo of them on Pavement's new CD cover: their heads side by side, some smiling, some looking away, one of their cheekbones angular like a Cubist painting. I asked them about it and they had no idea the photo had been taken. Pavement had not asked their permission to use it.

Morrissey's most recent gig was at a small nearby venue. Hardly any lighting, hardly any punters. We stood at the back feeling sorry for him that nobody had shown up. Suddenly he disappeared from the stage and next thing I knew he was standing by my side, whispering a question: which song would I like him to sing next? He was so close I could smell his cologne.

I was lost for words. I needed to choose quick, the few people standing about were getting annoyed with his disappearance. Soon he'd have nobody to sing to. 'Choose the song that means the most to you,' I finally said.

Next day, all the newspapers carried on their front pages a photo of our kiss.
commonpeople1: (14 yrs old)

Michael Jackson
Originally uploaded by justjnia
I lived with all my brothers and sisters in our father's mansion. We had any room we could choose, but somehow we chose to sleep together in the same bedroom - a row of bunkbeds for children of all ages. Our mansion was on a hill, part of a grand estate that was used by local walkers and visited by international tourists.

Some of us had been in the car accident that killed our father. I asked my brothers how old I was then. None knew too well but they thought I'd been three years old. I was one of the children in the car when the collision happened. I couldn't remember how he died. It was a national tragedy that people still spoke of years later.
commonpeople1: (Cabbie)
Inception Review [TRS - Ep. 174]

The showing of Inception yesterday was packed, as I'd been warned beforehand by co-workers. Luckily, I'd bought tickets hours before so [livejournal.com profile] wink_martindale and I could enjoy our Sichuan meal nearby without rushing. There was a comedy show going on at the Rich Mix; all cinema goers had to take an elevator to the first floor and cut across a photography gallery while overlooking the show's stage.

After the film, the crowd was slow in leaving the cinema. Three people pushed the fire exit open and I followed them onto a deserted parking lot. A quick scan around made me realise it was completely locked up; I stepped back inside and the door slammed shut, locking those people outside.

Then I noticed my friend Natasha at the back of the crowd, praising the film to her boyfriend. "Ollie, what are you doing here?"

"You are dreaming about the film Natasha, and I'm visiting you in your dream."

She laughed. "What did you think of it?"

"I kept thinking about Slavoj Žižek and what he'd make of it,' I said before remembering that Natasha is slovenian.

Wink and I walked home, down Bethnal Green road. All the pubs were still open at midnight and quite a few people were engaged in arguments and fights on the street. I didn't have any dreams with Leonardo DiCaprio. But I have been dreaming lately of vampires.

Is this Tom Hardy? )
commonpeople1: (Cormac)
I was standing outside the cinema's ticket booth when Melanie Griffith approached. She wore large sunglasses. I came over to say hello and she said:

'You know what that columnist from The Sun said about me being a fan of [livejournal.com profile] neenaw?'

'Yeah. Is it true?' I asked.

'Yes.'

I was meeting Neenaw anyway so when she showed up, I gently stirred her towards Melanie and introduced them. There was a bit of awkwardness at first, followed by a quick kiss to the lips. When Melanie left I said to Neenaw:

'I can't believe you just snogged Melanie Griffith!' There I was again, exaggerating a little kiss. Neenaw had her rollerblades on; she skated down the road and disappeared into the horizon.

I was sharing a flat at the time with three other people: a young guy bound to a wheelchair and two girls (one of which looked like Beyonce.) It was a brand new flat with large rooms and wooden floors. During one of our trips out of the flat, we left our wheel-chair bound friend alone and he got murdered by a psycho with a drill who was hiding underneath our floorboards. The builder in charge of fixing the kitchen found some of his blood on the chopping counter, but the body was never retrieved.

I always wondered about the floorboards in that particular part of the flat. I could hear someone underneath it unscrew them and slide out when nobody was around - a large, hairy man in jeans overalls who claimed that we had stolen real estate from him. He came for the girls afterwards with his killer drill. When he murdered the blond one in our garden while disinterested joggers went by, Beyonce lookalike had already moved out.
commonpeople1: (Beth)
I can dream about you
I'm gonna press my lips against you and hold you tight to me
I can dream about you
You know you got me spellbound, what else can it be...



Wishing you a happy Friday and weekend.
commonpeople1: (Ricky)

Completely Natural
Originally uploaded by Spencer Finnley
Comets hit planet Earth again - this time only two of them. The first one crashes somewhere far away; the second heads in our direction, a red ball of fire slowly growing in the sky. It falls in the river with a great crash and disappears from view.

The river bubbles, all its fish devoured in a frenzy by what landed in it. Men go into the water, leg deep, and laugh. I tell them to get out, that they'll also get eaten by whatever came from space. They disregard my warnings.

The thing in the water grows and comes together like grey playdoh, forming the shape of a dinosaur. The river is now devoid of life. The creature climbs out and stands on a podium as if it were merely a statue. Those that approach it for a viewing get killed.

Now it's on the move. It's going to eat everyone in this city. We don't have the technology to stop it.
commonpeople1: (Meire)

Day 138 - A Comet Appears
Originally uploaded by Dunny
Bjork asked the audience to attend her gig dressed completely in white. It was the best gig of my life. The venue was like a cave, but all the bodies shimmered.

We were sitting outside, enjoying the summer sunshine, when a cataclysmic event took place in the sky. Pieces of rocks flew towards the earth, exploding like bombs. One of them hit a crowd nearby. The little boy that escaped tried to explain to an adult that many people were killed. Another one of these comets nearly missed us, exploding behind my back. We were in no hurry to get away - too transfixed by what looked like make-believe.

We swam, played hide and seek and catch before Bjork's concert. The man perusing the pet shop never owned a dog - he only liked cats. I wanted to buy him a dog so he could change his mind - I just knew he would. We'd put our credit cards together and buy the best dog in the shop. He'd see. He'd understand.

Later, at Henrique's very crowded and labyrinthine home, I had trouble finding my suitcase and kept missing my flight. His parents gave me a bedroom in the servants' quarters.
commonpeople1: (Log Lady)
Jason voorhees


Jason Voorhees is not behind the first cupboard opened to the group, the one keeping an ironing board that springs out and slams the floor. Neither is he inside the second cupboard, though we do find a grinning girl's head propped on top of folded towels which elicits a round of screams. There's still a third, and final, cupboard to open - the one inside an alcove, surrounded by books. A friend takes up the challenge and gets an axe through his head. The group panics, disperses, fights for the room's one exit - a narrow staircase leading to the mansion's ground floor.

Jason looks slimmer these days, darker - as if he's constantly stepping out of a murky lake and wandering around in wet clothes. The hockey mask doesn't hang from his face anymore; it sits on his head like a second set of eyes. The road outside the old southern mansion leads to other grand, decaying homes surrounded by a wintry forest. The road is littered with people who have run away from Jason, who have even hurt each other in their desperation to escape him. From the road I can still see people partying inside the house, a fancy-dress ball in full flow, no cares in this world - as if Jason wasn't amongst them.

commonpeople1: (Default)


I met Sarah Palin yesterday when the latest Republican convention set up shop in town. We all had to attend and sign a document confirming our wish that she run as Vice President to John McCain.

The duo sat side by side behind a long white table, having a brief chit chat with everyone that signed the document. Palin was energetic and friendly, always looking in the person's eyes and sharing a warm smile. John McCain looked at his feet the whole time, morose and silent.

When it got to my turn, I took the opportunity to congratulate her. I then added that it was my wish the next presidential election be fair and intellectually stimulating, with no mudracking or low blows from either political parties. She nodded her head in agreement. As I was leaving, she asked if I worked for the academic newsletter aimed at people over the age of 50. Yes I did, I said, completely surprised; Palin would be the last person I'd expect to care about ancient philosophy or literature, to know anything about our humble newsletter. She proclaimed herself a great fan of our publication and agreed to provide us ASAP with a quote for the next edition as soon as I emailed her more details.

Although she looks in photos as if she can chew through metal, she's quite friendly and nice up-close-and-personal. She also has a little bit of grey showing on her temples.
commonpeople1: (George O'Brien)
Chanelle Hayes


I show you the streets of Montreal at night. All the shops on Rue St-Denis are closed and the sidewalks are empty. The second-floor windows, however, tell a different story: they are alive with the flickering shadows of people dancing; the music reaches us. We walk north, towards the Plateau.

You tell me you don't want to go to Club Bitch in your outfit. I show you a side street, with stores that sell slightly more extravagant clothes. In a shopping gallery, I peer into one store and see a shirt that would look great on me. I point it out to you but you are not interested; you'd rather flick through the clothes rail someone forgot outside the shop.

Some of Montreal's supermarkets stay open 24-hours. We go into one, and while waiting in line to pay for something, your song "I Want It" comes on the radio.

Back on the streets, heading back to Club Bitch. The free weekly newspaper Mirror, which can be found in every bar and street corner, is packaged this week as an orange juice carton. I'm surprised to see they are using a photo of Ryan on its cover. I drink some of the orange juice and it tastes good. I wonder if Ryan has kept a few cartons at home as souvenirs. I wonder if I should take some cartons home with me.
commonpeople1: (Steven Lubin)
The writer Dennis Cooper asked people some time ago to submit dreams to his blog. These would be passed on to Bernard Welt, someone who specialises on dream interpretation.

I submitted this dream.

This is what he had to say about it:
The dreamer and his friend represent two styles of dealing with conflict—and I would guess that the emphasis on the official sanction for the fights indicates the kind of actual life conflict the dreamer has in mind. The dreamer experiences a scene that is unpleasant—being victimized—but when it comes to the strategy of standing up to the bully on the approved way, he cannot see the scene; it is elided — what some of you theoryheads would call a lacuna. It is instead envisioned as catastrophe — the desert scene — with the dreamer’s state of mind seen as animals fleeing, and a final image of the brave friend defeated.

This reminds me of dreams that essentially weigh the possible consequences of imagined courses of action, based on scenarios from the dreamer’s past — or maybe imagination.

From Dennis Cooper's blog.
commonpeople1: (Steven Lubin)
Malice


Malice lies on the grass, outside the pub in Camden. The boys are messing around with two remote-control cars by the bar counter, so I go outside and join her. She smiles at me, her lips full and sensuous, her skin translucent underneath the black corset, her black hair cascading over the green. She props herself up with her elbows.

We talk about [livejournal.com profile] zaubin. "He told me you were in Camden when the place went up in flames," I say. She's surprised when I tell her I was there too. She is about to give me details of the bars she visited on the night the fire raged through Camden market when the boys come out with their remote-control cars. They give Malice one of the remotes, the one that controls the metallic green car that is as flat as a lawnmower.

Horses trot in Camden. One of them, a young mare red as wine, carries a little girl. My remote-control makes the little mare turn left or right, circle the grass enclosure. I use the control to make the little mare speed up her trot until the girl is about to fall off.
commonpeople1: (Steven Lubin)
Denver's wasps


[livejournal.com profile] rag_and_bone, remember that time I visited you and S. in Denver? It was a beautiful summer, and I remember how lovely the orange brick houses on your street looked in the heat of the day.

You left me alone in your home until your mother showed up. She walked from one room to the next, looking for something, bustling with activity, cool in a pencil skirt. I never imagined her to have short, gray hair. I had my camera strapped around my neck; I thought it would be best to wait outside for you and S.

I guess one of my biggest surprises in Denver was to notice how narrow each street was, with buildings bunched up against each other and painted in various colours. I thought of the one across from your house - you know, the one without any windows - and of how S. and you should project films onto it at night and create a spontaneous cinema for the neighbourhood.

You took so long to join me outside, I started worrying. A friend of yours came by and eyed me suspiciously before knocking on your door. She had long curly hair and a puggish nose. She distracted me enough to make me lose my bearings; when she walked away, I wasn't sure anymore which house was yours. I couldn't even find the windowless building. If I turned one street corner, I drifted further away from you. It was then that I walked into an alley filled with pomegranate trees. I had to squeeze my way past the hanging fruits only to discover, to my horror, that wasps buzzed around each one of them. One bit me just below my left elbow. I bled; I shook myself like a Saint Bernard dog; I couldn't stop their attacks.
commonpeople1: (Log Lady)
Alien Abduction


Alien abduction is real and is happening right now all over our planet. I know this because I've been abducted many times.

The last abduction happened during a visit from my high school friend Susannah. We were hanging out in my apartment when a flash of light hit us. As in other times, the clock seemed to stop and leave everyone in suspension (there were other friends with us who simply froze on the spot). As an abductee, I was kept awake even though I could barely move. I saw Susannah changed into the white gown they prefer us to wear before entering their craft; she stared at me in horror as she was lifted into the sky.

There's a gap in my memory until the point Susannah and I managed to escape the space craft. We pushed through one of its tiny windows and realized the craft was atop a New York building. We jumped onto the building's roof and made our way as fast as possible to its back alley. When we looked up, we could feel the presence of the space craft atop the building, even though it was invisible to human eyes.

The next sequence of events is known to many as the mysterious attack on New York that the U.S. government refuses to explain. Susannah and I witnessed it all. We were running away as fast as possible from the space craft when, from the sky, three giant helicopters broke through the clouds. The largest one, as mighty as if it carried a leader, landed on a medium-sized building. From its inside burst out a muscular, gigantic man, who proceeded to demolish a sky scrapper in construction with his bare fists. He took the workers in the building as if they were dolls and threw them to the ground.

The other two helicopters carried thin, floating figures that pursued Susannah and I. One of them, with black robes and an old face, caught up with me and circled my throat with his cold hands. As he strangled me, I grabbed his throat and squeezed as hard as I could. I held my breath and played a survival contest with him. As our breaths disappeared, he shape-shifted into a dog.

"You can let him go now, dear," said one of the other floating shape-shifters to my attacker.
commonpeople1: (Rockasilly)
Desert Storm


The way teachers dealt with conflicts in our school was by putting students to fight each other in front of everyone. There were rules to the fights, and extreme violence wasn't allowed, but it nevertheless seemed like an unfair system to me. That's because I had a bully. He was tall and beautiful, with stylish black hair and a rich family. He was a strong fighter, originally from Italy; he was popular with everyone except me.

The reason why she and I became friends was because she had a bully too; he was the Italian's best friend, his henchman. He tormented her, but she tried to laugh it off by saying that it was his poor way of showing love. She watched from the sides the day I fought in the playground, pushed against the wall by my italian tormentor, the kids' cheers ringing in my ears.

One of the rules for starting an officially sanctioned fight was to hit your adversary's face with a glove. She thought it would be a laugh if she challenged her own bully to a fight; she thought it would put a stop to his torments if he was pressured into fighting her in public. We went to his house and knocked on the door. A young maid dressed in white opened the door and I introduced myself. He came to the door, not realizing she was hiding behind me, ready to strike his cheek with a glove. He was shocked; she laughed.

Walking home, a desert storm fell upon me. All the beasts ran across the dunes seeking shelter. I saw a rare giant spider, lightly-pink and confused, try to get away. I found her mother heading home, her head covered with a scarf that barely protected her against the whipping sand. We walked together for a while when we suddenly saw a figure ahead of us, stumbling, holding on to a wall. It was my friend. She was crying and covered in bruises and blood.

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