6 Posts tagged “daydream” from Family
The meanest question to ask people in our department is "What is Communication". Normally people avoid eye contact, say "it's complicated", then walk away half angry half embarrassed. A friend of mine recently complained that in the class he is taking in the sociology department, everyone opens his/her sentence with "as a sociologist". He is only jealous because what the f*ck is a communicationist.
But tonight, if you ask me that question tenderly, I will say AS A COMMUNICATIONIST,
I lie on each hot key in turn, open every virus and
put my tongue in,
Nickname and chase every mouse,
Share a small wickedness without
copyright,
Collect all the emails with wrong addresses for a
sentimental bonfire.
Suddenly a warm body might dive into my bed,
Someone save my screen please.
Or will the web be full tonight?
With homeless people,
You never know, they are all digital.
Road, subway, telegraphy, television, chicken of the sea,
Rationality, progress, justice, emancipation, chicken of the sky,
No one is puzzled at the junction of the network of
Communication grids grids grids.
In this structure of fantasy we are disturbingly small presence
The city promises the joy of perpetual lighting,
You straddle the dazzling cityscapes of night-time
Appears half abstract half intelligible.
An aerial photography shows you and me and the city
In a panoramic pose.
Where are we?
Offering ourselves for scribbling like huge Chinese calligraphy.
You are waiting for that final raindrop to penetrate the
city,
To call into existence a new relation between you
And the abstract object
cellphone.
I walk back and forth in my smart gated global home,
Unable to comprehend a desire to kiss the satellite
Or tell what I'm receiving.
It's only 3AM but look, a connection that no one admits having lost.
All my socks are single now.
Normally things don't just disappear, but socks do. I have been losing socks, although I keep them in a secret safe place and try not to wash them too often. And it's always one of a pair that disappears.
The 8 feet tall panda in our living room is phoning himself, his t-mobile talk-to-yourself-with-no-limit plan is a good deal.
JG: Is the disappearance of my socks a miracle? Does it put science in question?
Panda: There was a Panda called Einstein who said that, the absence of miracles itself is a miracle, which proves the existence of God. The fact that the world is comprehensible, that it follows laws of nature
, is worthy of awe.
JG: So, for this science panda, it is the absence of miracles that reflected divine providence.
Panda: Yes, so the disappearance of your socks put both God and Science in question.
How does it feel, how does it feel, to be without a life, everything is futile, like a stop sign.
Lao Liu inserts the lyrics into those self stamped self addressed envelops called fortune cookie.
Have anyone noticed that strange stop sign at the corner of Regents Road and La Jolla Village Road? It never stops. Every time I drive by it, that stop sign moves as fast as my car.
As if it does not accept its own fate as a stop sign. I see it on 5, I see it on 805, I see it running through a traffic light. Nothing can make it stop. Everyone looks at it as if it's a lie, but they simply, drive by.
The 7 feet tall panda in our living room is watching the sunset on TV, though the beach is just several blocks away.
Me: Why can't a stop sign stop itself?
Panda: It's called the theory of relativity. Everything moves, stillness is just relative. If you stop, the sign stops. If you move, the sign moves.
That was a spiritual moment. I feel like grasping something so profound that my hands are dizzy.
My roommate Gordon is a fan of the indie rock band Bright Eyes. Gordon agrees with the politics of Bright Eyes' protest songs. But what he likes most is the singer Conor Oberst's persona--an outsider, a boy genius, and a "I must belong somewhere" misfit. Last night he came back from Bright Eyes' concert very satisfied and happy. I was surprised. The ticket I gave to him as a gift is fake, and the concert was in SOMA rather than in Balboa Park. It turns out that, he followed my instruction and went to the northern side of Balboa, climbed down the deep valley, and waited there for a long time.
Occasionally some people walk by and ask him, "What are you waiting for at the bottom of the valley alone?"
"For Bright Eyes".
Those people are all deeply moved.
How does it feel, how does it feel, to believe in a lie, wait for bright eyes, like a stop sign.
Gordon:"Are you making fun of true emo-kids?"
Me:"How can I..."
Panda:"I know you are going to ask that question again, just wait, just wait."
sometimes i wonder why i am able to daydream the whole night away. but at least i break the stereotype that all chinese are hard-working.
though most cheap and low-tech goods are made in china these days, can you even name a famous Chinese brand? that's why i have this nationalistic idea about building an enterprise to prove that china has more than cheap labor. it is an enterprise of cheap ideas, called Made-Up-in-China.
today's "idea on sale" at Made-Up-in-China.com: as we know, fortune cookie is an ancient Chinese tradition invented in California several years ago. so why can't we invented the tradition that fortune cookie, instead of engagement ring, is what a man use to propose to a woman. of course we have to then come up with some mechanism to prevent men from proposing too many times to too many women.
i think about my fortune cookie writer friend, Lao Liu, too much these days. he is still in the damp basement of Panda Depress, mass producing words of wisdom. today customers of chinese restaurants all over California learned the old Chinese saying: Do Not Follow Your Heart. i don't know what Lao Liu is thinking, maybe he regrets coming to America. Maybe he is critical of the Regime of Positive Thinking.
our PhD program is like Hotel California, you can check out anytime you want, but you can never leave.
"next week i'm a free bird", the guy sitting behind me in urban grind just said.
the giant panda is talking to me again. mesa apartment is not openly against panda, but since it does not accept dogs, Gordon and i think it's safer to hide the fact that we have this giant panda. actually Gordon wouldn't admit to anyone that he has seen such a panda.
me, "how can i meet that girl again?"
panda,"have you go to the library this afternoon?"
me: "no, i have to meet a friend in urban grind."
panda, "do the coffee house have wireless?"
me, "yes"
panda, "then why don't you send her an email?"
me, "but i'm not wireless. i'm totally tied down by all kinds of wire".
tricia mentioned that organizations, particularly progressive ones, should have names of neat rhythm, like bagel or donut. this is what i think about this morning. is it a little sad that you cannot find a bagel without a hole? certainly, it is not as sad as a hole without a bagel. but still...this emptiness in a warm sweet circle, no, i am not talking about any coalition, it's just my typical sunday.
saturday on the beach i thought about how much work i would do on sunday, sunday on the couch i'm thinking about how much work i will do on monday. then the doorbell rings, it's the fortune cookie from panda depress--the slowest fast food restaurant in the world. it's a huge empty fortune cookie as usual. i should have subscribed to the times instead. but i'm writing a story about a professional fortune cookie writer: Lao Liu. he is an illegal immigrant from china, fresh off boat. he cannot go anywhere or do anything but stay in the dim and humid basement of a fortune cookie factory, and write those words of wisdom distributed in Chinese restaurants all over california. he is pale, thin, with long hair and sleepy eyes. today he writes: one person's meat is another's vegetable, one person's vegetable is another's butter, one person's butter is another's butterfly, and of course, i believe i can fly, one person's america is another's china...
tomorrow some romance should be inserted into the story, i don't know how yet.
raquel mentioned that she once saw a weird note from a fortune cookie, which says, "help, i'm trapped in a fortune cookie factory". i'm not sure if i should incorporate this into my story, my character will be more likely to write "i'm trapped in a fortune cookie", wait, whose fortune cookie is ideology...my daily academic moment.
mayra mentioned that there is a mysterious Chinese community in Lavapies, the immigrant ghetto in Madrid. maybe we can shoot the story there, mayra, you are reading this right?
anyway, in case you haven't got it yet, the thesis of this blog is: you know what i mean.
the giant panda is sitting in our living room again, he is like a third roommate to gordon and i. he is even more sleepy and shy than us. i ask him, " how can i meet that girl again?"
panda says, "tomorrow you go to the library around 4pm, 6rd floor, the psychology section".
i say, "you mean she will be there then?"
panda, "of course not, come on, accept reality"
i,"i can accept anything but reality"
