I think I have some issues with…

I DON’T HAVE AN ANALYST. Why? First, because talking to an analyst is not very Indonesian, not even for those who live in Jakarta. And second, they are too expensive for someone who just listens and gives suggestions — a job that your friends or even you yourself can do it.

But I have a problem now. And I think I need an analyst, or at least a friend who can really tell what’s going on with me. Why? First: because I have been fast forwarding films I watched — especially those with suspense in them. I also skipped scenes with blood and those where the main characters got humiliated. I just couldn’t help to not skip those kinda scenes.

Yes. Those things have indeed left me with a question: is there something wrong with me?

Second: a friend borrowed these comic books of mine, and I told her easily, “Hey, Ms. X is going to marry Mr. Y in the end.” And she was all like, “What? Why did you tell me that!” And I was like, “What? I thought that that would make you even far more eager to read it by yourself.” Then she replied, “What? No!”

See, my other problem is: I am very much okay with spoilers.

I used to read reviews before watching a film. But they were only reviews! Not spoilers. These whole lot spoilers are more than reviews, I am afraid this state will somehow affect my psychological condition *serious face*

What’s wrong with me? Am I one of those who believe in the instantaneousness? That could be true. I might be don’t have that enough patience, especially for just (cheap) fictions!

But Freud would have said more than that. You cannot ignore fictions and how you react to them. Maybe, I am just tired of sad endings? But wait, I just have one or two sad endings in life, I got more happy endings. And no, my life’s good, not sucks. I mean, I am going to [hopefully] meet Junot Diaz this October in Ubud, how can you call that sucks?

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And I had this funny dream and all

DID YOUR MOTHER EVER tell you about the “forbidden hours” to sleep? That if you insist to sleep at those hours you’ll have funny dreams that will definitely drive you yellow and all, and you’ll feel suffocate in your sleep because some monsters are chasing you down and all? Never? Oh boy, my mother did. She sure did.

She told me that I must never sleep at… well, basically at around 6 a.m or even 7 a.m. My family is — well, we are practicing Muslims and all, so after we pray in the dawn, mother said we couldn’t go back to sleep — especially after 6 a.m when the sun is shining! My mother also told me that I must never go to sleep when the sun is almost set or around 5.30 p.m and so. And even if I am sleepy to the point that I think I could sleep standing up without batting an eyelash — I must hold it. Oh boy, that’s my mother. When she says something, she means it.

“You’ll have some funny dreams if you couldn’t hold it. Hold it for an hour, then you can go to sleep,” she said, suggesting me to just sleep after 6.30 p.m.

I am not living with my mother now. But I sure still remember what she said.

But yesterday, I accidentally broke that forbidden-hours-to-sleep rule. And I had this funny dream that drove me banana in my sleep.

Honest to blog, I am glad that I broke it. I miss my dreams, and to dream them. You know, the celebration of your true desires and all, so Mr Freud said. It is sad that these days, when I wake up in the morning, I forget all my dreams. Sometimes I even think that I do not dream at all, so scary!

Yesterday, I woke up like at 5 a.m, and then I read this book you wouldn’t careless what it was. But an hour later, I felt so sleepy and all, I couldn’t hold it. So I slept. And dreamt.

My dream was: I was in this building and there was a flood. I was with some people, they were my new friends, I just met them and all. So two weeks ago I helped AJI hosted a regional symposium to discuss about freedom of expression with participants from ASEAN countries etc — it looked at how bad/good is the freedom of expression in Southeast Asia countries plus India, Pakistan, Sri Lanka [that turned to be not good at all — no surprise]. So in my dream, I was with these people from that symposium. But strangely, they weren’t the same people I met in the real symposium, if you know what I mean. They were different people, but from that symposium two weeks ago.

AJI asked me to help them out, you know, if they ever needed something or just directions to go to some places. In that dream, I also did that job. The difference was, there was this massive flood in the end of the symposium. I helped participants carrying their luggage around and all. But it was a real crazy flood, soon enough all of the streets were covered with gray water, and there were crocodiles. Seriously, some crocodiles, I am not joking. They were swimming so fast, waiting for us to jump into some dry land/spaces and fail and would probably eat us. And indeed, we were forced by the flood to move to those safe spots.

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I am mad at the world

I AM AN angry bird!

I am Andrew Beckett in Philadelphia singing along with Maria Callas in La Mamma Morta. This is Andrea Chenier, Umberto Giordano… Maybe I’m gonna cry.

The only difference is, am not singing to the sorrow of losing love, or a lover. I am singing to the Revolution! Like how Madeleine cried, that during the French Revolution a mob set a fire to her house, killed her mother who saved her.

I AM A MADMAN.

I am too small to fight the world. My brain is oh so tiny and limited to, at the same time, think about my country and the book bombs, Libya, Yemen, Bahrain, and Japan, also the UN and the No-Fly Zone plus a Supermoon.

My what-is-this-I-dunno-? told me to stop thinking about everybody else’s businesses. But damn, I am so mellow, is it because of the moon? I am so helpless. I am crying over the messy-world… Why can’t I stop? Should I believe in conspiracy theory? Why would I give a damn about it, am not gonna win the Nobel Peace Prize anyway! But forgive me, am feeling so sunless and dim, now I know what Ginsberg meant by: I can’t stand my own mind.

I am mad at… the world. Is that even possible?

The picture is taken from here.

“Live still, I am life. Heaven is in your eyes. Is everything around you just the blood and mud? I am divine. I am oblivion. I am the god… that comes down from the heavens, and makes of the Earth a heaven. I am love! I am love.”
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If Sigmund Freud’s wife was my mother

DO YOU LISTEN to Mingus? I do. He is one of the dead musicians I would [most want to travel back in time to] see perform live.

At the very moment, my iTunes is playing his “All the Things You Could Be by Now if Sigmund Freud’s Wife was Your Mother.” What a composition! Click, click, click it!

Some said there’s a story behind the composition. Mingus spent years of treatments, when he experienced chronic depression and loneliness. So I bet he was pretty Freud-ed once.

Anyway, “All the Things You Could Be by Now if Sigmund Freud’s Wife was Your Mother,” huh? What could you be by now if Sigmund Freud’s wife were your mother? Such an interesting question

Let us close our eyes and imagine it!

If my mother were Sigmund Freud’s wife, then I would be his daughter? Probably my mother would meet Freud when I was ten, right? A divorcee with three kids, and I would be the oldest. Not too bad. But not too good either. Not too good. Let’s make Sigmund Freud my biological father!

Sigmund Freud. Took this picture from here.

All the things I could be by now if Sigmund Freud’s wife were my mother: [please ignore political, racial, and a bit of time sequence issues]

1. If Sigmund Freud’s wife were my mother, then Freud would be my first love. In my Oedipal phase, I would suffer from Electra Complex. It’s only after I turned five or six that I would start to realize that I could never have him — my object of love and desires — the way my mother could. Later on I told myself that I should have found someone exactly like him. I would end up becoming a heterosexual who worshiped beards.

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Dreams dreams dreams

DiCaprio in Inception, cut this one from the trailer on youtube

I INDEED got a kick out of Leonardo DiCaprio. Twice, during these five months? After the amazing Shutter Island, now he gave me Inception. Well, I probably need to address the kick as Nolan’s and Scorsese’s, no? But still, it was DiCaprio who lived up the characters [that, I should admit, are pretty similar].

It is very interesting how both movies showed that minds are actually very powerful. It dictates you, us, or in the Inception, our dreams, our unconsciousness do.

One of my fave scenes, a full suspense!

Interpretation of Dreams was once my obsession, back then in the college, when I read many many Freud. It stuck inside my head just like that, making me analyzing my dreams every morning.

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