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Dr. Bob is Robert Hsiung, MD,
bob@dr-bob.orgShown: posts 1 to 10 of 10. This is the beginning of the thread.
Posted by trouble on February 28, 2002, at 13:55:23
Hi ya'll
I had a job yesterday, worked 8 hours straight, then stumbled out to my car w/ the check between my teeth.
Before putting the mops and brooms into the trunk I laid the money order on the roof w/ some brisciut the homeowner gave me for supper, and was almost home before remembering I left it there. So I figure I'm being punished b/c I don't know the value of a dollar, mismanage my finances so horribly, about to get my phone disconnected, smoke a pack a day, ten pounds overweight, eat shit, teeth going bad, and I live in a trailer on a mudhole and probably always will.I just awoke from a dream where my brother Ricky visited me, I never really got to know him, he spent most of his life in prison and that's where he died but next to our ma he was the family perpetrator. My earliest memories involve me kneeling between his legs while he slapped my face back and forth over and over, it was our first ritual, called "Slaps" and I'd earn a certain number during the week over various infractions like rolling in the leaves, playing w/ the dog, dancing around the house, any kind of rambunctious activity off-limits to a cloistered nun, but he'd leave me be if I was polishing the silver, folding clothes or rearranging the kitchen cabinets.
Come Friday when my mom and bestdad went out to dinner Ricky would say, in this mocking, singsong tone of voice SLAAAAAPS just that one word, dragging it out into two syllables, which I can hear as I write this, it was that creepy. Then I'd go kneel between his legs and he'd tell me how many I had coming and he'd count them out loud, sometimes there'd be over a hundred. They didn't hurt, but afterwards, this was my part, my private part of the ritual, afterward I'd go look in the bathroom mirror and see a thin trail of blood streaming down the nose of this bloated, blotchy and discolored face whose slitty piggish bloodshot pig's eyes stared into mine and I'd think yeah, I'd slap that little monster too.
So I killed him. In my dream last night. I've never dreamt this kind of thing before; before therapy I use to have nightmares about a faceless man pursuing me w/ a shank and I'd hide under the bed and wait and me and my therapist figured out those nightmares were about Ricky but I was too scared to put a face on him since he did that sort of thing in real life, to other people, not ME, but that's just a detail.
So I shot him, it wasn't graphic, no blood or special effects, just bang you're dead, then I was overcome w/ guilt, and had to explain myself to my pdoc, my family, my God and my mom. They all regarded me w/an air of pathetic finality, as if they saw all along this worst and last misdeed of mine coming.
So I'm sitting at the kitchen table trying to tell my ma that I'd just taken the life of her fair-haired boy and the mail comes. She goes, Oh look honey it's a card from jail, and hands me this 5 by 7 Hallmark envelope from Ricky. I open it up and it's a beautifully embossed reproduction of the desiderata, Roman lettering raised on a lavendar background.
"Go placidly amidst the noise and the haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence. As fas as possible w/out surrender be on good terms w/ all persons..."Then I woke up.
It seems perfectly connected, doesn't it, or am I
just groggy and grasping for an answer that doesn't pertain to my problems? To me, it says ok, here's this kid who is programmed to f*ck up her life, b/c that's what her handlers want her to do. So she grows up and makes a mess of everything, and they sadly shake their heads w/ an air of inevitable pity.
If that's true then it's not fair. You must agree. But it also lets her off the hook for f*cking up her life and that's not right either.Killing my brother, which is drastic and new, could be the part that got me out of bed this morning, but can anyone agree that violence like that, even in a dream is a healthy and positive step? How would you feel after a dream like that?
Besides, I loved my brother, most people did, he was like Satan that way, glamorous, otherworldly, irresistable and out of reach. He had minions, all his life, people bowed to him in anxious wonder. 'Til he was shriveled and dying at age 40, I Fed-exed him my blood but it wasn't a match so I put everything behind me and boarded a plane, that was ME there, helping him to the other side, ME saying the exact right thing after every aimless and mixed-up 20 minute confession, him suprised by his own words, the stuff in his heart no one knew was there, ME holding his eyes w/ a steady gaze and HIM saying thanks, you're good at this our talks are making it easier to let go.
I'd like to see Oprah present a more moving reconciliation in human history, much less having to contend w/ my own unconscious bringing in murder and shame, treacherous love offerings, a little more evidence of my "gradual
"decompensation". I must be improving in other areas if it has to come after me in my dreams. I won't put up w/ self-sabotage in any form, simple as that. I wonder if those 13 words were the whole point of the dream. That means I'm tryin to help myself, but am doing it all crooked
the way I was taught, w/ tricks and deception, and the bottom dropping out. Just kidding.Publishing these personal meanderings on PSB, Old School would think they're meaningless conceit and I partly agree but this upheaval wasn't happening 2 months ago. It's deep and womanish, getting your head screwed on straight, but w/out Mr. Logic calling to account it's just one more money order gone astray and merrily merrily merrily merrily Life Is But A Dream.
trouble
Posted by Krazy Kat on February 28, 2002, at 18:20:04
In reply to Simple As That., posted by trouble on February 28, 2002, at 13:55:23
trouble:
what a tragic story and what a beautiful writer you are. really, really beautiful.
- KK
Posted by Dinah on February 28, 2002, at 19:31:21
In reply to Simple As That., posted by trouble on February 28, 2002, at 13:55:23
As you so often do, you have left me (practically) speechless with your eloquent writing and, even more, your ability to seamlessly integrate emotion with intellect.
Posted by ST on March 1, 2002, at 3:05:31
In reply to Re: Simple As That. » trouble, posted by Dinah on February 28, 2002, at 19:31:21
trouble,
Please write a novel.
Sarah
Posted by trouble on March 1, 2002, at 3:08:50
In reply to Please write a novel. I'm serious., posted by ST on March 1, 2002, at 3:05:31
Posted by ambrosialdelight on March 3, 2002, at 14:45:22
In reply to Simple As That., posted by trouble on February 28, 2002, at 13:55:23
renders me speechless.
Posted by trouble on March 3, 2002, at 16:03:30
In reply to Re: Simple As That., posted by ambrosialdelight on March 3, 2002, at 14:45:22
Posted by ambrosialdelight on March 3, 2002, at 16:48:56
In reply to Thanks Ambrosiadelight (I love your name!) (nm), posted by trouble on March 3, 2002, at 16:03:30
For the story and the compliment.
Posted by Zo on March 5, 2002, at 1:56:45
In reply to Simple As That., posted by trouble on February 28, 2002, at 13:55:23
Shoot me dead, I'm so happy to read you.
Does this say it? I hope so.
And are you keeping copies of these posts? The answer better be yes. Else somebody here will do it for you. There's all kinds of ways to make a book.
Zo
Posted by trouble on March 5, 2002, at 2:34:02
In reply to Re: Simple As That. » trouble, posted by Zo on March 5, 2002, at 1:56:45
This is the end of the thread.
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