Posts from the “mimpi” Category

Corpse rice

Murder, sarcophagic conspiracy, family mystery.

I have parents. There is a dead body in the house discovered. They have dug a hole in the garden for it.

There is rice from the garden hole that was next to supplies next to the dead body, to disguise the function of the hole. The rice is in a jar now. Some of the edges are blackened and I’m not sure if they’re burnt or from exposure to the corpse.

We are back in the house. I am not there but I can see everything. I am an adult woman. An aunt. The man offers me grapes. The children will be home soon (from abroad) he says. He is doing carpentry. Asks the lady colleague/me to help pin down the long strip of wood he’s working on — the tool normally used for it was worn out in the last festival and he has the wood balanced on it. She/I hold the wood down, make conversation. He talks about ponying up some funds to buy tickets for the show. He hints that his children who are abroad will be back soon and performing. I grin. Oh that’s my turn to pony up. Yes. I am a white woman in farming/horse riding clothes, brown leather britches. I concede.

I see a bunch of grapes hanging , partially obscured by a calendar, outside the fridge. I realise someone else has been eating them. I realise to my horror the children have been hidden from view in the house all along. Caring for them must have been a nightmare. They have to be kept quiet and children inevitably fight, at that age. My brother doesn’t like green grapes, but this one is a purple bunch with some greens at the edges — those are the ones that have been removed. The children must be the ones snacking on them. This will reveal us. They cannot realise we are french by blood! The children will have to pretend they didn’t manage to pick up any foreign language (French?) in this supposed boarding school, the lie is too flimsy to hold. At best they look stupid. He freaks out. I cannot expose them, he cries. Murder is at stake here, the body is still in the garden.

The body has been exhumed from the garden. I helped carry the dead weight in with him. I hold the bloated arm — the body has been soaked in water and is heavy. The body is separated into cardboard boxes by him. Packed back with different things. Some are to be reburied, better disguised. Others sent to separate bins.

One day, the rice is given to me in a jar. If hands like a bunch of grapes in there, touching some of the sides, doesn’t fill the jar the way rice should. The rice bothers me.

We go to a restaurant. It’s level is lower than the car level.

I stare at my jar with the blackened rice wondering how I will eat it. Corpse rice.

Birds, giant birds, are in the underground tunnel. L-shaped hole. They tunnel down and then a bit sideways, to nest away from sight. This woman patted the side of their solid bodies and left them alone.

A small part of me realises I don’t have to eat the rice, but it doesn’t occur to me to not keep it. This small part isn’t really voiced.

I am in a house party. This man is going to be my partner, and he has a son. Maybe he teaches, or has that demeanour. He lives in a house on wheels, it is neat, spacious, but populated. Many books. Light grey-blue carpet. I ask him if this is his house or his transport. I get the impression from the answer he has a landed property as well, but this trailer has become the main accommodation.

The ex housemate is there. I think about it. I talk to her. She has two bindis, small on plaster-sized transparent wide stickers (complete with rounded corners), which she has put on both right corners of her eyes — so one lies on the outside, and one on the inside of her other eye, touching against the bridge of her nose. It’s distracting and makes it difficult to speak with her. Talking to her startled her, but she recovers. I ask her about her current place, she feigns. How many months has she lived there now, one? Oh, five? Oh I’ve moved out for that long? It is an insincere and guarded conversation, with a forced levity. She has been in a few movies since, which she downplays. She’s been in how many now, one? Five?

Reading about de-cold war, and de-cold-ware, and wondering if the chilly metaphor was forced just so that pun could exist.

A butch was hitting on me and had given me four individual posters of The Beatles. I was laughing, highly entertained because she was autographing each of them in the upper left corner with their signatures for me — all clearly fraudulent and signed by the same person. I am charmed, this is the only kind of autograph I truly enjoy. I made some remark, and she scratched out the names Ringo and put another name beside each for me. (Could be all the autographs I got signed in GTLF).

I leave her in the living room and return to my room. I notice my room is messier than I recalled and start picking things up. I realise there’s stuff on the floor because the pillows and floor cushion from the living room are dumped in my room. I feel a flare of irritation but I am not sure if I have housemates or if it was a cleaner, but I make a mental note to speak with the people responsible. Now the butch will know I’m cleaning my room when I walk out with the pillows, and I’m unsure how she will read it. I dislike she will have anything to read at all.

I snap my fingers. One of the posters have a flame 🔥 licking from near a corner and spreading. I put it out, confused. I realise some things are now flammable, on the verge of going up in flames, but how. Another thing sets on fire, I think because I stared too hard. Is there a mist of petrol on everything? Should I call the butch and tell her I’m dealing with a fire trap? (There is no shouting in this world?) Can I leave here long enough to get her to summon help? I’m putting out fires. Everything that has burned so far has done it with a flame like on a candle, before settling into red edges that eat it up. The burning spreads quickly along the material, but goes out easy.

She went downstairs to the cafe to meet someone. I am headed downstairs. It’s a posh ground floor where I stay, air conditioned mall. A bit like the apartment on Exhibition St.

A limo pulls up, the door is open. Large man inside. Man in limo is a tiger spirit. Wearing a songkok and practically a Mahathir costume. Limo inside kind of dark. I am also a tiger spirit and seeing this makes me vigilant and I walk around the back and around because I don’t want him to think I’m challenging his authority. I don’t want either of us to morph, but I think if I walk close enough my aggression would ensure it. Maybe I should. Maybe I do want to challenge his authority. (Challenging Fb?)

I backtrack. Back to the cafe. Past the cafe. Back to the lifts.

I see ZK at the lifts and I talk with her casually, she’s barely more than a stranger who seems familiar. I don’t remember her. She leaves confused to the cafe and I remember who she is and why she would be confused I am speaking with her. A part of me is embarrassed that I could forget an enemy and by reflex be friendly. Another is gleeful that I caught her off guard.

Is the butch hanging out with ZK? Same cafe. The butch is on the burn list, Lainie.

Is this about my feelings or what

At the end of my dream I left a huge grounds that sold ‘wild’ fish. I had jumped into one expecting shallow waters but discovered a surprising depth of thick viscosity.

I was in a stadium with swimming competition. As I left, in the bleachers, I saw Jac and some of her international colleagues. I was on a platform that was rolling away slowly sideways, so I pointed at her, confused and said ‘Eh’, she grinned, and that was when I saw her friends and realised she must be showing them around. I wanted to leave so I didn’t stay back to talk to her, but Ez and I walked out together for a part of it. It was a bit kecoh.

I am outside the school waiting for my ride. My driver Hussein is four hours late, although I’ve been occupying myself sufficiently and checking my cellphone for notifications. I look at our last WhatsApp, and it’s from me: ‘come no, come no’ which I rationalise should obviously be ‘come now, come now’ to the reader, although at the back of my mind I know if it’s read as ‘don’t come’, it’ll be my fault. I call my mother and she says Hussein demanded wages of RM2.5k a week and so he had to be let go. I was upset that I had been left to wait for hours for him without any notice, but she brushed it off.

I am in my grandfather’s house. It is dim. It is the house from recurring dreams, but without the hauntedness*

*I was so confident I would remember the rest, but now I have no idea what happened. Dammit, Lainie. Why you liddis.

Dreaming in Parliament

I dreamt I visited my aunt and she brought me and my cousin into parliament. I was woefully underdressed. Taking notes I could barely hear. Sitting next to the section where old ladies sell Japanese beer. And on the other side i was seated next to a stern Mrs Saw who told me white people need to drink to get things done. Parliament has a low-ish ceiling, and light wood panelling. Chairs are arranged in rows curved around the stage. The speaker’s chair is in front of the stage, we are all facing his/her direction.

Mrs Saw doesn’t accept the unprofessional way I speak. Too many “Mm” and “Mmhmm” and “OK” and “Uhuh”. She tells me off and I agree with her. I start to say “Mmhmm” but quickly catch myself just as she is about to lecture me, saying “Mmhmm. Thank you for bringing this to my attention and sharing your knowledge with me, Mrs Saw.”

And Nina threw down a red balloon at me from the upper chamber. She is gleeful I’m there. She was there as part of her job working with the UN.  I explained to them my former job I worked in festivals not policy. I explain to them that while the festivals I worked on had policies that protected the minorities and vulnerable communities, they were not the type of large scale policies that Parliament worked on. The parliamentarians stared at me, not really reacting. They don’t care what my circumstances are, only that I get my shit together and participate fully.

And then I was brought up on stage during the parliamentary entertainment to be the rabbit. It’s a U-shaped stage, with a huge tree at the bottom of the U. I run around it and have to deal with some things behind the tree, out of sight. And when I came around it was 9pm and most people had left. Parliament does not feel particularly inspiring. It is a place of power, but the people feel like they’re just clocking in to do their job. It does not feel like a place of change.

I know there’ll be a period of adjustment, and it’s kinda okay.

Ilahi oluieh kuala lumpur

Olueheh? it is a chant an Indonesian man is teaching me. He and the women selling drinks. I have been fighting this super speed woman, not really a woman. It’s her birthday today. She needs to destroy me both as her next step and also as her old grudge. She may not recognise me still. I had seen her approaching on the screen of an intercom . They are following the chants from the screen. It ends with a secret phrase they chant into each other’s ears. I don’t know it. The Indonesian man (kinda looks like Jokowi) sees the panic in my eyes. Hands on my face. Arches me back and whispers it into my ears. Say it. He whispers it in my ear. Makes me say it. I know it protects me. Illahi oluih Kuala Lumpur.

Background of consciousness fading as the chase solidifies: Someone had been yelling a warning at me. Don’t do it! It is a female’s voice, young. We don’t know what powers she may have against me. I may not win. Even though in an earlier scene she was holding a bottle and said “we are blood”. She means she can tell who I am not because she can recognise my face, but that we have a similarity that calls out to each other. I don’t have a choice. They’ve already stormed the facility.

I am waking up, but when my eyes close I still see images. There is an open moth. Rotting teeth inside. The mouth was making a small o and now widening. Big grey spots on the non-teeth part of the teeth. I tell myself I need to get up. It is getting really hot, I can feel a heat enveloping me. I awaken and the image of teeth blurs away into the whiteness of the fluorescent light I switch on. Why am I tripping like this even after I stop dreaming? I’m sober. I’m not drinking or smoking anything. It’s like I was lucid dreaming awake, but with my eyes closed. I observed the teeth’s horror before realising: get up. I don’t want to see this.

Dreaming

We are in love, lying on a bed, cuddling. She holds me and I bury my face beside her neck. Our touch is familiar to each other — we have been together for a few years. I turn the other way,  while she continues holding me.

The shop upstairs has pets. Someone i met before (Sze Ning) had painted watercolour of my visit here with Zal the last time. She also does stencils of manhole covers.

Heart

A rose juts out of my chest, pierced through it seems, my heart. Except it is flesh, an inner organ made external. It has texture and blood veins like my heart.

Awful stuff 

The serene lady asks me to stay in bed beside her. I agree, even though i want to join the exorcists, had gone to check the door and one of the building residents had just returned with the supplies necessary. I see a mop handle sticking out from the plastic bags. There has been a poltergeist-y presence in the house. It has been flicking stuff, possessing people. One pillow down each step of the stairs, while I was talking with a friend and her mom.  

Someone from the group outside returns. The lady pats my spot beside her on the bed — it’ll be easy to climb back in. She’s wrapped up comfortably and we don’t get disturbed directly together. Maybe just stuff around us. Minimally she doesn’t get possessed. But before I do, someone is trying to climb over the banister. It is my old school friend Elaine S. She starts off friendly but at the top of the climb changes, becomes hostile. My other friend and I try to restrain her. We are pushing, pulling, struggling. Trying to move her over the railing to relative safety, ignoring her snarls. Our bodies feel so solid, our muscular flesh locked in a wrestle. 

I wake up in a hot room and switch on the air conditioning. Maybe I should have washed my feet after The Basikal at night in Hungry Ghost Festival. If it’s still HGF. 

The presence is ominous and hostile. I am being asked by a lady to remain with her in bed– she is calm, but doesn’t want to be left alone in the currently-too-haunted house. TBH it’s better than being alone, although she was making the request because I wanted to join the exorcists. Things move by invisible forces. My suspicion is one hostile poltergeist. He flicks a pillow and it flies down step by step. He wrestles a blanket with me. I am angry and shouting back. People from the building are mobilising, an old lady has gone to stock up on supplies. It possesses people. My friend Eelaine (S, from school days) — I helped her climb up a banister but she is taken over. Struggles and resists, snarls. Another friend and I are on her side each, keeping her from falling backwards, trying to push her over the railing to relative safety. She’s been taken over, I’m warned. I know! Dark evil. 

1 dream, two drafts.