THAT DAY

I saw SIXTEEN CANDLES with Molly Ringwald. She's sweet, if a bit sappy--seeking a romantic fantasy of love that seems strictly symbolic to me.

But the other characters are embarrassing. The piggish student who just eats drinks and fucks (or tries)... what a cliche! And the Asian student is worse: an insulting, racist cartoon. I'm amazed Hollywood thinks we're still at this level.

THAT NIGHT

On a long journey, I return to a courtyard I've seen before. Molly Ringwald is there, staring uneasily at an addition to the fountain. A smallish, pale-gray, spotted pig, tied to an elastic cord, hangs from a high beam, right over the water jet. The pig bobs; a living yo-yo. It's in pain: the jet, under the water, has several narrow metal prongs like a giant's fork or a trident. I wonder if the pig's spots are really scars. Every time the pig struggles, it changes the yoyo rhythm, usually for the worse. But what if the pig gets lucky and squirms exactly out of phase? It'd stop hitting the spikes! Then it could work on breaking or twisting out of its bonds. But right now, it's shrieking in pain, hitting bottom hard and being bruised and cut. Horrible to watch, yet we can't see how we could reach it...

And then the pig gets lucky--damps the bounce! The pig squirms loose of its bonds and falls in the pool for the last time. It lies half-under, stunned... or dead.

It raises its head. Just stunned, then. The pig gets up... and charges toward us, furious and seeing no one else to blame for its torment. We leap onto a table and pull our feet up. It circles, growling and snorting, looking for revenge...

And then... the pig turns human.

NOTES WHEN I WAKE

• The pig = passion! Molly Ringwald's suitors are portrayed as pigs... but am I any fairer to my own sexuality? I'm all tied up in worrying I'm a pig... I'm trapped in a water-torture!
• It looks hopeless, but the dream suggests if I keep struggling, a chance combination of factors--dumb luck--will set me free.
• Yet as soon as I do, I fear my sexuality will run wild!
• The table where I retreat with Molly Ringwald = the high ground of romanticism! "I don't just want sex, I want LOVE!" True, sometimes--but always? If I can't distinguish love from sex I'm heading for trouble...
• Patience! My piggishness doesn't devour us, and after a while running free... it turns human.

Let myself go. Let myself go. Let myself go.

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