An SMS from a friend: “ There was an explosion in Kuta Square. Don’t know what that was. And I was 2 minutes away from the site.” I could not imagine the wariness I have of losing another friend, but in Indonesia, you just keep your finger crossed.

For the Stiff

I felt rocks fulfilling my stomach. Sick and tired. Sick of om om who kept on trying to impress. Tired of frowning my face, put maximum effort to be undesirable. So I wanted to spill those out. OUT. Unfortunately, best friends were sleeping, average friends couldn’t be contacted, undefined friends were not enthusiastic, and I do not have that many friends at all.
“What?” stroke him.
“Ehmm… nothing. Just have no fellows to share my stories with,” said me in spoiled voice.
“Ya, it’s you, ya… always have no clear aim why you call someone, why you talk with someone,”he talked graphically as he used to be.
Considering the noise as his background, then I asked where was he. And he was in public place. He is so like my father when it comes to public place: public enemy. Meaning: always complaining person, even to innocent sweet little kids. Absolutely with anger voices.
“Ouhkay, Mr. Stiff… how do you expect me to act to you? As your colleague? As your subordinate in your networking world? For those positions unable me having casual chit chats. But we’re more than that, rite?”
Glossary: “We’re friends!”
And friends do unimportant shares.

Waiting for the stiff to be loosened.

“Every now and then she looked around for tangible evidence of his having ever been there. Where were the butterflies? The blueberries? The whistling reed? She could find nothing, for he had left nothing but his stunning absence. An absence so decorative, so ornate, it was difficult for her to understand how she had ever endured, without falling dead or being consumed, his magnificent presence.”
-Toni Morison in Sula-

for me: the massive messages have been deleted.

Dreams of the Sexies

When her lips splashed out the word T H E C L A S H or T H E C U R E, 80’s and 90’s songs, the sexiness is still there. Still the same senses you felt nine years ago when she spelled B O Y Z O N E, or C O D E R E D D U E T S W I T H A L D A. No one could really copies her smirky face tickles the celebrities but then it will be neutralized with her apologic smiles and honorable mention of the upcoming artist with their videos. Originally entertaining. For my teenager hero, I do not want to exchange the dream with the real. She is an editor in chief for a hip female teenage magazine in Jakarta now. Knowing that behind the scenes of glossy pages are usually cloudy, dark effort to shine each day with pieces of abundant accessories to cover up their flows, thus they can be accepted and called unique beauty, as United Colours of Benetton campaigns. Absorbing that what actually happens out there are women versus women to defend their own identities in the name of postmodernism.
I opt to be still in teenage dream and crown her as my sexy hero.
Just as I do not want my lecturers to act casually, I want they to keep on the high dreams of mine. They’re good up there. Once touches my senses, all will be ruined.

A Phrase of Agony

How much do a frame takes more attention than the painting itself? It is when you as yourself, and only you, consider the real attraction is the frame, which used to be the painting, but somehow must be shifted into a frame. Straightforwardly,

She stared at standing people in front of her bleakly. Dark men in dark suits. Heavy skeletons kept them alive and faithfully brought them home to the ladies and children. Really, no glimpse of rainbows, or sparkled lights, which usually may glee her. All was a hard puzzle to be interpreted through lines and wrinkles on faces. You should contemplate rigidly until you may take the meaning of those old, exhausted faces were a struggle of life. Hard to think, when she was really in their same struggle too.
She did not do that. The staring of the big picture was just a full concentration, so she could see the line through the tip of her left eye. She couldn’t see it barely, though. But for sure, firm figure was there. The neck was higher than her softest hair on the peak of her head. You could tell the chest beating together with hers, though not in the same rhyme.

For it had decided not to take the same rhyme anymore.
For hands will not intermingled.
For the greatest power was conducting the organs, Dio.
And she understood and understands
Dio mysteriously will always right at the end.
Gloria in Excelsis Deo, they sing harkly on Christmas.
For the Dio, she shifted the main attraction into frame.
He had determined
To be the frame
Too
Stop painting all heavenly fountains of honey, sparkling, and apple that may pour and abundant her throat with sin.
The sweetest one.