"So why don't UNSC gives the same preassure to India, Pakistan, and others concerning their nuclear power instead on Ahmadinejad's country only?"
"Well, huney, India and Pakistan didn't sign NPT. That is why."
should I know? Unfortunately, on this wrong path I chose and tangled myself with I have to know things I don't want to know.
Saturday, November 19, 2005
two cheering up bengbengs for the day after
complicated, complicated, what is so complicated for you?
the complicated is when I saw my friend shouting at night on the parking lot
underneath full mooned sky, which ray didn't even shine because of the rainy afternoon
shouted out loud until I was barely able to differenciate my voice with hers.
for the multitude was very high and you had never saw her like that before, I guarantee.
for blaming her, us, women.women the ones who flirted you. and you broke broke and died and defended
and oiling her tiny eyes with redden water that couldn't come out.
For all ungentle men, fuck em all goes for them amen, and she mirrored at me.
and we both said,
"This is a one fine day, sista."
...yes, and the powerful still young Whitney Houston voice from " the Bodyguard" came streoudly, continued by Boyz II Men and Mariah Carey's "One Sweet Day" and so on...
And there were we. girls.faded moonlight.empty parking lot. a stereo. and motown classics.
the complicated is when I saw my friend shouting at night on the parking lot
underneath full mooned sky, which ray didn't even shine because of the rainy afternoon
shouted out loud until I was barely able to differenciate my voice with hers.
for the multitude was very high and you had never saw her like that before, I guarantee.
for blaming her, us, women.women the ones who flirted you. and you broke broke and died and defended
and oiling her tiny eyes with redden water that couldn't come out.
For all ungentle men, fuck em all goes for them amen, and she mirrored at me.
and we both said,
"This is a one fine day, sista."
...yes, and the powerful still young Whitney Houston voice from " the Bodyguard" came streoudly, continued by Boyz II Men and Mariah Carey's "One Sweet Day" and so on...
And there were we. girls.faded moonlight.empty parking lot. a stereo. and motown classics.
Monday, November 14, 2005
For the subordinates
The blaze of red stringy lights stroke
Stabbing, degrading
Ignoring slightly when another species interrupted
The bold stringent laser dissolved into miasma
Moving everything slightly
Making optical illusion
Flowing the border of each entity
Melting the border lines
And the silver rainbow hot fluid in each tube pouring each other
Finally they all looked the same
Somewhat rainbow paddlepop ice cream with more oily colors
A threat.
Stabbing, degrading
Ignoring slightly when another species interrupted
The bold stringent laser dissolved into miasma
Moving everything slightly
Making optical illusion
Flowing the border of each entity
Melting the border lines
And the silver rainbow hot fluid in each tube pouring each other
Finally they all looked the same
Somewhat rainbow paddlepop ice cream with more oily colors
A threat.
Burn burn
Love run run
Fortnight go twinkling stars
Slip the warmth through the fingers
Then burn
At least the black limp stays
Sprinkled towards the magnetic clouds
To shower thousand days with its vapor
Poisoning, saturating through skin pores
Craving shadows below the eyes
Disorienting.
And keep your silent decay. Let me cry.
Love run run
Fortnight go twinkling stars
Slip the warmth through the fingers
Then burn
At least the black limp stays
Sprinkled towards the magnetic clouds
To shower thousand days with its vapor
Poisoning, saturating through skin pores
Craving shadows below the eyes
Disorienting.
And keep your silent decay. Let me cry.
Sunday, November 13, 2005
I hate you, hey waterboy
For floating relaxed on the sea
For every slide of a movie you’ve seen
After a full midnight seeing projected moving picture on the white wall
Of a house near cannabis plantation
Just tell me the comparison and benefit analysis
Between floating and enjoying.
picture from www.googbix.com
Friday, November 11, 2005
Trash. We are in.
As a week full, people in Germany saw fire balls eclipting their sky. Although many people assumed that they were UFOs, NASA stated in its website that they were not. The fire balls were said to unknown group of meteors, since earth is orbiting through trashes of the galaxy.
Interesting. Trashes in bigger trashes.
As a week full, people in Germany saw fire balls eclipting their sky. Although many people assumed that they were UFOs, NASA stated in its website that they were not. The fire balls were said to unknown group of meteors, since earth is orbiting through trashes of the galaxy.
Interesting. Trashes in bigger trashes.
Parents. Parents. Conservative Parents.
My friend started smoking a month ago. She brought a pack of menthol cigarettes home. Sure, she kept it in her bag. Not long after that, when she was going to go out and bring her cigarettes, she found that the pack was no longer there.
There were only her and her parents living at that house. Her parents took it? Maybe. But, she was not confronted.
Me. I bought a S$5 paperback book of the feminist, Anais Nin, “Artist and Models”. Thanks to Zineng for the recommendation. Then, when I was about just finished the first short story, the little pink covered book with naked woman sculpture on it gone. Disappear. Mysteriously. Ya, the sexual description was inevitably detailed. Maybe it worries people around me.
But I was not confronted.
Two days ago, Astrid, my other friend, asked, “How come parents in Indonesia considered sex education as a taboo thing to be discussed at homes?”
Hmm… I was beginning to think,
“That’s normal,” I said.
There were only her and her parents living at that house. Her parents took it? Maybe. But, she was not confronted.
Me. I bought a S$5 paperback book of the feminist, Anais Nin, “Artist and Models”. Thanks to Zineng for the recommendation. Then, when I was about just finished the first short story, the little pink covered book with naked woman sculpture on it gone. Disappear. Mysteriously. Ya, the sexual description was inevitably detailed. Maybe it worries people around me.
But I was not confronted.
Two days ago, Astrid, my other friend, asked, “How come parents in Indonesia considered sex education as a taboo thing to be discussed at homes?”
Hmm… I was beginning to think,
“That’s normal,” I said.
Darth Vedder II
Look…
…in the middle of nineties, Dr. Azahari was known to start contemplating religious matters. At the same time, his wife was stroke by cancer on her throat after having their second baby. Then, his wife could no more produce sound, thus she couldn’t lecture anymore at the Universitas Teknologi Malaysia. Strongly believed that this grand soul suffering became the trigger of Azahari’s changing trait.
…Anakin Skywalker was torn down after seeing in his dream that Padme’s life is no long to be taken. Then, this triggered him to become Darth Vedder since he knew from his dream that he would suffer a lot if his newlywed wife died. After the dark hazing, he killed innocent people. Many.
How much I hate to see deeper. Since, afterwards, there will always be Byronic heroes as the result. Pity, romantic thoughts may go to the killers.
…in the middle of nineties, Dr. Azahari was known to start contemplating religious matters. At the same time, his wife was stroke by cancer on her throat after having their second baby. Then, his wife could no more produce sound, thus she couldn’t lecture anymore at the Universitas Teknologi Malaysia. Strongly believed that this grand soul suffering became the trigger of Azahari’s changing trait.
…Anakin Skywalker was torn down after seeing in his dream that Padme’s life is no long to be taken. Then, this triggered him to become Darth Vedder since he knew from his dream that he would suffer a lot if his newlywed wife died. After the dark hazing, he killed innocent people. Many.
How much I hate to see deeper. Since, afterwards, there will always be Byronic heroes as the result. Pity, romantic thoughts may go to the killers.
the Farthest Logic is Imagination
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picture: mushalla FIB UI at sunset, by OvWhat if…
My mom hadn’t marry my father?
Or at least just’d stayed with her own faith.
Probably I would be fasting for one month and not being there in Saturday night.
Read Toni Morisson’s Love with a blue cyan big cup of cappuccino and one tiny nutella biscuit.
With my jeans soaked for the heavy rain, which made me took Rp. 70.000,00 for taxi.
And, gosh, I had to go there for a pee since I forgot to bring my room’s key. So dumb. More, I had to wait for my friends to come over.
What if…
My mom had not been that subordinate than my father?
Probably I would be heading for my grandmother’s house, far away in Central Java.
Not sacrificing my afternoon with the pervert society (again!)
With poetic realist novel in my hand and desperate jazzy sound on the stereo, which damn, I liked it a lot!
“…You must remember this, a kiss is still a kiss, a sigh is just a sigh, na na na na na na na na… as time goes by…”
(actually, there wasn’t na na na na. Just forget the lyrics.)
and he’s heading to the east, and she’s to the west, little bit southy. She just couldn’t relax, for the stretch. The stretch that pulled each centimeter of her brain tissue to wander, to connect. But, it extremely faded the chance to
to what? To see? To smell? To feel?
She could only imagine.
What if…
The sexy girl, Dinda had not been the Public Officer for Culturaholic?
I didn’t get along with Taufik, who were Dinda’s General Secretary. Thus, it was him who connected me to Dinda?
I didn’t have much chits chats with this sassy lady, Sisie?
I didn’t join a pervert society and being introduced to Abi, by Disty?
I would had been drown into this purplish red covered little novel, and a book of the history of sense.
And she will would had injected each word she read to intensify the stretch.
For they were the guys I met in serendipity, that Saturday night, which usually people had left kosts for their homes, specially near Idul Fitri.
and they loosened the stretch.
Isn’t it funny, the way you choose whose people you are connected with right now, will affect your future. In a specific, tangible way. Probably, when you’re having a relationship with someone, you don’t know that it might cause a super practical impact for your future kids.
The way you choose someone to talk to, determine an act in your life, whether you’ll be delighted or not in your sour day. (just an obsessive thought of anticipation)
anyhow, Happy Idul Fitri for all of you... All the blessing with us
Saturday, October 29, 2005
Thursday, October 27, 2005
aku punya teman.
nama bekennya ada ranum-ranumnya gitu, deh.
trus belakangnya bee-bo, hehehe... pasti tau dong. (lokal, buat sastra Inggris UI). Tapi, ini ga ada hubungannya, sih.
Point is, I wanna be ripe.
In experience, in focus in life.
I think, it is so easy to find inspiring, ripe people.
When you see the lecturers in the department,
when I see them,
I know, I stll have lots to dig in in this world.
nama bekennya ada ranum-ranumnya gitu, deh.
trus belakangnya bee-bo, hehehe... pasti tau dong. (lokal, buat sastra Inggris UI). Tapi, ini ga ada hubungannya, sih.
Point is, I wanna be ripe.
In experience, in focus in life.
I think, it is so easy to find inspiring, ripe people.
When you see the lecturers in the department,
when I see them,
I know, I stll have lots to dig in in this world.
Ov, come on, Consolate yourself!
Feeling exhausted, it is official, Midtest is not all around anymore, but
* I lost my lovely agenda, which its each page I made on my own! plus... all notes about my final essay is all there. So, please... if you found a colorful agenda with the cover "Samuel Barber's Piano Concerto" at front and "Classic meets Cuba at the back", It belongs to me.
* Applying for a visa is not as easy as I imagined, plus... the bird flu issue plus Bali bombing II, make it harder. (lucky damn all first world citizen, for your accessibleness for visa on arrival).
* The thought of what I read in Sejarah Kebudayaan Indonesia materials for midtest is just too much to endure. Names of Buddha's hand gestures, their meanings, years and years passed by Pithecanthropus erectus, meganthropus, and fellows. Despite the real questions in midtest, which appeared to be EXACTLY THE SAME AS LAST YEAR'S.
*I couldn't speak fluently on basic conversation in Spanish! Moncho must had been dying to send me again to Bahasa Spanyol Sumber. I am so not typical of student in Bahasa Spanyol Sumber Lanjutan. Well, the typical ? ya, actually, the class is only joined by two legal interested students: me and Indah. Indah did spend her last summer in Spain. So, you can tell... I'm so ashamed of myself. Hope my smiles work.
* I have to search and find corpuses: articles, interviews, anything... for my final essay, about contemporary new age religions in US. can you help? :)
* I really dying without my agenda. It's pretty lovely, so I don't doubt the possibility that someone had seen it fell out of my stupid blue leathered bag and just took it. It consists of: two unique postcards, which I covered with sticky transparent plastic, Rp. 6.000. Plus, one pack of colorful papers in spotlight green, yellow, blue, orange, and pink, Rp. 20.000,00. Plus, a white binder, Rp. 10.000 for the process. Most importantly, my schedule for the next two weeks and my period calendar!
one consolation for tonite: Toni Morisson's "Love"
consolation for weekend: my lovely brother's birthday: Mossa is turning ten. Plus, his concert at Kelapa Gading. Won't miss the show, lil' bro!
* I lost my lovely agenda, which its each page I made on my own! plus... all notes about my final essay is all there. So, please... if you found a colorful agenda with the cover "Samuel Barber's Piano Concerto" at front and "Classic meets Cuba at the back", It belongs to me.
* Applying for a visa is not as easy as I imagined, plus... the bird flu issue plus Bali bombing II, make it harder. (lucky damn all first world citizen, for your accessibleness for visa on arrival).
* The thought of what I read in Sejarah Kebudayaan Indonesia materials for midtest is just too much to endure. Names of Buddha's hand gestures, their meanings, years and years passed by Pithecanthropus erectus, meganthropus, and fellows. Despite the real questions in midtest, which appeared to be EXACTLY THE SAME AS LAST YEAR'S.
*I couldn't speak fluently on basic conversation in Spanish! Moncho must had been dying to send me again to Bahasa Spanyol Sumber. I am so not typical of student in Bahasa Spanyol Sumber Lanjutan. Well, the typical ? ya, actually, the class is only joined by two legal interested students: me and Indah. Indah did spend her last summer in Spain. So, you can tell... I'm so ashamed of myself. Hope my smiles work.
* I have to search and find corpuses: articles, interviews, anything... for my final essay, about contemporary new age religions in US. can you help? :)
* I really dying without my agenda. It's pretty lovely, so I don't doubt the possibility that someone had seen it fell out of my stupid blue leathered bag and just took it. It consists of: two unique postcards, which I covered with sticky transparent plastic, Rp. 6.000. Plus, one pack of colorful papers in spotlight green, yellow, blue, orange, and pink, Rp. 20.000,00. Plus, a white binder, Rp. 10.000 for the process. Most importantly, my schedule for the next two weeks and my period calendar!
one consolation for tonite: Toni Morisson's "Love"
consolation for weekend: my lovely brother's birthday: Mossa is turning ten. Plus, his concert at Kelapa Gading. Won't miss the show, lil' bro!
Hail to writers. To those who abundantly ornate the ordinary into an extra. Feel lucky, hey, those people whose names are written. Whose forms inspire the senses of right people. Right people, those who will documented these standard thus becomes an embroided stitch in history.
*sigh* you guys, bloggers. Damn lucky those people whose body and soul alter into phrases. Though they might look good, actually the quality is in the tellers. Not in the object.
-a comment, after seeing abundant words of joy, tears, and confusions from my fellow bloggers...err... writers-
a midnite chat
Someone came and slept over at my room, asked, “Whom is you lean on?”, I replied, “God.” Then, unsatisfied question,” Oh, come on, you must have someone whose shoulders you put on when you need. Someone stronger and can cloak your world with breezy and relaxing atmosphere!”
Then, I described this in my head. On a circle plate, there I stand. Between me and other people, there is a ravine . It is God. Full with mixed consciousness, I say, whatever gender it is has a strength to control the balance of wind, thus I can stand steadily.
Afterward, I finished the answer by putting families near to my circle plate.
“And men?”
“I can take them as a complimentary. As a part of me. (Property, is that the word?) Not something haloing my plate.”
“Ah, I’m beginning to trust you…I can picture you doing that.”
“Good then,” said me.
Ode untuk Hati yang Terpatah
Untuk teman-temanku, yang baru mencoba merajut kembali tangganya, walau tangga itu penuh duri.
Aku sangat mengerti.
Seorang pelukis menggambarkan tangga untukmu
Ia membuatnya begitu rapi
begiti tersususn, periodik, teratur, hingga kau terbiasa...
Duniamu pun bagaikan imaji
Kauagungkannya dengan bingkai, kaupajang di ruang paling terang
Bahkan kaupun masuk ke dalamnya.
Lihat,
kamu, dengan senyum bahagia, bangga menantang dunia
Karena kamu punya tangga
yang akan menjagamu dari kejatuhan
akan membisikkan alunan sejuk saat kaumengaduh
yang menginspirasikanmu untuk berbuat yang terbaik
bukan demi nilai
demi dia
Namun,
saat tangga dihapus,
kau seperti lukisan bodoh di sana
semua orang yang menggunjingkanmu
semua yang menikmati ceritamu
semua penggosip di Kansas
Semua teman menceramahimu dengan ajaran POSA , KUKSA, atau Musholla
Bahkan sang pelukis
menganggapmu
bodoh.
Pathethic!
Aku mengerti itu,
bukan salahmu terpana pada lukisanmu sendiri
Menangislah.
Jadilah saksi untuk semua penikmat
bahwa dalam dunia sureal itu,
kaulah yang paling logis.
Saat mereka ingin menarikmu kembali,
hanya peri waktu yang dapat membuat bingkai itu lebih kecil
hingga dapat berpindah tempat.
Tidak lagi mengkotakkimu.
Tapi dapat kaujinjing,
kausimpan,
kaukunci di ruang berdebu,
kaujual,
atau bahkan
kaubuang.
Aku sangat mengerti.
Seorang pelukis menggambarkan tangga untukmu
Ia membuatnya begitu rapi
begiti tersususn, periodik, teratur, hingga kau terbiasa...
Duniamu pun bagaikan imaji
Kauagungkannya dengan bingkai, kaupajang di ruang paling terang
Bahkan kaupun masuk ke dalamnya.
Lihat,
kamu, dengan senyum bahagia, bangga menantang dunia
Karena kamu punya tangga
yang akan menjagamu dari kejatuhan
akan membisikkan alunan sejuk saat kaumengaduh
yang menginspirasikanmu untuk berbuat yang terbaik
bukan demi nilai
demi dia
Namun,
saat tangga dihapus,
kau seperti lukisan bodoh di sana
semua orang yang menggunjingkanmu
semua yang menikmati ceritamu
semua penggosip di Kansas
Semua teman menceramahimu dengan ajaran POSA , KUKSA, atau Musholla
Bahkan sang pelukis
menganggapmu
bodoh.
Pathethic!
Aku mengerti itu,
bukan salahmu terpana pada lukisanmu sendiri
Menangislah.
Jadilah saksi untuk semua penikmat
bahwa dalam dunia sureal itu,
kaulah yang paling logis.
Saat mereka ingin menarikmu kembali,
hanya peri waktu yang dapat membuat bingkai itu lebih kecil
hingga dapat berpindah tempat.
Tidak lagi mengkotakkimu.
Tapi dapat kaujinjing,
kausimpan,
kaukunci di ruang berdebu,
kaujual,
atau bahkan
kaubuang.
Monday, October 17, 2005
Tuesday, October 11, 2005
mental breakdown
1. No money to go to WUDC 2006
2. No efficient effort to debate, nationally, and internationally
3. No faith in my own final thesis
4. ...can think no more...
5. no sports time...bad, bad, bad!!! even no time for salsa!
see you soon, think that I really need a super suplements in handling my days. Probably, also need a haircut.
2. No efficient effort to debate, nationally, and internationally
3. No faith in my own final thesis
4. ...can think no more...
5. no sports time...bad, bad, bad!!! even no time for salsa!
see you soon, think that I really need a super suplements in handling my days. Probably, also need a haircut.
Sunday, October 09, 2005
tattoos from an angel
She was very kind. Her Christian name is even Angela. Suits perfectly. And that day, strikingly, each of her friends had a tearful problem. Afterward, she bought a strip of temporary tattoo in the bazaar. With a help of a cup of Aqua, a pack of Paseo, and a scissors or cutter, then voila!
Meci got one sexy butterfly on the side of her neck.
Billy got one on his wrist.
Andie got two butterflies. One for his right bicep, and one for his back neck.
Billy then asked for more. This one was a flower on his right bicep.
And me? I got a butterfly on my left wrist, for a tearful problem that I thought it was me who hallucinated the whole knots of signs to become an agony, which I endure until I felt blessed.
And the angel? She got one too. One beautiful butterfly on her right hand, in between the thumb and forefinger, signified that she also had a problem.
And t’was, a real perfect painful day for us to smile over.
and this is a different story, played by the different butterfly...
.…and the butterfly didn’t understand. It flied around a yellow buttercup held in a strong grasp. At first, the hand shooed it off. The wave moved the wind around. It soothed the butterfly in this dry season. Wind run smoothly through its skin. Tickling sheer optimized by the pat of the hand. The hand admired beautiful pattern, which lingering on it. Butterfly really enjoyed, and didn’t understand. Then, the hand shooed, without patting. Minimum spoil made the butterfly reacted. It didn’t go away, but went nearer to the hand, asked for more. Then, I didn’t know what happened. I just turned my head for a while, attracted to adzan maghrib that stroke. Or adzan subuh, or the church bell, I couldn’t tell the difference. Since the puzzled mind was hardly processing what my ears heard, I came back to the butterfly. It was exhaustedly lying on a garbage pile beside the soil where the dandelions grew. And I heard the butterfly, “Ah, now I understand,” while it was struggling, twisted, in between stinky heap. The carbonate produced by the waste pulverized on the air, soaked into its skin, complete with low hiss. Ruined the beauty. And the butterfly said, “Thank you, for making me understand.”
Poor butterfly, I thought.
.…and the butterfly didn’t understand. It flied around a yellow buttercup held in a strong grasp. At first, the hand shooed it off. The wave moved the wind around. It soothed the butterfly in this dry season. Wind run smoothly through its skin. Tickling sheer optimized by the pat of the hand. The hand admired beautiful pattern, which lingering on it. Butterfly really enjoyed, and didn’t understand. Then, the hand shooed, without patting. Minimum spoil made the butterfly reacted. It didn’t go away, but went nearer to the hand, asked for more. Then, I didn’t know what happened. I just turned my head for a while, attracted to adzan maghrib that stroke. Or adzan subuh, or the church bell, I couldn’t tell the difference. Since the puzzled mind was hardly processing what my ears heard, I came back to the butterfly. It was exhaustedly lying on a garbage pile beside the soil where the dandelions grew. And I heard the butterfly, “Ah, now I understand,” while it was struggling, twisted, in between stinky heap. The carbonate produced by the waste pulverized on the air, soaked into its skin, complete with low hiss. Ruined the beauty. And the butterfly said, “Thank you, for making me understand.”
Poor butterfly, I thought.
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