baby,
Sit on your fatty ass
When you hear the names mentioned
And you don’t wanna peep even through the glass
since you don’t want the drop catches attention

so honey,
Sit on your fatty ass
With the cards play seems may drag your direction
From your farfetched dream being in their class
And the cannon doesn’t even know the healing caption

And dear,
Sit on your fatty ass
Press your knees to your bourbon
Sip the distilled whiskey to your mind carcass
When he disturbs your ‘Janie’s Got A Gun’
And how your absent hearted spills makes him crushed

sometimes, breaking is just a real right thing to be happened. Never imagined that I long for it now.

I AM a kid of third world country

When unfortunes strike my life, two options lay, to blame myself or my misfortune being in this country.

One dry sunny morning with polluted particles dusked from big tires. Don’t blame me when I selfishly choose air conditioner as the best invention besides electricity. Waiting for air conditioned bus is not for those who can’t stand. It needs a half to three quarter hour. Getting the bus, stood on the frontiest array of standing people, with nothing to grip. Ass on someone’s something, and literally, you needed to cover your breasts to avoid a contact with walking conductor collecting 5,500 rupiahs. And while the feet were tensed in balancing the result of sudden breaks, the same feet had to hang on for one and a half hour in a horrible traffic jam. Okay with all the conditions, meaning that yes, it is acceptable to stand in a public transportation. But, the idea of you could do nothing for one and a half hour is just so sad.

I kept on agreeing Amartya Sen on his thought that poverty happen because of limited chances. Including the chance to do something in one and a half hour, I may add. My pray and slander were answered. Getting off from the bus, took the other final one, and, vale… empty seats, functioned well air conditioner with slight smell of oranged scented cheap car fresherners, and songs…do that to me one more time, one is never enough for a man like you…

And the excitement of last night appeared. The excitement which could successfully erased my sadomasochist thoughts when I saw Kuch Kuch Hota He (spelling correction, anyone?) at that afternoon. I could no longer parallelize my experience with any kind of love stories.

It is now
Unmeaningful.
And, the dawn boy, do that to me one more time…
Because one is never enough for a man like you, not him.

A consolation for the lost

This is my latest weekend after you said good luck. Yes, only that, without sweeteners like you used to pour. Honda city. The hotel. The lovers of the Artic Circle. Teater Utan Kayu. Stinky man. A couple. A hundred thousand rupiahs for a bowl of tasteless, big sized noodle. Late conversation. With someone resembles you. Late awake. Made Nick Long and Redwan wait for long. Nick said Daniel Redcliffe was joining England selection for WUDC. Redcliffe was a debater. Taksi Putra. 52. two hours. Cipinang Jaya. Supermarket Divine. Conversation. The eccentric lecturer’s home. Ten o’clock. Convenient store. Pringles. Smax. Batteries. Two bottles of Aqua. A man and two cartons of cigarettes. Kosti. Happy Saturday night wish for the taxi driver. Loosening chat with Miranda. Muhammad was the latest prophet. The message completed. McDonald’s delivery. Fillet o fish. The daily show. Adjudicate. Ridiculous photo session with Donny. Break night party. Someone else’s RX.
Went home, and he said, “ You’re rarely be on a motorcycle, aren’t you?”
“I was used to. But now, no more,” I replied.
A photographer, a film maker, a smoker, on the same religion and ethnicity, a silent boy, boy… it’s so safe?

Kalau kau ingin membuat segalanya tak bermakna
cungkilah tiap detail warna yang ada
Ceritakan setiap saat di kala kau bisa
Sebanyak orang yang kausuka
Hingga kepingan habis, kosong, dan menganga
dan kau akan mengiya
cerita-cerita itu bukan apa-apa
bagi dirinya, bagi mereka, bagi dunia
bagi dirimu

sehingga kau dapat melapisinya dengan kalkir
dan membuatnya rabun, jauh, tidak berwarna, penuh miasma
walaupun sebenarnya
ada.

Crack
Brag
Slack
what I hate when my friends just fall in love?
They do not share moments with you again
Specially the guys.
Or, I hate this, because I will rethink, are we really friends? Or I just coincidently meet them and shares things.
Without particular care for each other.
And, this forces me also to believe in the concept that love doesn’t take, but give
Only, which I didn’t buy before.
Make me rethink again, why love should be prioritized over some kiddy games and laughter sessions?
I just don’t get it.

Special, for: the long haired pianist and the bald manager!
Wake up guys, smell the coffee!!!

two more weeks, and, "What's the jog, bro?"

...waiting for Harry James' Manhattan Serenade faded away from my head...

tale taled heart

somehow the lines written all over in biography books turned out reality last day when I said to myself I won't let anyone hurt myself anymore. Hopefully my self-defense turns bolder now. Let's see...

waking in early morning on Sunday, went to Fasilkom to debate, and fascinatingly at eight o'clock at night, debates had soothed me. Weird, but true. Went back home, helped my mom doing the laundries until 1.30 in the morning, set the alarm, had a good night sleep and dreamt shopped over Plaza Indonesia. woke up at 7.00 and had a phonecall to go to university administration center, it's about letters, as usual. And a comunicative class with Moncho, "No es bueno tener un solo hijo, crees? o la madre trabaja siempre mas que el padre, crees?" "Creo que si por las preguntas...," I said. Felt thankful to Bobo, because the Fernando Alonso article helped me a lot in Moncho's task in the class: imagining un persona latino. Think that Alonso es perfecto suficiente.

And I've haven't been hurt since el sabado. So far...

"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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

the Farthest Logic is Imagination

picture: mushalla FIB UI at sunset, by Ov



What 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

from www.kompas.com

from xl1solutions.com

Jame, this lady that you mean????!!!!
humm..hummm...

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.