she does not return my call
is she dead?
i wonder myself.
if so, then everything will lose its meaning
i have nothing to go at to
no one shall witness my head
as it slowly dictates my every bodily movements
millions slowly burn their songs
into my ears
i think i’m in love
they stood next to us
calling upon him as he carves
the most generous smile
he too is in love
but yet i don’t feel anything
dreamlike, everything
midnight no longer woos me
what am i to be?
in pursuit of a thief.
orange tiger gentle tiger.
hesitantly i sigh
a moment later
he dies.
the cat storms off.
i am to live as surreal as possible starting today
no more confessions?
yes, because somehow everything evaporates into boredom
it’s best not to reveal
there’s a careful balance to everything
who is the woman
it is reiko
i am remembering
the girl playing the piano the pathological liar
at any rate, we must seal off everything
there is magic in the elusive
cherry remains an illusion
extremely confident she struts about the world
with her fake eyes her fake lashes
and her vintage acid wash shorts
i am thoroughly ignored
and remain ignorant
what is there left in the world
are we to find a solution
nothing permeates into our hearts any longer
what must be done
ennui or not she remains the same
bored and boring
i am the same
i am the same
i don’t know what else to say.
and now i am stupefied, and i think nothing is worthwhile. maybe everything is worthwhile, maybe crossing the street and be talking to strangers just because you recognize they’re malaysians and ask where they are going and decide to come with em after twenty seconds is just maddening. maybe her reading your blog a long time ago (which is absolutely, wonderfully, lol) is somewhat surprising. maybe watching idiotic fan girls who suddenly decided to storm through the fucking crowd, pushing everyone along the way, the dastard absent melon heads raising hands just to say, hey sean, hey ryu take a look and be forever enchanted is the way one should go about their way on the world. i don’t know. maybe meeting an actual someone who suddenly confesses she wants to be a writer somewhat surprises you, or how they have read more murakami than you (but there is simply no loss, anyway), or how you could lie on the carpet all day just fucking talking rambling to your other friend while facing the ceiling. that is the way to go. that is how everybody goes. just spacing out one day after another, only to be regretting for fifty minutes just to start to do it all over. i am short of money. i don’t know what i have done to myself. i’ve been eating practically nothing but milk and any other addition of ice cream or honey or some flavored nesquick and incredible amounts of coffee just to survive over here. squandered.
people are getting depressingly isolated from each other. everything has become absolutely clinic. cordial. what is there left to say. people run out of topics eventually. how am i to live with anyone after a year.
as a rule, i hate anyone who sleeps after subuh.
as a rule, i must be allowed to stay limp for as long as i want to.
morning are grey. i hate this.
surrealism my ass. apa yang surreal nya?
i am not to live any more. i am to go on a automatic mode.
so he told everyone he’s been seeing a psychologist
a counselor.
i don’t know the difference.
is it a psychiatrist?
no.
i don’t know the difference either.
but i’ve been to each and every
one of them.
i tell him.
i laughed at her,
because the problem was a trifle matter
old people don’t get depressed.
they’re too old for that.
you either die before you’re thirty
or fourty
and be immortal
glorious
else decline into
a faint light
dim and indistinct
ignored.
j tried again yesterday
i thought people are supposed to
do that only once a every few months
space is necessary
spacing makes everything meaningful
discern-able
scrutable
exposure.
i want to hear from you
every single day
out of boredom
because that is the only thing that matters.
woman of a heart of stone, he says the last time.
haven’t spoke to him for more than a year.
pessimist, fatalist, sadist, words i throw to him.
don’t ever come back.
“malaysia welcome not abroad student”
“malaysia welcomes not students abroad”
assistant engineer midnight chandeliers
sweat and fat the big flab
what have i done?
working, how’s that working out for you?
i ask this everyone,
i’ve never worked a day in my life.
seasonal, only. hours, only.
satisfaction never lasts.
i don’t toil, for i don’t aspire for money,
yet.
money is secondary, father says.
so sufistic so majestic
he tolerates not our typewriter’s song.
but hallaj would not love him.
for he toils too much.
berikan aku perempuan tua itu
tanamkannya di pesisiran bukit
yang dahulu kalanya indah
tapi kini maut merisik di setiap penjuru
tulang tulang lembut disambut akur
blood flows through my fingers
i think i am alive again
autumn rain, morning breeze
i am reincarnated again.
of course, those events in themselves did not seem to affect me, but when put together, it forms the grand notion of things.
ok tak ingat camane nak eja pun.
it is up to me. thoughts crop up simply like that. this is the raw material of it. i am done with your churning. the malevolent wishing of putting down, downgrading everything, a subtle annoyance wisping through your hair, advocating nothing, and nothingness, a lump of bruise strutting around trying to inflict and wound.
this is not to woo, this is how i operate, and you are but a spectator to all this.
i had a dream when i was fifteen. i collapsed, in a room full of people, a party i think, lights glimmering about, and not one notices. not one notices. and it was my own doing anyway, ready to die, ready to collapse and be obscured from the masses and drown amid all the noise. they stared gaped gathered around me yet did not offer me not one hand. funny thing was i remembered i was smiling happily, lying on the floor like that. as if bliss decided to finally take me in.
i told myself this dream was a prophecy.
of course, the next day i tried to fulfill it. in my own way of course. the grand exit. what lunacy.
why now i recount this? a girl here witnessed it, or was part of the day it happened. a mere spectator. a lingerer. spoke to her to-day. hm hm, not one remembers. not one. i am to be forgotten. sometimes i think i’m too dramatic. superfluous, even.
emo je lebih. padahal takde ape pun.
perkaraperkara 