Coast

It was an honest morning.
The wind choking my voice with my own breath.
The salty air, and the December breeze reminded me of the many reasons why I took the option to feel alive.
The shoreline pines, and the closed books shielded me from the bitter vein.
Whiskey, and cigarette.
The golden sunrise, and the reflected water, and oh there was you.
Chasing sunshine, rushing the wind, splashing sea water, and moulding the sand.
I took my last ivory, and joined you in your forested presence.
We are the children of the universe.


(Photo: sunchild and the sea.)

Greatest Light Borrower

Velvet moonlight of the late round up year.
Gentle strums of the ocean waves.
Your voice is an endless chords of an imaginary instrument: fluid, in harmony.
My nearly closed eyes, and the opened book are the reasons why you haven't stop humming.
Our last few days of oneness are slowly dripping in silence, and quiet admiration.
They teared up our minds like anatomy. Breaking bones, and identity.
The open road, and golden sunshine are still humbly waiting for us.
For the wheels to run through it, and our laughters to scatter on it.
The universe gazing our minds like an x-ray machine detecting lies.
I don't want you to go home. I don't want us to go home.

Belladonna

For all I want is to be alone.
Alone,
Not even the rain in June.
Not even the snow of Kilimanjaro.
Not even my Moroccan Sunset.
Not even my dear London.
Not even my local light workers.
Alone.
To be utterly free.
To be utterly empty.


And then, I will drown safely.

(Belladonna: charcoal and ink on paper)

Good reading material

I want to say thank you to the guy from Wollongong, is it correct? The GONG? For linking us, your humble followers a perfectly written article from Cracked.

Anyway, here it is:
http://t.co/op1y7hYn

In his words, in the words of Rif fucking di, "DO HAVE A READ GUISE".

Oh, say hello to him: http://livinginwollongong.blogspot.com

Lovers in London

The rain is still falling, my dear.
In the city of London.
Where we bid ourselves goodbye.
The rain is still falling.
In the place where I lay my head tonight.
Where I locked our memories aside.
The rain is still falling.
And it will always falling.
Until our day comes.

Intelligence

You do not shove your intelligence to other people.
It is hidden and will always remain hidden inside your head.
It cannot be seen, yet people can feel it in your presence without you having to try hard to act intelligent.
And if you're trying to show it off, you'll end up as the dumbest person alive.

(Media: Charcoal and ink on paper.)

Ode to the collapsing blue skies

Here we are again, dear.
Ten miles above the ground.
Floating freely on our sacred crowns.

Here we are, giving our salute to the faint moonlight.
Our goodbye kiss to the dim sunlight.
And our wishes to the passing starlight.

Here we are, with freedom standing before our eyes.
And years way beyond our guts.

There there Neith,
We'll keep on fighting,
And I, in the burning soul of Athena,
Will keep going,
Until the blue sky collapse.

(Neith is the Egyptian Goddess of War.)

Brothers III

To be reminded about your brief presence,

Even if I wasn't even breathing,

To be reminded about my eternal summer,

My eternal raindrops,

As if you have always been here,

By my side,

Fighting the demons, 

Called, 

Myself.

Enigma: Part 1

Let me bathe in my enemies' blood.
And let me stay until the liver turns to a coal of rust.
And I will have a glass of vodka, in front of the fireplace, as the snowlake city melts to a pool of devastation.
For I will watch the world burns before my eyes.
Roasting the demented souls of the capital suckers.
Blood drinkers.
And I, I will keep my darkest secret.

(supporting illustrations will be posted later)

Cold Seasons

In the bleak mid rain,
In the coldness of the illuminated night.
A pair of aryan eyes peeking through the mindless door.
Soaking to the deepest shangri-la state of mind.
Knocking.
Pushing down the veins the veins the veins.
Of the long lost winter dreams.
Up against the border, to the west, and to the corner.

On the Edge

Running wild, running free in the night.
Right leg up, another down.
Repetitively, until the sun burns the ground.
And as you jump, the whole world starts to cry.
For the sake of their emptiness.
Dullness of the endless gray skies.
From under the dust,
you trance through the night,
and you consume our breath like - dynamite.

A Birthday Present

An installation.

The Girl From The Coast

She was born last centuries.
In the middle of tight crisis.
Slaveries. Slaveries.

Hypocrisy of the society.
Of the socially accepted violence.
In the name of Lord, they used to pray.

The Girl was taken from her home.
Home by the sea.
She was unleashed.
She was free.

Until the day he,
He wanted her skin,
He wanted her being,
By saying "Lord in heaven bless thee"

Her soul kicked back,
To the sea she ran,
Upon her stolen horse,
Like a relic in the dark.

The girl from the coast,
and her words,
strong enough to punch men throat to throat.

Plath 2

Ariel

What can I say about this poem?

God's lioness, midnight runner, glittery foam, shimmering like Godiva.

Plath 1

The Rabbit Catcher

"It was a place of force -
The wind gagging my mouth with my own blown hair,
Tearing off my voice, and the sea
Blinding me with its lights, the lives of the dead
Unreeling in it, spreading like oil."

Typo

Latest typographical artwork.
Ink on paper.

In the words of Plath,
"You do not do anymore blackshoe.."

Partial Sunrise

Diamond in the rough.
The raw gold darling.
We belong where the clear blue skies are,
Where the mountains blow the thick cold breeze,
Where the aurora sunrise creeping the door each morning,
Where the lakes are crystal clear,
Where our vowels can run poetically.

And your clever ideas, ideas, ideas.
And my vivid dreams, dreams, dreams.
We will cruise the ocean of life.
Fall in love with each other's wits all over again.
Every single bit of millisecond.
As the atoms break down into two, the closer we get.
The closer they break.

(Inspired by the Fitzgeralds)

Display

Midnight lovebirds.
How cute, how terrorizing.

Romance should never be put on hold, yet life has to be put on first on daily basis.

Stop patronizing me with your fancy garments, feasts, and endless puns.
For I understand the rain and the storm way more than you understand your idea of fun.

Midnight lovebirds, keep your lust in your guns.

00.00 GMT+7

Appregio

Cold night.
Warm drinks.
Starless skies.
Endless musical instruments. Notebook.
Unspoken words.
Written imageries.
Distance.
Time.
Oh you.

Nobody knows that I can actually set the world on fire.

Rain 3: Connection.

The rain is falling outside my window right now.
Pouring their strategies to win back this life.
Rain and I.
United in one.

Vague

I see your name everywhere I go.
I see your face beneath my ego.

Love brings your soul to cover my sorrow.
All my worries of tomorrow.

Even though the oceans are widely spread between us.
You, God's stallion always found your ways accurately to drown me in the sharpest of all gorse.

I have tasted the acidity of the moonlit floor.
Alone.
Dancing in the midwest wind.
Gazing through your cold eyes, static bones, statuesque figure.
As if you have greeted me in a way the sun greets the moon in the dawn.
Where no one could talk.
Nor even ask.
About the tight wires inside our flask.

Where have you been, stardust?
Let the fireflies, and midnight's tricksters fly away off your bats.
And stay, stay, stay, stay.
Close to my art.
The beating heart.

Missing muse

I miss the thought of you running in my head.
The withering flowers, the unspoken words, and the charming glow of the sheer rope that connects us.
Oh you, and sheets of musical instrument.
Oh me, and unmeasurable love for the falling rain.
I wish I didn't dig the truth too far.
I wish I didn't hear you speak about Keats.
About loving everybody, and peace.
All I've got is a longing pain, and some missing parts.
I haven't been inspired since the last time we part.
Virtually. Mind to mind. In another galaxy.
When will you come and fall with the rain again?

Condolences

Dearest Aunt Suhyarina,

To die is such a long way to go.
The lights that appear before your eyes like flashes of thunder blinding your heart and your soul and your memory.
The wandering dead relatives with toy baloons and sheer fireworks cheering for the incoming being.
The teary eyed living relatives with their endless mourn whispering in vain.
Which way to go?
To the right? To the left?
Or keep going straight and never look back?
And your wild thoughts wander the empty air (Who will wait? Who will care?)
But no one in the white room understands your direction as much as you do.
No one in the mortuary knows the look of your utopia.
The ultimate nirvana.
So, go on....
Run to the hills, fly to Valhalla, explore the deepest pit of Atlantis, sleep on top of the faint Moon ground.
For your spirit carries on, with no regret, and I won't forget.
To die is such a wonderful journey.

16/11/1964 - 27/10/2012

Belladonna

How wonderful, how deadly, how flawless.
I have given my all to the doctors, and to the psychiatrists for taking care of my mental needs.
I have given my all to the petals of lotus for calming my restless soul.
With no expectations for them to return the favor.

I, a lost daughter of war stranded on earth.
The mightiest Valhalla, greater than Olympians.
With good looking Jotuns, and caged giants (and fallen angels and fallen angels).
I myself am still trying to survive alone. To ride off the sunset like the heroes of the gods.

For I will slay the demons inside of us. And burn and burn with the dusts.
Only to lie there in a utopia with my body facing the sky, and be free.

Home by the Sea

I dreamt of a home
Home by the sea
Surrounded by squeaking seagulls
And the warmth of the coral

I dreamt of a white sheet
Covering my eyes
As a hand leads me through the shore
Mumbling words and sonnets

I dreamt of a summer
A cold watermelon
Picnic baskets, and white sands
And a human in a perfect frame.

Outdated

The cold breeze of endless snow in Kerling
Blew the humid clouds softly
As they float upon my head.

I heard whispers, I heard stories, I heard your face
The presence of one angelic sunshine from the west
I felt it, I felt it in my chest

One week, one empty week
After you left
The dusty town for the icy forest

Lonewolf, midwest sunshine
Did they ever tell your heart
How to act?

Senja

Ada duka di sisi suka
Seperti dua burung gereja
Yang terbang berdampingan
Pesat menuju selatan dunia

Tenggelam dihisap gelapnya malam
Dan teriknya matahari senja
Tanpa rasa sesal
Yang ada hanya rasa, entah apa

Seperti duka dan suka
Yang terus berkelana
Sampai musnah jiwa raga
Melebur dalam fana

Dust and the Wind (Revisited)

There once was a boy,
whose name was Croy.
His body was created out of dust,
and he earned nobody's trust.

One day he met a girl,
who loved to swirl.
Her name was Windy,
heck she sure was not muddy.

Windy said that she loved Croy,
but she did not tell that she loved to destroy.

One day she whispered to him in gore,
"I love you, Croy. I love you forevermore."
It sickened him, and made him feel sore.

Windy twirled around Croy,
dancing to the sound of her joy.
And she twirled faster, and faster, and faster, and boom.
She swept him to his tomb.

Victim

Oh you, you're gushing red.
Strategic tactic for the light in your eyes to slip into the void of my head.
At times where I am not supposed to feel dead.
Because of this unstoppable thoughts of you in my dread.
Lies, liars, and cigarettes.
Hidden laughs, and smoky sound of blues trumpet.
In the middle of the night, under your bed.
Waiting for the right time to stab you right behind your head.

Brothers II

Two is enough to fuse with morning dew.
Like the sun that leaks through my box of truth.
Here, take these flannels, and black blue garments.
Dress yourselves in a grungy manner.
Like the imagination of your twisted sister.
The way I dreamed you were.
And let the music surround you in your summer.
Let these spectrums colour your purity and your agony.
And let go of the past, go on with your paths.
Inside the light, we all back home.

Brothers

There there, dear.
Free spirited sunshines, double trouble.
Twin midnight rainbows, twice more beautiful.
Leaner than I, closer to God.
The boys of summer, long lost paradise.
May the light brings you back home.

Rain 2: Night in icy forest.

Oh, there you are, falling from the greatest gig up there, whispering the song of our little affair.
Chasing rainbow in the darkest night, screaming for vengeance of the endless fright.
I was praying, and starving, and craving, and hoping.
Or maybe you are the only answer of my lifelong suffering.
Although I do crave you so in the deepest pit of my bones,
There is still something that I am longing for right now, mean green eyes, light years away, far in the meadows of the West.
And please remember that you are but a dust of evaporated rivers of tears, unspoken hopes, and sacred villainy.

Rain

A part of me was missing months ago.
It ran away in the dustiest day of June.
Under the burning sunlight of the most incomparable summertime.
It ran away along with my lengthy words, and invisible moving pictures.
It ran away, that some people told me to let it go.
It ran away, and they told me it would never come home.

As I gazed to the sky one evening, with my hopes up high to call you back home.
From the ground through the empty skies to where you are.
You seemed to hear my sorrow, my dreams of tomorrow.
I was in a deep silence until you decided to clear my turbulence.
And you fell, beautifully, from the perfect nowhere, and kissing the ground.
With that glorious smell of yours, and your calming instruments.
It's been a while, shall we dance through the night?

Shall I?

"Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate..."

Shall I? At times like this. At times where you are out there living your days to the ultimate fullest, and I rushing my hours to be half of a person you already are?
Rough winds of life can hardly blow down my hopes and dreams to gaze at those tiny universes in your eyes every single day.
Even they told me that I am in dipshit because I fell down the rabbit hole that is someone else's wits, your wits.
Even I can hardly see any of your flows from a far. Unlike any of those choruses.
Maybe I am wrong, so please correct me one day, that you, my dear, have a flaw that only I can understand. Because that flaw is also my flaw.

We fall in love every Friday.

And all of your unconditional love.
And all of my irrational hopes above.
And all of our witty answers to get rid of.
And all of our sorrow.
Our tomorrow.
Our vow.

Evening talks

I am forever treasuring the universe, under various moonlights, and the unconditional warmth of the sun.

If

If the night could speak, he would speak like you. Silent, dark, and secretly annihilating.
If the sun smirked, he would resemble you. Fiery bright, still, and blinding.
If the moon could stare, she would stare like you. Calm, restless, and breathtaking.
If the stars could talk, they would talk like you. Deep, meaningful, and inspiring.
If I could smile, I would smile like you. Sincere, warm, and piercing.

Deux

In love, with the ecstasy of the last blue moon.
Captured by the first gaze of the brightest jewel of the night.

As the evening star shines through your window somewhere in the west.
Devouring the sweetest dusty lullaby.
Turning the most crooked dream into the most wishful hope.
Like the blue moon, alone and swoon.

In The Rapture of August's Blue Moon

Safe and sound under the cold blue moon.
Settled behind the great kingdom of heaven.
Softly humming in the shelter like a loon.
Longing deep inside this most sacred haven.

Billion forgotten days spent in another culture.
Dead eyes, and soul bitten by a rotten vulture.
Empty minds, devoured by midnight's rapture.
Waiting for our souls to be tied by the force of nature.

Ugh

Another day. Another freakshow.
Another circus to blow.
Another lawn of play to mow.
Another teary midnight crow.
Even though ten thousand miles are breaking through our glow.
Tonight, we will shout out our vow.

Flight Attendant

Time is ticking.
Closer and closer and closer.
And I am silently waiting.
For our sunset to come over.

As you are leaving.
Please bring a little memory to store, dear lover.
And you'll be longing.
For the day where we can finally share to each other.

Metropolis 2

"My life is an endless misery!" said the old man on the busy street.
Before he disappeared behind the charcoal smoke of Monday's wit.
"Try living in his shoes" said the wise man as he sip on his booze.
To be strayed, far from your muse.
Cry god for midday blues, and unsolved clues.
For your hopes are nothing but fading tattoos.

Anchor Darling

Anchor darling, with your iron heart and metal skin. Do you feel dead without your fin?

Oceanus

As I sailed the sea one morning.
Wondering where the water is rushing.
I looked upon the sky, as if there was your face patterned all over the clouds.
I looked around the ocean, as if there was your voice screaming out loud.
Although I was standing alone on the edge of the bar, I could clearly hear your crooked sound.
Deep in my head, in between these waves, and empty crowds.
There was you, smiling, and proud.

Sands of Time

I dreamt of a bead of sand and sunset last night.
The finest of all sands.
It felt like Persia in their glory.
Golden, raw, shiny, and twisted grain.
As for the sunset, it was the best.
It tasted like the most stinging summer drink.
Sour, sweet, fresh, but warm.
There was another thing that I encountered last night.
There was you.
Yes you, whoever you are.
Sipping on the sunset, and watching the sand bursts into particles of nuclei and tiny planets.
I just sat there, stunned, as you asked me to take over your next turn.

Jakarta 3

Go on!
Bring along your son, and your daughter!
Bring along your whole fancy tribe in their best laughter!
Bring along your weapons and your finest caliber!
And you may stay, and inhabit the darkest and the deepest tunnel in between these poorly built towers.
As for your future, don't you dare, and blame other soul's power.

Note

I did not write these writings based solely on someone or something or a particular event.
I am hugely inspired by the surroundings. I write, and I paint through everyone's or everything's "eyes".

And yes, I do have some muses other than Salvador Dali.

Look, look through your despair.

Through the window.
Through the ashes of tomorrow.
Through the fallen dust of my sorrow.
Through the memories as they kneel down and bow.
Through the fragility of the midnight crow.
Through the rivers as they stream and flow.
Through the storms as they break down and blow.
Through the terribly dark pines as they grow.
Through our hearts as they slowly glow.

Sunchild

Have you witness the King of the Day rises today? Shining through armies of leaves and midnight trunks.
His warmth possessed my every single brain cell, spreading a whole new level of energy, like a battery, electrified.
And he is still shining right now, like a carats of gold in the sky, protecting the fragility of those mattresses of clouds and the innocence of the Goddess of Night.
Oh how I wish you have seen the sunrise today. Through my eyes.

Sanctuary

Falling asleep at the wheel again, dear?
Don't you just miss the smell of the grass in the morning, and the lovely sight of seagulls down the bridge?
Don't you miss the sound of the crying teapot, and the taste of freedom on top of my canvas?
Don't you miss the laughter that bursts between us, echoing all over the room, until the moon rises near the mountains?
To curl up alone under the faint moonlight, to sing along to nature's orchestra.
As long as we're inhaling the same oxygen dear, this is our sacred haven.

Sunset comes to early, and I haven't seen the rain

My little moroccan sunrise, shining right through his kaleidoscope eyes.
Glimmering green, with a hint of blue, shocking the dying moonlit floor.
They say time does not matter, because the wind always flows, and the clouds always grow, and the raven always crows.
They say age is just a number, because the moon always lights the river, and we always accidentally step on a rover, and we always fight to be a survivor.
As the dusk comes and wash away the remains of the day, I kneel before the universe, with my eyes closed, and whisper to the wind to say hello to my moroccan sunset.

Ode to the Homeward Bound

Oh how swell, to hear the symphony of the dawn.
As the sun promises to never go down.
Forgetting his throne, and his crown.

Oh how great, to see colourful curtains of the northern lights.
As the evening turns bright.
Losing her daily cloak of fright.

Oh how serene, to feel the coldness of morning dew.
As the coffee starts to brew.
Spreading the most delicate view, you.

Unearthen

I want to live in the forest, in the cold, in the mist, and be free.
I want to live under billion visible stars, under the northern lights, together with intergalactic beings, in harmony.
To be with the non-existence that is absolute freedom.

Goddammit, sweetheart. I do not know what would I write if our lovely weather did not exist.

Notes before midnight

All I have is a dry summer mist, wrapped up in ashes just like my dreams. And I breathe the mist as the rain falls to your eyes. Patchy.

One day

There will be a day where we can finally gaze at the naked skies. Counting every single star, and bathing in the northern lights.

Batik

I feel like posting an old collaboration work that I did with Fricilia Dyanpranti. It is not that old though, it was created last year.

It is called "Langgas Kirana" which means artistic beauty. Life stories of legendary artists like Vincent van Gogh and Edvard Munch that was quite tragic inspired us to dedicate a batik for artists. Being an artist has its own personal bright and dark side, and we poured all of those mixed feelings into our pagi-sore (morning-evening) batik that is the combination of Batik Jawa Hokokai (for the bright side) and Batik Ceplok (for the dark side). Elements that we used in this batik describe the likes and the mourns that an artist often feels. For example, Wijayakusuma flower in the Batik Ceplok side symbolizes that not everyone is gifted with artistic abilities, therefore not everyone can be an artist. On the other hand, Sakura flowers in the Batik Hokokai side symbolize the immortality of an artist's works.

The best part is that we were awarded a certificate from UNESCO for creating this batik. Isn't that remarkable?

Title: Langgas Kirana
Size: A2
Mixed Media
2011

Don't let the dirt drag you down.
Down.
Down.

No more secrets

Dear someone who anonymously sent me his/her secret,

You will never be alone. I think everyone feels the same way too sometimes, but I am perfectly sure that one day, not today, there will be a person, or a group of people who love(s) us and will always be there for us no matter what.

X

The secret:

"I cry and believe myself every time I think that I am going to be alone, and that no one will ever love me all my life."

Partly cloudy in both places.
The only difference is I am in the dark side, and you are standing under the sunlight.

Don't you miss the rain as much as I do?

Hello

Hello.
Said you.
In another dimension.
With superficial expression.
As if you are not a form of perfection.

Hello.
Whispered I.
In my very existence.
With limited performance.
As if I worth more than these pageants.

Progress

Death Progression: everyone is beautiful in flesh, but in death, everything will become even more wonderful.

You let go of my hand as we ran into blackness. This is my time, you said, before you fell down to your death.

Wishful Thinking

It is summer here and there.
Even though million miles running between our glare.
It is impossible not to care.
About the similarities of our despair.

In between fiction and situation.
In between compassion and recognition.
It cannot be denied that our minds are fusing through a mysterious synchronization.

A Midsummer Night's Dream was in my hand.
As you threw quoted words to your clan.
And at that moment, perhaps, we were connected in another kind of land.

Metropolis

Every Saturday night.
Bite. Sprite. Invite. Excite.
Every Saturday night.
Tight. Overnight. Fight. Fright.

From the corner to the center.
From the beggar to the banker.
Far behind this crown.
We're a bunch of clown.
All around the town.
Deep inside we frown.

Jakarta 2

They're breathing cold heat.
They're pumping loud beat.
They're digesting swell meat.
It's only their body.
Their mind remains empty.

Now we're talking. Not really.

Done 3. Trillions to come. Thinking to adapt these sketches into a series of paintings.

Mischief

Confession? But who are you.
Why were you holding my hand?
Why were you trying to help my old man?
Why were you looking at me like that?
Who are you?
Mischief.

Gibberish

So, I added a photo to my blog's header. I took the photo during the Venus transit this year, and you can clearly see the Venus (the little black dot) in front of the sun. I used Canon 5D Mark II with 70-200 L 2.8 lens. 

That was the probably the proudest moment of my life so far. To be able to catch and capture a glimpse of a very rare event. Especially this kind of event, you know, I have an unhealthy obsession with the outer space and natural phenomenas.

I also want to update that I am currently working on a sketchbook project. This project is pretty personal, and probably won't be published until I am in my 20s (a professional and successful artist). Well, basically, I am currently jotting down every single poem that I've done digitally (the ones that you see here on this blog, and the unpublished ones) into a sketchbook. Complete with illustrations by myself.

I am taking this seriously. I have to start from now in order to live my invisible films, right?

Beside this poem-sketch sketchbook project. I'm also working on several paintings, and series of photography. I finally discovered my personal style. I realize that I belong in the dark side. You know, grotesque surreal stuffs. 

In conclusion, no more goofing around. 

Dark Window

Dark window, where the wind blows.
Dark window doesn't care whether the wind is gloomy or no.
Dark window doesn't care whether these children are playing outside, or cursing at it from the inside.
Dark window doesn't care if you look through it and cry, or shut it down, and die.
Dark window is the witness, of all the tragedies and mysteries that are passing this train.
Dark window doesn't give a damn, nor put a darker revenge.
It stays. Until someone comes and tear down its personal stonehenge

Little Pine Cone

Little pine cone, in the middle of this cold woods.
Up on a huge pine tree, covered by a thick white fog.
Reaching to the sky. Spreading lovely smells all over the woods.

Little pine cone, with his broken back bones.
Adoring the strength of the pine tree, someone he will never be.
Little pine cone, with his imaginary throne.
Waiting for the day where he has finally thrown.

Frankly my dear, we are here, for us.

Someday, the stars will align for us.
Someday, the constellation will sing for us.
Someday, the aurora will dance for us.
Someday, the luna will smile for us.
Even the sun, the rain, and the clouds will unite for us.
And when that day comes, we will thank our whole existence for us.

The Future Is Unspoken, Dear.

Looking back, when I was strange to the invisible sight of you in my head.

When you were just someone else, in another constellation.
When you were just breathing, without affecting my possession.
When you were just walking, in another dimension.

Diversion. Publication. Compassion.

When I was just a kid, wandering through her dreams.
When I was just a loner, listening to the songs of Cream.
When I was just painting, in the other state of the thought stream.

Gleam. Dim. Scheme.

Looking forward, to the upcoming day when the stars finally aligned for us.

Face to face.
Soul to soul.
Eyes pierced to each other.
In a stunned silence.

I am looking at your glory from one trillion miles away.
Wish you all the best, dearest.
Hope you're doing all your interests.

Poor Little Dead Girl

Poor Little Dead Girl, with her poor little thin curl.

Poor Little Dead Girl didn't know that she was dead.
She wandered around the hallway pretending that she looked great.

Poor Little Dead Girl, with her poor little fake pearl.

Poor Little Dead Girl wasn't aware of her scent.
She hugged the Camp Boy, and caused him to hide under his tent.

Poor Little Dead Girl, with her poor little dance swirl.
Dancing through the mist until the end of the world.

Missing Out

Unboxed my highschool art portfolio. Here are some interesting stuffs....

Because....

Another day another sunset.
Another briquette.
Covering a forgotten regret.

Another night another sunrise.
Another faked lies.
Illuminating your eyes.

Another time another crime.
Another dime.
Poisoning this eternal bedtime.

Boo

Your piercing blue eyes, almost glimmering teal with little universes inside each iris. Astonished me under the artificial sunlight today.

Your very presence, hundreds miles from where I am. Pounded my pulse faster than it is supposed to.

Your existence, without currently knowing my existence. Rejoiced in every unspoken hope, and adoring imagery.

You are in another time, another place, another state of consciousness. I am still chasing my runaway train called life under these gravity minded individuals. Pushing. Destroying. Every boundaries.

To be where you are.

όνειρο, you.

Morpheus, again your eyes intertwined mine.

Behind this mythology, and ten thousand digital fireflies.

I  do not possess the beauty of Teles, nor Aphrodite.

For I am just a mortal stepping on the fiery ground.

Your eloquence enlightes me in this tragic era.

Like the fire and the rain.

No wonder I have not purely exist in your mind.

For I have not set the fire to the surroundings.

But what would Athena do?

What will I do?

She would tear every blocking walls.

Light the universe with her words.

Paint the constellation with unimaginable spectrums.

Until you, Morpheus, the dream, set your piercing sight on her.

And then our eyes will be intertwined again.

Physically,

Mentally.

Fiensh '12

Stardust

We were from two different constellations. I'm still running through the meteorites, while you're already chilling in the backseat of Pluto.

It feels like you're in another time and space. Not in this weather, or this situation, not even under this starless sky.

Do you remember this? Oh we have not even meet yet.

Inside

It was the year of steel, and I’ve lost my feel.

Turbulences have demolished my entire being.

And I, without regret, rode off the sunset.

No one was saved, but a runaway self.

There were childhood, there were lies, there was beauty, there was hope.

And I gave up all of my possessions,

And all I found was only a glimmering sunshine,

In the middle of a misty rainforest,

Under the spell of my fantasy.

As these lids opened up, there was nothing but white.

Thin layers of sheet, covering my head.

Nobody was there, this body was alone in a white room.

There was a door in the corner of the room.

And as I opened the door, someone whispered behind me.

‘Welcome to the dark side, welcome to the reality.’

I fainted.

Jakarta 1

My mind is lost in the middle of this busy city. Shackled by light pollutants, and buried under these irrelevant noises.

Nitrogen

I see the reflection of your shadow as the lonely yellow gas balloon passes by the empty sky.
Just like your shadow, it is heading to a lonely nowhere. Alone. In the dark. Waiting for the stars to fall in a spark.

Oneness

When I close my eyes, I see that you and I are two free spirits running in the woods, free from our shells and the in betweens.
One with the ground, fuse with the plants, roots tightened to each other.
Because in the end, you understand the storm and the rain like my presence, since we were raised under the storm and the rain. On the ground, plastered with the charming heat of the midnight sun.

Mesmerize me

If it is raining there, let the mist that we have here fuse with the night.
If it is shining there, let the dust that are scattered here collide with the light.
And when the silence comes, let me soak into your mind, growing deep inside your soul, believing, deceiving your illusions.

Nothing is missing here

Tu me manques. As if that person is a part of your limbs, or is constantly running in your blood stream, that you cannot step ahead of time.
Tu me manques. As if that person thinks about your soul, or is aware of your midnight growl, that the presence is needed to remain faithful.
Tu me manques. As if that person knows your mind, or understands every blinding lights, that you cannot live and fight.
Tu me manques. As if je te manque.

What is it?

What is it?
It suddenly reminds me of that beautiful sound in a rainy day, menacing, but lingering, waiting for another day.

The rain is still dropping outside the window, whispering her secrets to us who listen.
Tonight, the rain is talking about the lingering moon that appears brighter than usual. The moon is in love with the sun, she said.
I looked up several times to the dark blue sky above, but I did not see the moon. So, I shouted to the clouds. "Do not hide her! I am longing to see her glow to clear these thoughts." and they replied in a thundery choir "She is not hiding, she needs some time to be alone."
I whispered to the rain, telling her to wash away the moon's pain. "I can't", she said. It is impossible to defy gravity.
Truth be told the moon is too in love with the sun that she had to steal some of his lights to shine brighter tonight. Usually, she is very confident with her stolen lights, but tonight it burns.
It burns her to know that she does not shine. It burns her to know that everybody knows her lies.
The rain is falling harder, and for us who listen, she is laughing at our little rambles.

Blurts

It is very tiring and devastating to watch the invisible film of your life plans, and knowing that you can't reach it instantly. On the other hand, this invisible film gives you more power and motivation to create, and to build the film into a visible piece of reality. It comes to the conclusion that enormous and ambitious dreams are one of the most ultimate pushers in this era.

Some people, like me for example, are so ambitious about every single thing in life. It's almost like everything that I have planned whether it is realistic or not, has to be done as soon as possible. Oh and good lord, it is very very menacing. It feels like I'm too excited for the future that I often feel like my plans are already here living beside me. That sucks.

I'm starting to write and paint like a maniac again. This brain is hard to be put to sleep for a moment. Even in sleep, I'm working. Especially in the most lucid dream. I sleep with a sketchbook by my side lately, to make it easier to jot down every single thing that I encountered in the dreamland. So that I can paint it, or write a poem, or a narrative.

After that, I discovered this person, somewhere out there, his name is as big as Modigliani in his glory years, yet I feel like I have a connection with this particular being. No name dropping. However, this person is indirectly pushing me to work harder, I don't even know why. It's almost like the Dalinian effect, but this one is more realistic in a way that the person is still alive and kicking. It's almost like I'm head over heels over an alien. Mesmerised, and quite enmeshed in a way. 

Maybe I should stop being weird right now.

Anyway, enjoy every waking moment. Stay in the present. Don't hurry. Don't worry. Listen to Black Sabbath.

Cogito ergo sum my ass

Pedal to the metal. Just like I said, devil may care who we are. It's either ride or die.
The smell of rain in this desert has possessed you. The crystal light reflected from your eyes. Our diamond wrist and flaming heart.
Burn my shell and throw it to the sea. Or you can just scatter it on the road from LA to Vegas to the loudest Motley Crue's song. Again, devil may care who we are.

Either London, New York, or Paris.


My astral has been wandering all over those places these past few nights. Out of control.
All I have to do right now is to work harder, fight harder, and persuade harder.
Let the Universe do the rest.

I don't know how and where to start. I mean, these hands are full of paints, these thoughts are pushing my limit, and these tasks seem to haunt me every minute.
I feel like watching this invisible film in front of me, surreal yet beautiful. Lively images waiting to be patterned on wood, permanently. What about this ink inside my skin? It keeps on pushing me to read it all over again until all my Dalinian dream, and my current reality mixed up together and finally scattered to the ground.

It's not long since my first encounter with one of the most inspiring human beings on earth, Mr. John Petrucci, guitar god made in some progressive metal kingdom. It's not very long since I dropped a tear in front of my dear Salvador Dali's painting in an art museum overseas. It's not long since I turned nineteen, since my parents yelled at me to grow up again. Universe knows that I'm way taller.

A friend of mine called me this afternoon, he told me that he's afraid of the future. Ain't we all do that? He is now living in London. I'd love to replace his place in a heartbeat. But is it necessary? Does living in London guarantee me to grow up like Salvador Dali?

Fuck.

Now I'm lost. I'm lost between the truth and hope. I'm lost between expectation and intuition. And this ink  under my skin says "No masterpiece was ever created by a lazy artist." I'm not lazy, I'm just dizzy.

I fell in love with the smell of oil paints all over again.
It reminds me of that long way back out of hell.
And how these colorful spectrums saved me from the monster within.

Maybe I'm better off dead.

You, I, One.

Did I break you?
Did kill you inside?
I never meant to make you hide from the stars
Search yourself
Do not walk the rain in pain

Look at these fireflies

Let them shine for you

As the aurora sunrise comes

Let them wash your tears

As you throw away your pain
Because life can be beautiful
And let the child in you laugh

Smile, and never be broken again.

I have crossed the bridge
I used to think it was pitch black

I used to believe that I live far from the track
Until I realized

I will only be in this form once, and not again
Loose your anger, let go of the troubles
Taste the air, unite the ground, dream the water, feel the fire, and reach the stars.

And you, come back to you.

Live in the moment.

You, I, One.

Dear

you're a part of me.

you are.

you are.

you are.