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.