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am currently jotting down every single poem that I've done digitally (the ones that you see here on this blog, and the unpublished ones) into a sketchbook.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.