In the darkest hours

What has tragedy done to us?

How are we coping with despair?

What is God trying to tell us?

What have we forgotten?

Why do children suffer?

Where are we heading after all this?

What do we fear the most?

Where does sorrow take us?

Why are we so weak in trials?

When will we be lost on our own minds?

Where do turbulences take us?

 

My condolences.

Summer Color

I guess the life after 30 is not much different with the life after 20 or 50 — of course, if God still wants me around. There were and will be changes at some points but not to that one particular point that I’m actually, still searching for. Let’s call it: It.

It is there even as I am watching Law & Order now. It was there as I was gawking at one particular view, or while I am still hoping for the answer, It is there. It, is everywhere.

What is it about It that is so powerful? (Yes Craig, It is Unbelievable). For a split second, It switched to its world where Hugh Grant depreciates his persona (and boy, It also turns Janice Dickinson abruptly, ugly.)

I thought It could sense rapid change of one’s mind. I thought (or think) It has no clue how sudden attack could bring someone to the highest peak. I thought It was (or is) lost and I expect It will never come back.

Do I really, actually?

What if It has found its tranquilizing place? What if It has decided to make a stop somewhere? My It is dwelling with inevitable abstract definition, and eventually, has to pull over.

What is It?

Is It like “Knock-knock-knock-Who’s there?” thing?

I want It. You want It. We want It. They want It. She wants It. He wants It. Everybody wants It.

It contradicts us.

“Do you want to reopen It?”

“No. It’s already late.”

Redemption of Reckoner

I guess all of us are disavowing the pleasures

As you can see the floating paper-made lightning bugs

 

Sit there and relax before the sun rises

The radio is on your head to see the lilywhite session isn’t blooming

 

Don’t swallow if it’s too hard to let go

Another angel in the urban globe

 

Embrace your arm, go back and make sure the feet aren’t wet and slippery

Again, disavowing

The same, repudiating

Reflection of disowning

 

Mended by itself

Yes, it is that simple. It may sound bullshit but it is that simple. I will rip the temptation and fly off to another planet.

Rolling Stone

I have not been writing for more than a month. I lost my words. The so called inspiration is being sucked up….. This time, can I go back to where I started it? I cannot. Can I not?

It’s more than 78 hours passed and I’ve been dwelling.

I should have let it out to the other side. I should have seen that starlight in front of me.

I’m still colorblind.

The so called Entertainment that is no way near entertaining.

As I was munching on Bakwan ala Lasmi, I had no choice but to watch whatever movie was on. I saw Renee Russo. I couldn’t switch channel ‘coz my niece and nephew were watching it. When it comes to them, Bunda will back off. Next thing I know I heard Renee Russo start speaking Bahasa Indonesia, fluently. Well well. I was amazed (yes, I’m being cynical and sarcastic at the same time). Was I surprised? Hell no, as I like to call: dubbing by dumbers.

Now SpongeBob SquarePant and Dora The Explorer are from, God knows where. But the worst is probably not over because we have JALAN SESAMA a.k.a. SESAME STREET.   

That’s what happen to Indonesian Television. That’s what happen to some incompetent morons who think that they educate the audience, regardless age.

So, I’m the English teacher. My major problem is that some of my students…wait, I mean most of my students…uhh wait wait, I mean all of my students have hard time to practice the language simply because they are not exposed to. Ironically, some parents would complain because their kids are reluctant to practice the language at home. 

Hey, I know, we live in Indonesia. If that’s the case, don’t send your kids to any English course. Please, and, don’t be poseur who doesn’t even know how to use the language properly. 

Sinetron. Now what can I say about Indonesian Sinetron. Hmmm…hmmmmm…hmmmmmmmmmm….nothing. Craps. Craps. Craps, and more craps are coming. Channel A: shouting moment. Channel B: fessing around moment. Channel C: literally-kicking moment. Channel D: face-slapping moment.

How do I know? Well, I can only say thanks to cable TV.    

I think I’d rather watch Jerry Springer.

Bakwan pake cabe

Don’t mispronounce. Don’t look back. Just listen. Light up. Distant from remote corner. Go deeper and back. Remember Seven Wonders? Remember The Pink Quarterback? It’s three a.m., remember.

I miss Who?

South flies over the coast

My morning coffee

Love mends. Truth hurts. Truth mends. Love shuns.

I’ll be sweet

My Dear King,

 

I was sitting there wandering: will I ever be dancing in the big room, again?

 

I’m in tutu and barefoot

 

Forever tune of a fine frenzy and I’m still colorblind; can I go back to the very last moment?

 

A silly little princess in pink says I’m beautiful; screaming in a taste of menthol breeze

 

You thought I was there upon shadows and trees; I cherish every word of a sweet sundown

 

Let a soul… you’ll see me from a distance, can you not promise?

 

Float in suffocation.. and the dwindling sound; is that you in French Vanilla or all shapes of moon are a starlight?

 

Was it a rude awakening trespassing to the wrong direction?

 

Remember the Dead Sea is in dark blue; I long for you above glittery stars caressing a soul of white cranberry olives

 

Where is that night; dare to look at me naked you’ll see no beautiful sin