Cinta, Eksistensialisme, English, Puisi

Skip a Beat

We are hurting each other
Just by existing and living
You see the stars and follow my footsteps
Yet you have to deny me because I was right,
and you hate that.

And my heart skipped a beat
Every time I see you, I’m still looking for you too
once in a while.
On the stars.
In every crypt.

You will always deny me.
You will always be angry.
And hate me. And love me.
In whatever way.
In poems, films, works, go on. Go on.

My heart skipped a beat. One beat. Two beat. Three beat. And in every broken heart and lovers lost… It skipped a beat.

And there’s a little bit of me
In everything you do,
Those are the heartbeat that you took.

By beat. By beat.
And the last beat, will be
for billions of years that
created my first heartbeat.

P.S. It’s so great being on our own in our own little world, ain’t it?

English, Memoir, Racauan

Welcoming Letter to an Old Friend

Hello, M,

My dear friend, my old companion. I owe you my life and my demise and it’s been months since the last time we met. I see you are so fine and healthy and it sickens me, literally.

Today, as usual, you came unannounced. But I should’ve read the signs of your coming since a few days ago, since I’ve been losing sleep, and always worry of nothing. I should’ve read the sign on the sudden storms, and the sudden outburst and sensitivity I had toward my loved ones.

How your boss? Bet she’s busy these days, preparing the upcoming old but new plague. When you are around, I sure miss her, it’s been years since she and I last fucked and yes I do miss her. The way she strangled my neck or cut my wrist, or simply having a joy ride to find her gateway home. Remember that, M, there was always the three of us fucking each other with booze or anything that can get us high and dry.

Your boss has been my best friend as old as you are. But never mind her and her busy schedule. You’re around now, and I just took another lithium so we can be best friends again in my head. Yes, in my head, please. Don’t exposed yourself like today, you almost killed an old lady with a heart attack, and you almost ruin my busines. But I accept you, old friend. Because I remember our ride, and we were happy once so all are forgiven. For today, or for the future, I accept you the way you are, my wicked, radiant, burning, friend.

One of these day, methink, you will get me to your boss. I hope the day never comes but I can’t help but feeling you had a very evil plan for my future.

Whatever. Come to think of it, I have nothing, but too much to lose. Nothing is too much. You are just too much, old friend. I hope you’ll pass by, and let me stay for a while. But if I must go, then I will gladly go.

Come on, let’s hear some more music. It’s not over yet. Keep the lights on.


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English, Racauan

Rest in Ponder (another manic depressive writing)

I don’t think life changes that much for every human, or living being that lived since life was first roam the earth. Existence and consciousness just made it seems special. With that, life has meaning. Because a meaningless life belong only to non sentient being. They don’t need meaning to exist. But let me stop there before I get too Heidegger.

I have a lot of things in my mind. Rambling stuff that most of the time I put in my journal that I called the book of healing. I don’t feel the need to write there anymore, not because I feel that I have healed. I just don’t feel the need to have secrets or control the way I speak my mind anymore. I don’t know if my mind would ever get back to what it used to be, you know, functional. I still have doubts on my own perceptions. But I believe I found the logic of, at least, my own existence.

There will never be a time when I’m not confused, or feel lost. But even in that insecurities or the unknown, I will keep moving forward, toward my end. I don’t know how I will die, in lost or in found. In a lost cause or found glory. I just keep moving, keep working, keep serving, keep helping and once in a while I rest.

I stopped my bipolar meds abruptly. People say it’s dangerous. But I had no money nor time to take care of my mind. I hope I will be okay, but I will accept if I will not be okay. So far, things are going the usual: that is not right. With or without meds, things are not right. But my reaction is kind of different now. My reaction is less angry. I accept all the bad things that happened and will happened in my life. And I embrace the good things, good little things in between disasters. I am enjoying the company of people I love. My friends, colleagues, students, relatives.

The rest, I let rest.

Though these past few days I am restless. My insomnia is back. I know how to sleep but I just don’t want to. I don’t want to sleep just to wake up tomorrow and work again, I want to have more time with myself though I know it’s not possible because I have responsibilities. And those responsibilities are very hard to handle, these days.

Whatever. This writing should be in my journal than in my blog but let just rest it here just because I need to fill this blog up with daily writing. And I think it would be better if someone is reading this, I think this writing is quite safe because it does not contain any suicidal thoughts or depression talk. Just rambling mumbling helpless safe stuff in my head. No evil deeds, no evil needs.

I write this for you my dear readers. thank you for reading this, thank you for having me so far.

Be happy, be healthy. I will be too after I rest.


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Cinta, Eksistensialisme, English, Puisi

8

We are homeless
wandering with our backpack
from one place to another

We went to different direction,
we experience and experiment
with life and people and nature
and folklore and fairytales
and spirits and magical things

Searching for rituals, to be transcended
searching for each other, to be ascended

Sometimes we got really tired
and we rest our head in a place
just to be woken up by the reality
that the place is not ours

Home is nowhere to be found

*

Today we found each other in the intersection of 8
8 is what separate us from each other
8 is the infinite meeting point of two halves
8 is where we apart, and where we shall meet

again and again and again.

*

She said, “You have anchored yourself to a home. I am homeless.”

He said, “I’m not anchored, I am having a vessel.”

She said, “You anchored yourself to that vessel. It’s your home.”

He said nothing. She always wins an argument, she’s that half that wins.

8 is a loop. Infinity loop, with infinite possibilities.

Its the most magical number, the number of reincarnation
of complexity, the ultimate uroboros

“I am building a home,” he wished he said this to her, “but its not mine.”
“it belongs to people who love me. But mine, I have no idea where. Until today.”

He found her as a temple of worship, where his lost soul subside
in her melancholy, anxiety, and wisdom

She found him an idea of a man, that shouldn’t be exist
in this world of cruelty and egos.

He found his true home in 8
she, however, still wanders,
but as constellations change for billions of years
8 will still be a number of infinity,
and when the two halves meet again
one will stay, the other will wander.


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