Cinta, Eksistensialisme, English, Puisi, Uncategorized

Hunger

My hunger

I have told you this thousands of years ago

my hunger

is a monster you can never comprehend

Hell, I can’t even comprehend it myself

My hunger, my hunger

I run like mad horse

a black cube in the desert floating

made of pitch darkness

bottomless vacuum

my hunger, my hunger

How can I love you and live with this hunger

but how can I tell you about this hunger

when you have lost your limbs for me

And my dear doctor asked

“Will you satisfiy your hunger with a new prey?”

To be honest I’d rather die

Yet here I am devouring love

of a Goddess while chewing

at yout bones

English, Uncategorized

Fragment #3

Neon city from the 16th floor.

Haruki Murakami-esque.

Dim sum restaurant, a dark morning.

You made me burn, the chef on the background plays with flame and give effects on my narrative:

Stars a match.

Underpants patterns.

Listen.

Obey.

Jealousy.

Miss you.

Don’t know you.

Let you be.

Songs.

Poetry.

Absolution.

Dissillusion.

Unimaginable dreams.

Magical years in nanoseconds.

Irrelevant time.

Imperfection.

Scrubs on your skin.

Odorless Sweat.

Morning breath, smells like dew.

Fetish to your body.

If I were to find you

among a thousand lives,

I’d let you know

that I wasn’t there.

Hop hop.

Be on your way now.

English, Memoir, Racauan, Uncategorized

Mental Illness and a Little Bit Despair

I am feeling a little bit despair on the fact that more people around me are as sick or even worse than I am. Just a little bit could boiled me up in a state that I’m in.

Mental illness is a trend now, thanks mostly to the internet. I suspect urban Indonesians today are like the US in the 70’s, where psycho-somatic were trending because of newspaper’s pop psychology column. Suddenly everyone was sick and the mental hospital and anti-psychotic drugs industry were booming. A good (or bad) thing about Indonesia is that many of us are poor and uninformed. Not many of us can afford mental illness therapy not mentioning medications. State insurance psychiatric/psychologist aren’t that good either. So yeah, we’re fucked.

I know that mental illness are real, I am a patient myself. But you know, the more I know, the more I think of it as an overrated urban problem. Okay, kids are growing up wrong cuz their parents did not recognize their own depression or bipolar disorders. Some kids turned out violent for having a psychopatic violent Dad.

Misparenting is a major problem. And in turn, I know many millenials with mental illness as their parents left them untreated. Worse than their parents, these kids recognize their illness and prefer to not giving a fuck.

And money, oh money! Money give access to the expensive treatment with psycho meds that many people from middle lower class hard to get. For now, I am lucky enough to have the money for treatment, but as an independent contractor/freelancer, I don’t know what I’ll do next, when the money runs out. Once, I’ve tried stopping medications and treatment, and it’s getting worse. My meds are fucking expensive!

And seeing more friends got prognosis and diagnosed with mental illnesses, really turns me down. But for now, I have plans. For now I try to do the best I could to push the despair as low as possible.

English, Filsafat, Memoir, Racauan, Uncategorized

Detecting Fuckers

y’ know how to detect sad people from the social media? If some people are expressing their sadness, like losing a loved one, or getting suicidal, or saying a prayer to God to give them strength in facing problems, they are not sad enough. The saddest and most melancholic people are those who throw off motivational quotes to be happy and good and jolly, that encourage positive thinking in every situations. Those who tells you to take positive attitude toward bad things and double positive towards good things. Why? Because they’re in a fucking denial. Everybody knows things are bad, and that good things wont last. Bad things last longer that’s why there are some good things. And the more you feel good about something, the worst you feel when it fucking ends. Some good things and happy moments do exist, but those are just a glimpse in life, like your mother’s orgasm to your dad.

So those encouraging stuff that they posted, are like fucking fake orgasm. You don’t get to be happy, but you go on. That’s life. Like Rocky Balboa said, its not a matter of winning or losing, its a matter of how many hits you can take. Faking it wont make it less hurtful.

People might say I’m bitter. But who is more bitter: people who says the storm will pass and the sun will shine again, only to find a drought after the flood; or people like me who cries and scream to the rain, and cursing the corporations in creating global fucking warming when the sun comes out not in time?

So next time you see people posting motivational quotes, tell ’em to wake the fuck up. Tell ’em there’s a big difference between optimism and fake orgasm. They won’t please themselves by thinking happy thoughts when things are bad. Tell ’em to be genuine, smoke some pot for God sake! Jerk off! Anything to make you accept the pain and fucking fight it off. You ain’t gonna be happy for long if you overcome that problem with positivity. Overcome it like cum: lubricate yourself with blood and tears, and give a fuck to things that matters and don’t give a fuck to things that doesn’t.