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, 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.

Filsafat, Racauan

Rencana Manik

Kau seperti klise yang diulang-ulang, walau sesungguhnya jauh dari pikiran banyak orang.

Seperti semua kebenaran politis yang kau paksa untuk anut tapi sebenarnya kau tak suka-suka amat, jadi munafik dalam dirimu karena pada kenyataannya kalau bisa kau langgar, kau langgar.

Aku tidak di tempat yang cocok untuk menilaimu, aku tahu, dan kau… Kau jauh dari tempat tinggi untuk menilaiku. Kita toh berbuat semau-maunya saja dalam cerita ini–cerita dimana di versimu kau korbannya dan aku penjahatnya. Sementara di versiku penjahat dan korban adalah orang yang sama: aku.

Terlalu banyak drama untuk jiwa setua kita. Sementara kawan dan sanak saudara sudah beranak pinak seperti marmut, kelinci, tikus atau kecoak, kita macam spesies mau punah yang tidak mampu regenerasi, spesies yang kalah dalam kompetisi Lamarck-Darwin.

Kita pesakitan yang terjangkit wabah bernama intelektualitas dan bias kelas dan fatalistik, banalitas; kita percaya manusia menuju kepunahan dan kita berusaha tidak jadi munafik dengan cara memodifikasi diri supaya kita melampaui manusia macam ubermench Nietzsche: kita mau menyatu dengan kimiawi artifisial dan mesin-mesin sehingga kita tidak perlu berkembang biak macam binatang. Kita jadi manusia yang lebih manusiawi: egois, dan berusaha untuk abadi.

Karena apa gunanya beranak pinak, kalau kau tak bisa mati?

Lalu kita buat kemutakhiran diri dengan obat-obatan, campuran mesin, dan komputerisasi otak. Siapa lagi yang butuh memori biologis kalau kita bisa tersambung ke memori data kolektif dengan penanggalan karbon dan jam atom paling akurat?

Kasih sayang, seks, cinta, petualangan, kebencian, rasa, semua akan jadi hiburan semata dalam realita virtual kita. Lalu makna juga tak lebih dari fabrikasi. Manusia yang tak mampu berevolusi cuma jadi kucing jalanan saja, cuma perlu kita steril supaya tidak merepotkan.

Manusia terlalu merepotkan dan semakin lama semakin tertebak, terjebak dalam putaran kuasa yang itu-itu saja sementara polusi tidak berhenti melebar dan polisi semakin tidak mengerti tugasnya menjaga apa.

Sudahlah. Tidurkan dengan euthanasia. Supaya semua cepat berganti, karena aku sudah tidak sabar lagi.

Untuk mati dan hidup lagi.

English, Memoir, Racauan, Teater

2018: Year of Love and It’s Terror

Those who know me probably know that 2018 might be one of the heaviest year of my life. In January, I lost my father. I gain some old and new friends. Lost them. Gain some love, lost them. Gain some weight and mental illnesses—Oh, shit they won’t go away. Probably my closest friends now.

I honestly lost the will to tell you my stories, for they are dull, cliches and most of you who knows me already know. People have disappointed me and I have disappointed people. I woke up tonight crying for the words I have said repeatedly to them; words like “I love you”, “please understand”, “I’m Sorry”, “Don’t leave”, and “Why?”

And their words are echoing in my mind, “I refuse your love”, “Don’t make your illness as an excuse”, “You’re the one who left”, “Up to you, whatever”, “Don’t need to apologize if you don’t feel guilty about it.”

You know that phrase YOLO, or do things you want to do before you regret it, whatever. Well, I did what I wanted to do and said what I needed to say and I still regret them. It’s like everything is a mistake (that is depression). So here I am wordless and worthless. For the world around me is working against me. For the people I love either left me, or can’t be with one another therefore can’t be with me, or keep making shits that made me have to do shits for them, or keep saying they love me and expect just too goddamn much by expressing their pain and need to be with me, or expect me to be something that I am not. I keep give a fuck where I shouldn’t have and I don’t know why.

I honestly, from the bottom of my heart, HATE this year because it’s full of love. Because from those love rise jealousy, and hatred, and mental illness, and all sort of problems with no end or solution on sight. The things that love precedes this year are existential terrors. Culture and institutions have made loving to be so fucking demanding, by creating this “either-or” principles in people’s mind, and terrorizing us with the fear of loving or losing love. So fucking complicated. I hate this year for taking so much of my mind and soul.

This is the year of desperation.

And the scariest part of this year, is the tiny hope it gave me, lurking behind those depressions and unrequited love. The hope that we all can find a balance to be with one another, and loving each other without all the commotion of heartbroken drama and social contracts that goes with it. The hope that life is worth living, because deep inside, we are all missing each other.

If love is a verb, it is a painful one. Since in that action I have to be still and accept the fact that stillness is what most people I love wanted from me. The stillness corrodes me, for expressing my love will do nothing but harm. Love is a tyrant that binds me out of you all, lock me inside of my mind.

But if that is what it takes to live this year and the next, shall be it. For I love you, and nothing can stop that. I’m gonna die a masochist.

I wish you all a happy new year.