3.56

since a young age I had problems
played ball all day, but at nights fall  apart
tears rolled down and the pain was from the heart
books were a means of escape, but was temporary
ran away from problems and figures imaginary
fell into a pit of existential angst
and dread and never hoped that much for life
like most millenials living in the information age
consumed information without knowing the harm it creates
I couldn’t manage anger, but atleast I was smart
couldn’t elaborate feelings, and expressing was hard
personally I took things for granted
a very young mind though already pragmatic
outside of that I was really alright
in school I was indeed shining bright
high on dopamine and it felt so right
now I’m suspending on a rope so tight
between dumb unfunny jokes
(and here’s one now)
and the dark, dark, void inside

I remembered after school examinations
everyone was busy documenting moments
all in hopes of capturing memories
into frozen time on paper
used as future room ornaments
while I felt alone in alienation
handled it well, no dramatic tantrums
while everyone else kept saying they’d miss me
some did, some did, but not that much
because people were unstable at the time
you see one laughing one day
then spent the other crying in agony
sobbing the shit out of sadness they felt
onto tailored shirts just for one occasion
made especially for graduation
hugged their very best of friends
while me I was embracing them
but they weren’t in my thoughts
see I was around a lot of people but
somewhere in my mind I was fighting a bout

right around a few weeks after the announcements
I was happy to see that my request was acknowledged
I got into the place I wanted to go to
but recalling it now is really laughable
I feel happy imagining the younger me
but my happiness was that of a fool
was stuck up, loud, and very snobbish
while now I know that my mind was filled with rubbish
now I rethink on the past and see a different picture
I never had real friends back then and I understand
I was a sorry ass motherfucker saved by a wacky demeanor
now I know that the reason people handled me differently
was not because I was too smart but I was too much
I was this guy walking around everywhere
with too much in his mind to share
and to everyone he was just there
imagine living life in delusion
everyday peering into a mirror
only using eyes covered by a fog of illusion
oh fuck the old me let him die
as the useless trash he is
because he wasted his life living in a tunnel
his brain was the container and his mouth the funnel
spitting out nonsense that no everyone would hear
but would never be listened to, wasn’t understandable
that was me in the past and I think he died
a compilation of short stories
on a long ass page
inside a non existent book
that I didn’t plan to write
but I had nothing, it was all that I posessed
and that was it, nothing more, nothing less.

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What

“I am tired.. I’m really tired of life..” 

He squiggles on a piece of paper. Our character is on his third bottle of moonshine now. It’s surprising to see him holding a pen properly. Look at this guy, all wet because he sweats like a pig (but yeah probably because he puked a few times after his second bottle), face is a mess (imagine a disney-star-turned-crackhead messy), and to top it all off he’s butt naked sitting alone in a cum covered apron inside of his kitchen. He’s broke, he doesn’t have friends, his girlfriend left him, his dog’s lost, he’s depressed, and he just finished his third bottle of moonshine.

Our character puts the pen and paper aside on the counter, and lies on the greasy cockroach friendly kitchen floor. He gazes on to the ceiling of his kitchen, there’s nothing there, just a dull white ceiling with a dull square shaped ceiling lamp and a rusty metal hook. That hook comes from a time back when there was a punching-bag hanging there. His eyes still scan the ceiling, in hopes that he could find something interesting to look at. He doesn’t. He curses the metal hook for reminding him that he once was healthy with a charming physique, he curses the lamp for being too bright, he curses the ceiling for being too dull, he curses himself for expecting too much out of a dull ceiling.

“Fucking hook, fucking lamp, fucking ceiling, fucking humane expectations that came out of my fucking thought process, fucking reality..FUCKING REALITY!”

He suddenly screams out in anguish. He doesn’t like his life one bit. Who would? Not me. Maybe you would, but not me. This life’s life is too sad even for me. Our character is now crying. He cries for all the faults he did: that time he pushed a kid out of a swing in elementary, that time he cheated on his first ever girlfriend in high school, that time he voted for Trump, that time he got married to a girl that never loved him, … and the list goes on. He cries and cries until the alcohol takes over and he falls asleep.

***

Actually no. He died. How? I don’t know. I don’t know nor care. I just want him to die. He’s just dead, like most of us would be in a few years or so. Most of us are already dead inside. But ever wondered why we turned into lifeless shells of our former selves? Think about that before asking me why our character died.

Maybe our character was already devoided of life before his sudden death. If that’s the case, be happy for him. At least he has something going good for him. Wait, no, nothing; he has nothing going on for him– even better.

15.44

The universe is indifferent to us. We are beings living on a pale blue dot on a remote corner of this vast galaxy we named Milky Way. In turn, our galaxy is but one of many more that float around in this seemingly endless universe.

It seems we humans never cease to search for meaning in a universe without one. In a sense, we think that we could comprehend everything in our reality. But could we? The workings of our brain brought us technological advancements, we could travel through space, send telescopes to scavenge signs of life into its foreignness, we stepped on the moon, we find new habitable; yet we somehow are confined by a barrier when we use our brains to try to comprehend meaning.

Our mind’s potential are virtually infinite, but in terms of philosophically contemplating our existence and its meaning, our chances of finding an absolute answer is infinitesimal, even impossible. Possibly, there isn’t even any meaning to our existence at all.

Should we just take on the natural scientific perspective that we are just products of a chemical reaction many eons ago? That saves us time, we wouldn’t need further contemplation at all. But is it just that simple? It is, in a way, scary to think of our existence and its meaning in a more contemplative approach.

Maybe it isn’t a problem at all. Maybe the search for meaning would only bother those living a content but dull life, maybe sometime after their 46th birthday, in a terrible feeling of angst, feeling disconnected from family members and friends; in such situation, not thinking about meaning would be hard to do.

Maybe I’m just thinking too much. Maybe what I just wrote, in itself, is meaningless.

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Kecoa

-untuk Franz Kafka (bukan Magnis Suseno)

Aku pengen pagi-pagi bangun dan jadi anjing. Karena semua orang suka anjing. Mungkin, sama sekali berbeda denganĀ Metamorfosis yang kau tuliskan untuk menunjukkan bagaimana perihnya menjadi berbeda. Tetapi aku ingin disukai, aku ingin diterima.

Seumur-umur aku merasa terasingkan dari orang-orang sekitarku. Mungkin aku pula yang mengasingkan diri, tetapi siapa yang tahu? Bahkan aku tidak mengerti. Peler memang. Pada saat yang bersamaan, aku juga tidak ingin sendiri.

Mending aku pura-pura bahagia saja di luar sana dan bersama banyak “teman”. Di kesendirian, aku merasa kesepian. Sialan, rasa sepi gampang sekali mengeroyokku. Seolah-olah aku ini cuma sansak daging yang tergantung dan terayun-ayun pelan di antara udara dingin malam yang menusuk hingga tulang. Maksudnya? Ya mana aku tahu. Itulah.

Itulah, aku ingin jadi anjing. Banyak orang menjadi pecinta anjing di zamanku ini. Bayangkan, agar disukai aku ingin menjadi anjing, menjadi hewan yang lebih mulia dari penciptanya: manusia. Sahabat manusia adalah anjing, tetapi manusia masih mau menjadi tuan di hadapan anjing-anjing.

Anjing! eh, salah. Manusia! Emang manusia itu kurang ajar dengan sahabatnya, bagaimana tidak, sahabat diperbudak. Bukan berarti aku mempermasalahkan moralitasnya, aku cuma kasihan sama anjing yang hanya ingin menyayangi manusianya. Berbeda dengan manusia, kasih sayang anjing lebih tulus nampaknya.

Ketulusan itu juga aku tidak mengerti. Selama aku hidup, mungkin karena aku manusia, aku tidak pernah nampaknya melihat ketulusan yang muncul dari orang lainĀ atau diriku sendiri. Setidaknya, yang aku lakukan menguntungkanku diriku sendiri. Tetapi ini juga belum pasti, aku yakin ada yang namanya ketulusan.

Ibuku tulus dalam menyayangiku, itu jelas. Bapakku juga demikian. Bahkan aku juga kadang melakukan sesuatu tanpa memikirkan keuntungannya terlebih dahulu. Aku yakin, dan keyakinan bisa benar atau salah, aku yakin ketulusan itu ada; namun aku tak mengerti. Tak dapat kurengkuh.

Jadi ya begitu. LRNJPDH.

Teka teki suara. Burung berkicau. Malam tanpa bintang. Diam pegang kotak.

Kipas angin putar. Lampu remang remang. Besi besi hitam. Karet bundar bundar.

Jalan jalan sepi. Malam tanpa bintang. Klik bunyi senyap. Asap keluar banyak.

Cat luntur luntur. Gelas gambar bunga. Air tak berwarna. Kotak kotak suara.

Makan sampai kenyang. Minum sampai haus. Tertawa sampai sedih. Muntah sampai mabuk.

Jentik jari jari. Tas banci katanya. Biarin kataku. Bodo amat juga.

Ketahuan selingkuh. Cerita dengan bangga. Merokok minta minta. Malu sedikit.

Ketawa sendiri. Hidup aneh. Teman teman tidak. Akunya paling.