the problem with low skool

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heaven is my baby

the problem with low skool lies in the way the walls hear but never listen, in the way the floor fibs but still loved anyway. the problem with low skool lies in the way it reminds me of the church, but also hospital, and my dear dean does of god, but also all the care i could not afford.

ask not what you can give; ask what you can receive. that should be it, or so i thought. it’s just because i got nothing left to detach from myself. not a piece of smile, not even a wave of hi. i am not speaking to you. the problem with low skool lies in all the claims how you are better than them, where i am neither you nor them. i swear– the problem with low skool lies in the monarch of intellect, and how i live under the bridge in…

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is it still called living when all you think of is dying?
the preachers preach of death all the time,
and they’re more alive than i am
is it still called living when all you think of is dying?
the cockroaches roam around greasy floors,
eating off the leftover crumbs you throw away,
and they’re more alive than i am
is it still called living when all you think of is dying?
men and women, young and old, all around me,
and i’m afraid that i’ll always disappoint them,
because they’re always more alive than i am
is it called death when you keep suffering to yourself?

We Think Too Much.

There’s something I see in most of my friends, it’s that they think too much. Either thinking of the worst possible scenario that could suck them into a futile sense of existence, like this guy, or also dwelling too much on fantasies that wouldn’t probably come into existence; these two examples are polar extremes, there are people who think in between these two poles. So be it, people think too much, what’s the problem? The problem that at this point of human existence, at the point where we’ve just transitioned from our teenage years into adulthood, we think too much but feel to little.

I remember when I was a kid, I never relied that much on the capabilities of my thoughts. I didn’t manipulate people with my speeches, I didn’t think about something to the point of anxiety, I laughed a lot, I jumped and I ran; I was happier. Yes I was fat, yes I wasn’t a turn-on for the ladies, but I was happy.

I guess why I was in such a happy state was because I didn’t think of things that much because of the fact that I was still a child, I haven’t had much to think about anyway. But what do kids do? They run around, they laugh out loud, they roll around here and there, they climb trees, they jump in puddles, they play around in the rain. Why did they do that? Because they felt that they should, because when they do those things they’d feel happy. I guess kids have their own simple way of calculating what results would come out of their actions. For example: playing with toys could lead to having fun, but eating vegetables are just yuck. Playing cops and robbers is exciting, reading Das Kapital isn’t as much.

We could see that kids do things that would please their senses, do things that would lead to good feelings. They avoid feeling bad. To me, this is something very primitive. I would bet you a cup of coffee that our ancestors lived like this too. Yes they were primitive and uncivilized, but they survived for ages, and because of that we exist today. Of course, they’re not all fun and games, they also wrestle saber-tooth tigers now and then. But there are elements of how they lived that I see in children. I guess since being a child is one of the earliest stages of our development as humans, we still somehow act like early humans too. But is living life, basing our actions on how we feel rather than rational judgement, in short living more like a kid, better than living like an adult? There’s no way I could think of a justification to say “yes” to that question.

But I feel living a life that’s aimed at sustaining our own existence, catering to our own well being, is a good life. We think too much nowadays, look at what it turned us into now. I don’t know if I’m right or not, and it doesn’t matter at all; but I do strive for peace and happiness.



There is a big red house,
Inside my head.

Eight eyes, out and about;
Mom and Dad, the Dog and the Lad.

Dad was pretty, Mom was manly,
The Lad was sad, but the Dog happy.

There is a big red house,
Inside my head,
Facing east.



Pesolek berTuhan

I’d write for you. I’d write for you daily. About you, about your dumb face, about the dumb things you do, about anything, about anything you asked me to write about. You.

You never do, though, you never do. You never asked me to. You never asked me to do things. You never request anything. Fucking request something from me. Anything.

Force me to think about happy things. Force me to see the good in the bad. Although, the bad is always larger in proportion than the good, I’d try to do it, even though I spit on the concepts of good and bad. I spit on the floor too. I’m gonna spit on it now. *Spits* see, I did it.

At times, I feel like I’m not going through enough tragedy to be able to grow. It’s either love or hate, to mutual touching, and then to mate, then everything goes to shit. Afterwards, everything goes to shit. Those aren’t tragic, shit is bound to fall apart. Keniscayaan.

So what about tragedy? Fuck tragedy. Fuck tragedy and transvestites, no I’m joking about the latter part.

My mind likes to jump around. Well my thoughts. It’s hard to concentrate. Really hard. Fucking hard. Harder than any man’s dick. Yes. Hard.



Kopi lah tabali
Rokok lah tahisok
Mato lah mangantuak
Kok dasia angin co iko juo
Raso badan ka takalok

Kok sayu juo
Mato ko duo
Kok sayu sayu
Ndak tatutuik
Ndak tabukak
Mato ko duo
Kok sayu juo

Kok mangalie nyo dareh
Kok mangalie dareh nyo lapeh
Mamakiak makiak
“Oi! Baa ko?”
Mamakiak makiak
Kok mangalie dareh nyo lapeh
Kok mangalie nyo dareh

Raso ka tibo di siko nyo nampak
Mamacik karateh jo pena
Mamacik ladiang jo kampak
Mamacik nan ndak tampak
Raso ka tibo di siko nyo nampak

Kok tibo tibolah
Ndak kan dilawan
Dek kopi lah habih
Rokok lah tingga abu
Mato lah ndak talok tabukak
Kok tibo tibolah

Kok tibo tibolah

YK, September 2016

where do they retreat

the skies are clear and blue

reflecting from the waters


flowing out to endlessness

to an ocean of bliss

and contentment

but yet

forces none to enjoy

its splendor

its beauty

and how beautiful it is today

how beautiful it is to live

and how grateful I am

to be alive


a breeze of fresh air

meadows of flowers

the sweet scent of spring

the warm light of day

after a long winter

and for no one do they appear

but they are there, I believe

and I believe in what is true


no more dark clouds

no more blurred sight

no more do they appear

and I feel alright

not again do they conjure up

disappointments so clear

and memoirs of fears

all the fallen tears

and how easy it was to call upon

the sadness instilled

inside of a dying mind

and so

no more grey skies

shading my light


but where do they retreat?