A note

I am tired.

That needs to be put forward first, the fact that I am tired, I am exhausted from all the things that I didn’t do. It doesn’t make any sense at all, it’s fucking stupid to even come out with a sentence such as that, but that’s exactly how I feel. It hurts, and the pain is starting to wait to me.

I’ve been waiting for something for so long. I don’t know what it is exactly that I’m waiting for, maybe it’s inspiration, or maybe just simple motivation, a will to do, a will to write. But it never comes around. I’ve come to the point that it’s utterly useless to even wait for something like that, for something I don’t even know what. I just need to fucking write. Be it shit, be it crap, be it garbage, it’s what I can do and I need to do it. There’s this sort of a calling, that I thought, I had towards writing or whatever it is this is, but that calling, or whatever it is, is lost somewhere inside of me. Where is it?

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HA!

Lets face it, we’re all sick and tire of that classic kind of romantic bullshit where a guy comes out of the blue to safe his sweetheart from danger (or from herself). And be it we change the two positions of guy and girl, or change it to some other non-binary vocabulary, we’re still going to be tired of that shit. Yet, be still dearly long for that exact strain of romantic bullshit. Romance is bullshit.

I don’t blame anyone for wanting that kind of emotional bond between two people, where one receives all the comfort and safety, and the other continuously gives and gives and gives, or it may be they’re more reciprocal than that, but still, bullshit. Bullshit to the core of it. There’s never going to be anyone that would sweep you off your feet to save you from anything or anyone. Those are the kind of shit that got us stuck in this age of romantic pessimism in the first place: our collective disappointment in ideal romances. So fuck that shit.

Fuck that shit and throw it in the trash bin. Crumple that shit up, throw it away as far as your bodily capabilities would let you. Take it by the neck and snap it in half. Kill it. Destroy it.

There’s nothing more than obscene idolatry in romance. That’s the only thing that matters. Worship. Worship matters. Only that and nothing else. Once you’ve found a new God to worship, to lead you to salvation, that new God would be your center of devotion.

Fuck the romantics.

fuck you nietszche fanboys

Membedakan dunia yang sebenarnya (yang dijanjikan oleh orang-orang suci akan datang pada kita setelah kematian) dengan dunia riil (dunia yang kita terlahir ke dalamnya), menganggap dunia nyata adalah di mana kita akan benar-benar hidup, adalah suatu kesalahan.

Kita hidup di sini, di dunia riil ini, jangan sepelekan kehidupan yang kita jalani sekarang. Curigalah kepada mereka yang mendakwahkan ketenangan/kesengsaraan abadi di dunia “nyata” yang “akan tiba” itu.

Hiduplah semampunya, sebisanya; tapi semabuk-mabuknya! Apapun yang terjadi, bertahanlah, jangan pernah menyerah atau mengemis; kalian adalah tuan diri kalian masing-masing, jangan mengemis kepada Yang Lain, apalah dia manusia maupun ruh.

Mabuklah, karena kemabukan membuat kita merasa memiliki segalanya dan menguatkan indra-indra kita. Jangan sangsikan indra sebagai bantuan otak, otak dan pikiran telah lama dianggap sebagai jawaban atas semua pertanyaan, tapi lihatlah sekarang apa yang terjadi; ketergantungan kita pada pikiran, pada otak, pada rasio, menjerumuskan kita ke dalam kesepian, kehampaan, kekeringan; hiduplah dengan indra-indra perasa yang kuat!

Mabuklah, dan tidak butuh kau menenggak khamr atau arak untuk mabuk. Mabuklah karena kau ekstase, karena kau perintahkan dirimu untuk mabuk, kau perintahkan tubuhmu untuk masuk ke dalam keadaan ekstase; kemabukan yang kau sebabkan sendiri, bukan sekadar alkohol yang mengalir dalam darahmu.

Nanti, kelak suatu saat nanti, dan ini kerap terjadi sebelumnya, kita akan dihadapi halangan, rintangan. Jangan takut! Siapkan diri dan lawanlah, bertahanlah, lalui dan jangan melemah pada apapun; nenek moyang kita dapat bertahan jutaan tahun lalu karena kemauan untuk hidup yang tak rapuh.

Karena pada akhirnya, kita adalah kepingan-kepingan nasib. Nasib membawa pada kita kejayaan maupun kekalahan, terimalah! Terima, dan jangan berikan dirimu pada nasib, tapi genggamlah nasib, cekiklah nasib di lehernya; kita bisa, dan harus, menundukkan nasib. Itulah yang membuat kita manusia bertahan hingga kini sebagai penguasa dunia!

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.

 

1.39

I’ve been writing you many letters, none of them has reached your hands, and I would never give them to you. I would not give them to you, I would never let you read them. You do not deserve to read what I wrote for you.

I’ve written many hundred pages long letters, all of them talking about you. The way you move, the way you look at the world, I’ve put many small details which you yourself would miss into my letters. But in the end these are just what I perceive you to be. Maybe what I wrote wasn’t even you, but the “you” that I could feel.

You see, I am not obsessed about you. Not even the slightest. But you have this ability, one which you aren’t aware of, to pull me into fixation. You constantly draw me closer, you force me to examine you from head to toe, you force me to understand you inside and out; you possess a power to control me, one which I myself do not possess.

I am indeed aware of your flaws, but they’re not that interesting to write about. Look at yourself in the mirror, and instantly you could find what you lack of. Try battling your wits with someone else, and they would pinpoint exactly what’s wrong in your way of thinking. But these aren’t interesting, there is nothing interesting about your flaws. Flaws are facts that you need to accept, you can’t deny flaws once they’re established. But writing about you minus all of those flaws is another thing, it’s something that not everyone could see, it’s something that needs a degree of attention to realize, it’s not something that easy to spot; I behold your beauty, that’s why I could write endlessly about you.

You’re really something else, and you don’t realize that. My job here is to make you realize all the things you are, and not to make you think of the things you are not. I’ll leave that job for you, or for anyone that would oblige to take on that duty, but it wouldn’t be me. Ever.

I am naive, I realize that. I only think of you as how I perceive you, and not as everyone else does. It’s subjective, and anyone with common sense could spot the flaw in my logic by adhering to this subjective view, by hearing me repeat these words: you are flawless to me. If I was a scientist I wouldn’t be a very good one. Luckily, I am not a scientist, nor am I a philosopher who could convey their concepts systematically, I am just me. I am just in love.

I am in love with the thought of you.

Cie Baper

YK, Valentines Day 2016.

All I know is that she makes me smile; without her presence besides me, without contacting her through advanced human technology, without even purposely thinking about her, she could make me smile even though I’m on the verge of breaking down. It was a cup coffee with friends at night, I started to feel that the pestilence plaguing my mind was unbearable. I had to break down. I had to cry. I had to find a corner and let the tears stream down like rain over Yogyakarta, I just had to. I’ve been fighting off these feelings for some time. Middle school if my memories are reliable. Ah yes, middle school. I remembered crying every night for reasons unknown. I hated it. I loathed junior high for just that. A time of my life I’d never want to go through again.

Reality stung. But she’s a beekeeper. Stings don’t frighten her. She went through a lot of hard shit too. I couldn’t compare them to mine. We’re two different individuals, with different experiences and circumstances, though we found in each other a same set of troubles to face together. I chose to give myself to her. I can’t explain why. I just do. I just feel that she’s worth it. I just want to give myself to her. Maybe if I thought about it, it won’t be that beautiful anymore. But no writing could come close to how beautiful she is in my eyes. Yeah. We abandoned God. I’ve found a better place to feel safe, listen to my hopes and fears, and cry with. I love her. I don’t know what love is. But I’m sure this is it, or something close to it. I don’t care for love. I care for her. Not love.

Maybe tomorrow morning all the dark thoughts I’ve been holding in would make me cry again, or maybe all my fears would come true. Even though tomorrow the world would end and all I’ve known and loved would disintegrate in front of me, I wouldn’t be afraid. She’s made a big enough change in me to not fear my fears. That’s what she does. She makes me feel alive. She makes me love myself. How could I not love her to the point of dying for her? I would do it, gladly, if it came to that. I’d smite those who would try to hurt her. Coming from a man who does not believe in violence, isn’t that weird? Well life is weird. I tell her that all the time. She believes in me now. It’s funny actually. It’s not weird, it’s funny. Life is funny.

And laughter comes from experiencing something funny, laughter induces the feeling of happiness in humans. Usually. But I am an exception. I find happiness in her. I am lost in her eyes. I am lost in her. I am lost, and I feel fantastic. But is it lost when I am lost in my own home? She’s my home. Rather, I am found. I’ve found where I belong, where I could feel safe, where I could always go back to after a long day; a place free from the worries that the outside world supplies me with.

With her I feel alive and free. Inside her arms I need not my eyes. I could close them and still sense her loving embrace. I could see her love, would my eyes be relevant anymore? Of course! How could I enjoy the wonders of life? Her raga I meant. The raga to my jiwa.

I had to break down. I had to cry. I thought I had too. I didn’t have to. Remembering all of this made me feel better, more importantly it made me think. Made me think of my fears. She made me understand that I am stronger that I think. She made me realize how two beings could truly feel, and be, as one. She made me the man I am. I am no longer a lonely soul. I am a soul that found his mate. A body with life coursing through its veins. Alive. I felt alive for the first time in forever.
And I would spend forever with her. I will. I will spend forever with her.