two lovers entwined, pass me bye bye bye
the world stops
in the heart of the city
a queen
big ideas throbbing
in her teased quiff
an ex-first
lady in a wheelchair
her words fly
above the head of the crowd
a celebrity activist
her hair wet from patchouli
and sweat
of 11 a.m.
her left leg limping
from a kick
right in the knee
from an army sergeant
when she was twenty-three
she should be in a wheelchair too
but she limps along
slowly
on a single crutch
that makes a lake
of black sweat
on the cheap green polyester
under her left arm
people think she's a hero
you can hear them whispering
"i saw her in berlin,
when she had to run away
to the safety
of a first-world country."
other people sit
on imaginary benches
on the side of the street
keeping watch
on a pygmy's idea
of a newsagency
cigarette stall
candy shop
and white crosses
scribbled with slogans
supporting 'unity
in diversity' abandoned
like new gravestones
after burial
after all the rites have been administered
like now
and then i see
a girl
her t-shirt wet
from the monkey rain
five minutes ago
her finger stabbing
the air
in the direction
of her boyfriend
whose hands
half-outstretched
look like puppets' hands
and when he shrugs his shoulders
i half-expect
to see two white strings
(to go with the colour of the sky)
move up in the air
that the girlfriend
now scythes
with her little white cross
the boyfriend ducks
and the cross
falls to the ground
as the girlfriend lifts herself
up
into the car.
easter
you, and whose army?
The back of my neck hurts like there's an army of red ants stomping their boots on the knuckles of my spine. It feels like they're trying to crush it, the way lady-farmers in batik sarongs stomp up and down the golden hairs of dead paddies to break open the gaping oyster-like pods for their husbands.
But what would come out of the ivory white of my spine? Surely nothing as beautiful or satisfying as the dusty white grains of rice the lady-farmers bring to life with their naked brown feet?
No. The red army is crushing me for no reason. They can't squeeze anything more out of me. They know, life has already squeezed me dry.
red army
flowerz
i saw a flower today.
it was white
the only white thing
amongst a batallion of thick
green leaves like bamboo spokes
poking out of the earth
like cannons.
it had six tentacles
(i counted them)
hanging down it like six old chinamen's moustaches
like the ghost orchid in adaptation
except this flower
was no ghost.
it was there
(i saw it)
under the pulomas highway
tiny black dots of grime on its white
like dead stars
unlike anything else
i saw today.
flowers
i'm a jism
find a place on the windowsills
look across the lake
black winter
a crane
mid-
flight.
Amygism
it's more dramatic this way
a
dog
hangs by
its entrails
on a letterbox
raised high from the earth. the red dust.
Fibs
north of batavia, south of heaven
i saw a lot of death.
start at the coffee stall
that sold breakfast
of dark brown broth
in a pan
chicken necks
yellow tumeric-y skeletons
of fish
all over rice.
only the rice was alive
steaming like the garbage dump
next to us.
the men ate quickly
'drink! give me drink!'
a man in green AP boots shouted.
he didn't have time to eat.
another man put a chicken neck in his mouth
kept talking to his friend
and little pieces of bone
fell from his mouth
to the wet black asphalt.
everything stank of rotten fish
the sleeves of my tees
the coffee in dirty glasses
the sky.
no time for table manners.
then we got on the boat
at the back we looked some more at the blue sky
reflecting the blue paint of the toilet door
a square hole really
it too painted blue around the edges
to frame the black water underneath
we saw fish
floating
light as crisps
belly-up
near the surface
it's funny
we live to stay afloat
then we die
then our bodies float
then we didn't have to try.
but tell that to the fish
they spent their whole lives trying to go
under the radar
and now they're dead
no one wants them.
and all this just for starters
one clear morning
at the old fish auction
north of batavia.
Batavia
god willing, i'm not
i'm going to pulau seribu.
i think i'm going to die.
i hate waters, and boats, and stupid little (sea)men
pointing ahead like statues
of independence war heroes
screaming 'god willing!'
one grey rainy day
i went with these little (sea)men
then the rain turned to squalls
then what looked to me like a cyclone
it rained sideways
it rained trucks
but still the little (sea)men
pointed their index fingers ahead and
'god willing!'
'i see land!'
(please, the only land i'm thinking of now
is the one we left
an hour ago,
can't we just go back?)
so they ran their index fingers
across the sky
and down
into me:
'god willing!'
'we'll take you there!'
but don't get me wrong
i like nature
that's why i nearly drowned once
new year's eve 1993
bondi beach
i wished i could've just stayed floating
in the warm seawater all night
that night
like a forgotten lifebuoy
instead of standing with a wet towel on my neck
at the abandoned bus stop
watching girls kissing
strangers and feeling
so estranged. so strange
to be around fun and not feeling any of it.
that was after a rip
pulled the sand from under my feet
and the bondi hotel
my chosen landmark for its venetian
ugliness
away way to the right
and i tiptoed
in mid-air
under water
'god damn!'
lucky
my uncle had once told me
swim sideways
don't try to get back to the safety of the land
god favours the sea
over you.
wait for the right current
and ride it
let it
save you.
so i did.
and i was saved
and let go
to enjoy
soggy fish & chips
which i left
half-eaten
on the concrete fence where i sat
looking at the spot
where i almost died.
hey,
i even went to the outback
one winter
the cold red earth burned the soles of my feet in the morning
and you could never take a dump in peace
but i remember one afternoon
when i sat alone
next to a river where we'd set up camp
next to the tripod
and last night's dinner
hanging off it
everyone else had gone for a walk
so there was just me
sitting there
still
the only thing moving was the brown water
like a great, slow, giant, snake.
just i, alone.
suddenly i saw the point
of dot paintings
realism has no place
in a landscape
so unreal as this.
silence buzzed.
the sky screamed.
so blue!
the green gum leaves
blew blue smoke
like a protection spell
around the land.
and i quote:
15 July 2003 - Fourth day
'The fences ran through the land like arteries. They're signs of man, of life unwanted by the land. Like human arteries, do they give life or feed off it? Barbed wire fence, electric fence, thin garroting metallic fence: seeing them makes me nervous."
see?
it's man that makes me
nervous.
god
angry management
you can't post when you're angry.
or can you?
sometimes anger is good management.
the things you want to do
become
the things you have to do
become
the things you're doing
now.
anger
mr. kerouac said never think
that would be like homer opening his eyes to see who's there. who's listening? no that's not the way a story is told. like in the natural when he keeps driving his car even when his girlfriend tells him to stop and he won't because when he stops he'll think about things and then he won't be able to think about anything, or feel anything, you know, smell the roses and the dung and the dharma bums, and he just drives on and on until he sees a lake and then he stops the car but he doesn't stop moving, he just keeps running dragging his girlfriend by the arm, his hand hot on her wrist running towards the lake, silvery from the young moon that hangs in the sky like a hairpin, you see i could tell you where i stole that from but that would be interrupting the story, but so is this digression but that's the way a story is told, by digressing, so be it, and they just run and run around the silvery lake until the silveriness catches on to their pale ankles and for a moment they just fly. on silvery, winged feet. like angels.
jack kerouac" rel="tag">jack kerouac
what is short, and funny, and bright as a button?
life, you said.
HA!HA!HA!HA!HA!HA!HA!HA!HA!HA!HA!HA!HA!HA!HA!HA!HA!HA!HA!HA!
HA!HA!HA!HA!HA!HA!HA!HA!HA!HA!HA!HA!HA!HA!HA!HA!HA!HA!HA!HA!
HA!HA!HA!HA!HA!HA!HA!HA!HA!HA!HA!HA!HA!HA!HA!HA!HA!HA!HA!HA!
HA!HA!HA!HA!HA!HA!HA!HA!HA!HA!HA!HA!HA!HA!HA!HA!HA!HA!HA!HA!
HEH.
life" rel="tag">life
i need crutches for my ego
this is it.
this is the old artery of the city.
or the artery of the old city.
whichever way you look at it
it's clogged.
used books like bricks.
old storefronts for new businesses.
booming.
like, really booming.
or is it really?
magnificence of supply
doesn't always mean
super-duper demand.
what am i talking about?
kwitang, at 4.37 pm.
interfaith dialogue
in action:
gunung agung - wali songo - gunung mulia
a 'torn dollar bills bought' makeshift stall -
(really, just a man sitting next to a sign
made of corrugated iron
his bum bag hanging on its back)
a man on crutches walking slowly
very slowly
i could't bear to watch -
me.
sometimes i don't know why i live in this place
sometimes i think:
i have ruined my life.
but then i get an afternoon like this
the sky was blue
thin cigarette smokes
of clouds in the corner
bright sun
like a halogen lamp
turned on too early
and nothing
that could make me sad.
i walked past the man on crutches
he was old
maybe he's a 'character'
from around here
or maybe i'm just thinking that
because i didn't want anything to make me sad.
or because i was too happy
i was only thinking happy thoughts
of me in this big city
and finding my place in it.
i walked into bpk gunung mulia
upstairs into the sunday school section
and grabbed all the little house
books i could find.
ten of them.
there are eleven in the series.
'one is still in the printers,' the cashier said.
'oh, okay.'
10 out of 11 ain't bad.
i should count myself lucky.
i walked down the blue-carpeted stairs
stains of man on the silver railings
perfect fingerprints
sweat
and i saw the sign
70% off
great combination of numbers and letters
the greatest idea of man
and of course i went
and found
the last one
the last copy
marked down
yellowing on the margin
the eleventh of the 11
books i wanted.
i am lucky.
i am happy.
i am.
i walked out.
the sun was still shining
the sky was still blue
more clouds, more like cotton candy
but hey,
you can't have everything.
i walked down the street
looking for a taxi
and i saw
the old man on crutches
stopping
gathering strength
50 metres from where i saw him last.
jakarta" rel="tag">jakarta
