i, shatter

heartbeats

2011-01-19T09:29:00.000-08:00

this is a sort of reply to you. aku ingin berjalan malam-malam denganmu, menghitung tiap cobbled stone dengan detakan jantungku. aku akan membelikanmu poppy seed bagel di sebuah toko kelontong yahudi di le marais,

mari mulai lagi. mungkin kau ingin mengunjungi le pure café, tempat ethan hawke dan julie delpy saling membohongi diri sendiri di awal before sunset. oh how cliché! but cliché works in paris, as does blue sky, sandstone buildings et parapluie,

mungkin lebih baik kita menonton electroma di racine odéon, non?

sesungguhnya, aku hanya ingin mencecap parfum manis di antara buah dadamu, di kamar honeymoon kita yang bau bawang di hotel rimbaud,

period.

l'anti-bourgeois gentilhomme

2010-12-07T14:49:00.000-08:00

jules et jim et pancrutkancut et clovique et duniahitam
wake me up before this century ends
release me from the silver chains around my burning neck and my cool quilt of concrete
abandon me to the mann gegen mann world of future triptonics

jules et jim et violet et sautsitumorang et yoshife
rewrite the index of the world in feathers and beads
rescind all invitations to an alternate universe populated by exploding rain
reimagine babylon in dreams of lions and full english breakfasts!

jules et jim
never tell the truth in cinema verite!

mayor of everything and nothing (incumbent)

2010-05-13T02:21:00.000-07:00

remote check-in aja cyin
super swarm masjidil haram
lupakan dulu besok isnin
bahagia meledak tengah malam

Semakin Kaumenjauh, Semakin Kumendekat*

2009-11-20T10:33:00.000-08:00

yah tentu, ive got more grudges
than lonely high court judges,
tapi tahu nggak kamu,
i am two people
both of them you dont know
and you dont want to
memang semakin kau menjauh
aku akan semakin membabi buta
menggoogle namamu
sudah 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 Next sekarang
kenapa kau umbar pesonamu ke technorati
sementara dalam kamar kau hambar seperti peti mati ?

* singalong dengan primavega

1 5 0 J U T A

2009-11-20T08:59:00.000-08:00

ha ha

150 JUTA KREDO PUISI

2009-11-20T08:57:00.000-08:00

150 juta bukanlah alat mengantarkan pengertian. Dia bukan seperti pipa yang menyalurkan lumpur. 150 juta adalah pengertian itu sendiri. Dia bebas.

Kalau diumpamakan dengan kursi, 150 juta adalah kursi itu sendiri dan bukan alat untuk duduk. Kalau diumpamakan dengan pisau, 150 juta adalah pisau itu sendiri dan bukan alat untuk memotong atau menikam.

Dalam kesehari-harian 150 juta cenderung dipergunakan sebagai alat untuk menyampaikan pengertian. Dianggap sebagai pesuruh untuk menyampaikan pengertian. Dan dilupakan kedudukannya yang merdeka sebagai pengertian.

Dalam puisi saya, saya bebaskan 150 juta dari tradisi lapuk yang membelengunya [sic] seperti kamus dan penjajahan-penjajahan lain seperti moral 150 juta yang dibebankan masyarakat pada 150 juta tertentu dengan dianggap kotor (obscene) serta penjajahan gramatika.

Bila 150 juta dibebaskan, kreatifitaspun [sic] dimungkinkan. Karena 150 juta bisa menciptakan dirinya sendiri, bermain dengan dirinya sendiri, dan menentukan kemauan dirinya sendiri. Pendadakan yang kreatif bisa timbul, karena 150 juta yang biasanya dianggap berfungsi sebagai penyalur pengertian, tiba-tiba, karena kebebasannya bisa menyungsang terhadap fungsinya. Maka timbullah hal-hal yang tak terduga sebelumnya, yang kreatif.

Dalam (penciptaan) puisi saya, 150 juta saya biarkan bebas dalam gairahnya karena telah menemukan kebebasan, 150 juta meloncat-loncat dan menari diatas kertas, mabuk dan menelanjangi dirinya sendiri, mundar-mandir dan berkali-kali menunjukkan muka dan belakangnya yang mungkin sama atau tak sama, membelah dirinya dengan bebas, menyatukan dirinya sendiri dengan yang lain untuk memperkuat dirinya, membalik atau menyungsangkan sendiri dirinya dengan bebas, saling bertentangan sendiri satu sama lainnya karena 150 juta-150 juta bebas berbuat semaunya atau bila perlu membunuh dirinya sendiri untuk menunjukkan dirinya bisa menolak dan berontak terhadap pengertian yang ingin dibebankan kepadanya.

Sebagai penyair saya hanya menjaga—sepanjang tidak mengganggu kebebasannya—agar kehadirannya yang bebas sebagai pembentuk pengertiannya sendiri, bisa mendapatkan aksentuasi yang maksimal.

Menulis puisi bagi saya adalah membebaskan 150 juta, yang berarti mengembalikan 150 juta pada awal mulanya. Pada mulanya adalah 150 JUTA.

Dan 150 juta pertama adalah mantera. Maka menulis puisi bagi saya adalah mengembalikan 150 juta kepada mantera.

Sutardji Calzoum Bakrie
Freedom Institute, 17 Agustus 150000000

The palm at the end of a cheese rind

2009-11-20T08:54:00.000-08:00

Two years ago
When you remember things you wonder
How could I ever forget ?
So I was thinking of D-- and how --A's leaving now after
Less than two years and of the people that were ther
E when she came and who left after she came and who replaced
Who and who got rid of who and who stayed but spent the day(
S) browsing the online want ads, jobsDB, karir.com, whatever
Wherever she could click her eyes into (did that work ?).
So I was thinking of N-- and her bloated water-balloon
Belly and her lieutenants, --I, yes I remembered her though
She, by all accounts, is totally, absolutely, forgettable,
And the other girl, The Beauty Editor, and I couldn't remem-
Ber her name, for the life of everyone in the universe !,
But then I remembered ! She sent me a text message re:Subject
:Re and my mind went off course, of course and I was more
Interested in the content of that message, what she said, ho-
W she phrased it, did she use emoticons ? and I could only
Remember the sky blue of my cheap, cheapest on the market,
Motor Ola casing, and the two-line breadth of the screen
(Don't worry, your boyhood lyricism will come back (to haunt you))
And I remembered nothing but that the tone was angry and
The message cryptic like everything else everyone else in
This cuntree and I gave up, not wanting to think about
That whole period of my life anymore but knowing that
Deep deep down East 17 and I had worked out, pieced
Together the broken jigsaw pieces of me memory, she said
Something like: Some people know some thongs [sic, yeah !] about other peo-
Ple and keep them to themselves, and some people choose
To write a fucking book. I remembered, and I didn't want
Not to.
It comes from not having done enough thinking.
(Whatever 'It' is was will be.)
So many things have happened and I've only taken notes of so
Few.
O there is time/are times: between phone calls, late at
Night when you know, even she won't call.
But then she does and you forget things.
You blame her for forgetting things.
The Thing Things.
And in your saner moments you blame yourself for not taking
Better care of your brain. Your mental health. Your Self.
Your metal health. Will Self.
But you don't know what that Self is anymore.
Mind.
It used to be so clear.
You write long letters to that Self.
Disguised as A-- or --N or any name of friends you can conjure up
Out of the smell of loneliness.
But that ended up badly, didn't it ? Very.
So you decided to become, try to become a better person,
One who thinks first before he acts.
And you promptly act before you have done enough thinking.
Because thinking hurts.
Thinking is lonely.
Think lonely.
If I promise myself this, a page-between attempt at redress-
Ing the problems of my life by reading good books I buy
Second-hand, I'm sure I'll break it again, The Way I Have Br-
Oken So Many Promises To Myself In The Past Which If Ke-
Pt Would Have Made Me A Happier Person.
I Promise.
Why don't you begin at the start ?
Only never is too late. Never.
Alright.
A 2.5-storey house in Pejompongan.
Newly renovated in the current [circa 2006--ed.] fad style of steel frames,
Dove-grey paint job, polished wood everything, stairs sa-
Ns railings, a verandah on the 1.5 level, thin bars of the sa-
Me wood, unpolished, stacked together as fences, a gate,
In lieu of solid walls.
-- I had stopped writing two years ago to read some more
Of the New York poets in my Anthology of New York Poets
Vintage Classics edition of 1973 that I bought post-loved
Of course--who shares the knowledge of your of courses, pray, deary me ?--
The year was 2006, Anno Domini, from Jose Rizal's
Shop, that's the Indonesian Jose Rizal, the poet who wears
His hair in a greasy pony tail, not the dead Pinoy doctor,
(Maybe he wore his hair in a greasy pony tale)
And I read some Ashbery, Koch and read the biography at
The back of someone I can't remember his name--I remember no-
Thing these days--who cut&pasted Elvis's bio for his own.
I like funny things like that.
Funny men like that.
Funny, irresponsible men like that.
When I was reading Koch's 'Leaving Hydra' or something like
That, the poem was about this guy Peter who wanted to
Go for a walk with his homo friend Norris who'd decided
He wasn't homo after all and wanted to just cross the Eng-
Lish Channel hetero-like with a girl, Margaret, and why woul-
D anyone have ideas like that, going for a walk on an isl-
And they hardly know with a new friend you'd just met
Hours ago, and Koch said that was because we hardly ever hav-
E clear objectives in our lives, that
Two Days Later, 10 PM, or a few minutes after
You on the radio
Burning your way into the hard disk
Of my (he)art.
Yeah, I'd've written that.
No compunction.
No no no.

Ttruh cilam slberamcd 5 temis oevr*

2009-11-20T08:41:00.000-08:00

i havnet uadpted trhbjratathtukeaouta for many ransoes. msot of them i dont wnat to dcuisss with you. safe to say ive been aawy from lfie as i konw it. im on an oegrovrwn ptah eedgd with bebrmals going nhwreoe. i dont mnid. ive been tkanig stiases in etmpy pgaanrgshaans upekmnt dreeetsd by trlaerves eevn. no one lieks hanigng out amynroe. just sitntig in kesorsi males all afeoontrn. no one sees the pinot in wniirtg lteerts in eignlsh aonryme. make the gtueesrs of wtniirg wtih yuor hdnas and no one wloud unastrdned. ive been rdanieg many books in my daerms. more and more wlaimis p.a. duam e. beortn de njis arlbet abtrels anyinthg inshcdie brlieeltce. i tinhk the sllnpieg is wonrg but ill let sgjaubo have it this tmie. i dnot have tmie to talk to you amornye. i hvae my sciuonipss. no i nveer stscepeud you but i suohld nveer have tsteurd aoynne laest of all mslyef. we have lost our roahni and im trying to rpeacle it wtih teals of tgnihs wtih a toaki ctigtreae lhietgr as thier siaerl pgosiaontrt. i lnog for a late arnftooen with a bsnkibbno&rias miexd frloavs sky but eyvwrehree auonrd me is nhigt. goodbye. yruoe hasrh on me for a rseaon i know. yuor own resanos. ive got ntoinhg to do with whveater psoern yuove dcdeeid to be. prephas you dediced it one ngiht in lskuoeahmwe while watinig for smeoone to cursh yuor pdoanal exrats for you in your tepsaoon. and you dndit hvae wetar olny clod owesevert tea. get on wtih it. get on with lfie. as you woulvde siad to me i bet you wvldoue said tsohe wrods to me. you hvae. if i tlod you taht i too had dceedid on the psoern the iedal man i wneatd to be trhee years ago and now i fnid msylef saitrng at the same ceiilng i was sairntg at tehre yeras ago to the sonced wluod you bilevee me? i hvae not mveod an icnh. time to rnarragee the fintuerrus in my room. no one has been rinckog in the rcoking cahir for many yeras phpaers its time to put rnoikcg to ptrsaue. wulod you bveelie it. im tiryng to mkae you itno my new muse. but yuore wphiinpg me into saphes i htae. the shdaow pnantiig of a rastas haed a fender sartt tihck akelns. yuore not ltinteg me be who i am o msue nevloule! i hate you. i hate you but i lvoe you bcseuae yuor hate is new. your dsgiust at my rclancutee to satnd under the cold moitnaun wetar pruinog out of the bmaobo ppie yuor shrot crut awesnrs to my ssepimeflo-d pmleorbs of amour your sertcely ttixneg your fdenirs to pcik you up so you can get aawy from the pioilbissty of sipdneng the nihgt with me. yuore ceelevrr than all my old mesus thats what i lkie auobt you. in this ctruony id klil for cveelr. now the sltrguge whcih of coruse you would sggsuet dsenot rellay hvae to be one is to fnid a way to feel the heat of your skin asanigt mine. prieod.

*dnoe uisng this tihng form code is porety

Safety5 EXTENDED WARRANTY !*

2009-11-20T08:39:00.000-08:00

sèpti paip ektèndéd waranti
kata ney di kamar ganti
lengannya kepanjangan
48 hanya ada di plaza senayan
kapan gajian ? kapan kapan
kapan mapan kaps kaps
zyrex anoa pake linuk brapaan
40 giga solid state buffoonery
mari vandal bersamamu nancy
kuingin kau mati saja
gak bayar royalti pula
vaio tz viao kampret
macbook airhead for yer understated
overstatement of this here
zara working man mao jacket
five pocketed pick socketed
suit yerself sour sally
dunia matahari bunga matari
cenes chicks in hotpants
wingèd anklettes like hera
lets not and say we did great
high distinction for a sports jacket
bespoke my fantasies of you
and a grand armée of me
björk get bent ! i go thru
all this with my eyes closed
or open closed or open
closed for business how
will i live tomorrow, if ive got
suicidal tendencies 24/7
material dansa kalau kalau
saja boekan jang empoenya
kroessi males malesan di pekarangan
gedong besaran di bilangan salemba
google earth saja atap rumbianya
1908 ada sebuah pedati
melenggang tanpa kusir di pegangsaan

*ditulis dan disimpan di display piece zyrex anoa di best denki, senayan city

Bukan Tentang Seorang yang Terbunuh di Sekitar Hari Pemilihan Umum

2009-11-20T08:37:00.000-08:00

eli eli lamma lamma sabacthani
better that than a saxophone cry kata ginsberg
lama sebelum bertemu gm di taman itu
hanya khayalannya !
nothings holy, didnt u get me ?
said he under his pubic beard
ah, mr ginsberg, dont u know
these poets of the third, overdeveloped (lyrically) world !
theyre nothing but false-cosmopolitans
a few rungs below false prophets
just a step above on the ladder half-sunk in hells cryogenic mud
dont pay any attention
to the voter with his face down in the ditch
hes just drunk
not hunted down by a police state

wondering motorcycle the

2009-11-20T08:22:00.000-08:00

- wondering smoking slowly naked

- beneath a motorcycle children were set quiet

- springy icicle leapt about the spun water

*done with this thing

60CL

2009-11-20T06:03:00.000-08:00

the way reading kristeva
makes you feel
ill. stupid. and angry
all at the same time

fluxus ?
fluxus my ass !
balls to you too, marcel !
flux us !

i abject !

jérémy est maltraité
les parents de zoé divorcent

c'est la vie-lah !

real life is genuine experience
you live thru with gritted teeth

mudmen digging thru an asphalt highway
at 12.03 am

overtaking a container truck
at half-throttle

you risk getting stuck in a rut
you risk getting stuck in

stick it in
stick it out

at 150cc
you still wonder if youve got the right displacement ?

azagtoth, trey

2009-11-20T05:56:00.000-08:00

trey azagtoth,
why dontcha play drums for rick allen
let him reign in blood as long as he could possibly stand it
on a dark throne sprayed with shampoo
and yer lyrics would rhyme A B B A
and what about force-rhyming massacre with mascara ?
over millie petrozzas body ha !
but what if say, you wrote songs for la môme piaf, imagine that
and she says, c'est moi ! non, je ne regrette anything that rhymes with siang
thats when the small intestines on a carcass would explode from the heat of the midday sun
no time to ask for benediction from a nun
h.p. lovecraft, sumerian death chants, norse synth pops, when are ye gonna grow up, o
you, shorn lamb of god ?
wipe the floor in your chapel of ghouls
really wipe it this time, put some elbows into it, you annihilator of two-finger tapping !
betrayer !
ill plant fake plastic trees on your grave
play air sitar at your funeral
all for the sake of a spiritual healing
never pay attention to a body count

4KU

2009-11-20T05:54:00.000-08:00

K4l4u s4mp41 w4ktuku
‘Ku mau t4k 530ran6 k4n m3r4yu
T1d4k jug4 kau

T4k p3rlu s3du sed4n 1tu

4ku 1n1 binat4n6 j4l4n6
D4ri kumpulanny4 t3rbu4n6

B1ar p3luru m3n3mbu5 kul1tku
4ku tet4p m3r4dan6 m3n3rj4n6

Luk4 d4n b154 kub4wa b3rlari
Berl4r1
H1n664 hil4n6 pedih p3r1

D4n 4ku 4k4n l3b1h t1d4k p3rduli

4ku mau h1dup s3r1bu t4hun l4g1

http://www.h3r1C2.n3t/blo6/ab6_t3Xt.Html

RED33MED AR3A

2009-11-20T05:51:00.000-08:00

Do you know wher3 y0u l1v3? Pr0b4bly.
4bn3r 15 63tt1n6 t00 0ld t0 dr1ve but w0n't 4dm1t 1t.
Th3 0th3r d4y h3 60t 1n h1s car t0 60 buy 50m3 c0ugh dr0p5
0f 4 k1nd th3y d0n't m4ke 4nym0re. And th3 dru65t0r3
h45 b3en incorp0r4t3d 1nt0 4 m4ll 4bout s3v3n mile5 4w4y
w1th 0nly 4bout h4lf th3 5t0r35 rent3d. Ther3 ar3 thre3
0th3r m4ll5 with1n 4 four-m1l3 ar34. 4ll the hou535
4r3 own3d by the 54m3 6uy, wh0's b33n r3nt1n6
th3m out t0 colle63 5tud3nt5 f0r y34r5, 5o th3y ar3 v1rtu4lly uninh4bitabl3.
4 5m3ll 0f v1tr1ol 4nd 5ock5 perv4d35 th3 ar34
l1k3 4n 0p3n 53w3r 1n 4 s0uk. 4nyw4y th3 c0u6h dr0ps
(4 n3w br4nd) t4st3d pr3tty g00d—l1k3 c4tn1p
0r 4n or4n6e 5lic3 th4t h4s l41n 0n 4 61rl'5 b3h1nd.

That'5 the 3lectr1ci4n c4llin6 n0w—
n0b0dy 3ls3 w0uld call befor3 7 4.M. N0w w3'll hav3 50m3
el3ctric1ty in the pl4c3. 1'll 5t4rt by plu66in6 1n
th3 Chr15tm4s tre3 l16ht5. Th3y w3r3 wh4t m4d3 th3 wh0l3 th1ng
6o up in 5p4rk5 th3 l45t t1m3. N3xt, th3 l16ht
by th3 d1cti0n4ry 5t4nd, 50 1 can lo0k som3 w0rd5 up.
Th3n probably th3 t045ter. 4 n1c3 5l1ce

of t0a5t would r34lly hit th3 5p0t n0w. 1'm 4fra1d 1t'5 all 0ver
b3twe3n us, th0u6h. M4ke n1c3, l1ke y0u re4lly c4r3d,
I'll chan63 my ch3m153, and we c4n d4nc3 4round th3 r00m
l1ke d3m3nt3d do65, e463r f0r 4 h4nd0ut or they d0n't
kn0w wh4t. Gradu4lly, 3v3ryth1n6 w1ll r3turn t0 n0rm4l, 1
pr0m15e y0u th4t. Th3r3'll b3 th1ng5 f0r y0u to wr1te about
1n your d14ry, 4 fur c04t f0r m3, 4 lavi5h 5h03 tre3 f0r that oth3r.

Make th4t tw0 5lices. 1 c4n 53e y0u 0nly thr0u6h 4 v36etal murk
not unl1k3 c0ral, 1f 1t w3re 53m1-l1quid, or 4 tr4n5p4r3nt milk5h4k3.
I hav3 4dju5t3d th3 l4mp,
morn1ng's at 53v3n,
th3 t4rn1sh h45 f4llen fr0m th3 m3t4ll1c 3mbroid3ry, th3 w4lls h4v3 f4ll3n,
th3 c0untry's puls3 1s r4c1n6. P4rent5 4r3 weepin6,
the 5ch00l5 h4v3 cl053d.

All th3 fus5 h45 put m3 1n 4 g00d mo0d,
0 6r3at sun.

* from John 45hb3ry, Y0ur Name H3r3, F4rr4r, 5tr4u5 4nd 6ir0ux, N3w York, 2000, p. 46-47

tentang seorang satanis yang gemar mendengarkan lagu-lagu santri*

2009-11-20T05:49:00.000-08:00

ia dengarkan mp3 yang masih copy-protected itu satu persatu
tentang allah, paradiso, suci nan dududududum

mencipta dunia untuk sendiri termangu
di kefanaan konser burzum

*balasan buat 'tentang seorang santri yang gemar mendengarkan lagu-lagu satanik' besutan yoshi f/gedongproject di sini

The Latitudes of Homosocial Motility within Heterosexual Desire in Matthew Lewis’s The Monk*

2009-11-20T05:46:00.000-08:00

i was reading the monk when i realised i was in paris with my mum. it was early morning, still dark, and she had already gone for her morning walk. she had been taking pictures of unemptied rubbish bins around champs-élysées and abandoned rent-a-bikes everywhere that she said look like dead bodies.

'they used to push a lot of maghrebiens into the seine you know.'

i dont remember what i said in return. but i was reading the monk and had gotten to the bit when rosario/matilda was sent to the dungeon with the baby still in her belly, and i found it hard to think about death in such a beautiful city. though i saw the bullet holes on the walls of buildings near where the paris commune was. i stuck my index finger in one of them and the sandstone felt cold.

'they used to drink their blood.'

my mum makes things up all the time, she lies like ambrosio, but sometimes its hard to read her expression, if shes seriously joking or has gone totally bonkers. she hates black men too. she once refused to watch hotel rwanda because she didnt feel like watching a bunch of negroes shooting at each other. i was up to page 434 as i thought of these things.

'why dont you go with us to nice its nicer there.'

nice one, mum. i hate finishing off a good book. i wish it would go on forever. thats why i sometimes read a book back to front so it ends where it begins and thus never ends. hows that for a bushism. trés zen, non !? i dont have an exit strategy for this poem but thats alright coz i do not accept responsibility for it or for any other thing in my life. i think i should never have started it in the first place.

*pilfered from here

The Latitudes of Heterosocial Motility within Homosexual Desire in Matthew Lewis’s The Monk*

2009-11-20T05:44:00.000-08:00

textual authority, propelled, in part, by capitulation to sexual desires,

governed by nefarious intervention, the manner by which egregious schemes transpire,

a patriarchal authority relegated by requisite friendship:

“Let us forget the distinctions of sex, despise the world’s prejudices, and only consider each other as Brother and Friend. Live then ! Oh ! live for me !”

homosocial sentimentality, but also the protean and indistinct characterization of the relationship in which they thrive !

sexualized command and feminine influences enfeeble power,

privilege the woman within the male/female binary. in turn.

the seeming intermediary between semiotic motilities pervades the confines of

homosocial sphere via the confluence of feminine and occult autonomy—Lucifer himself.

to this end, the Devil’s synchronous “maleness” and “femaleness,”

in conjunction with his supernatural predominance, ultimately establishes his victory:

“I had already triumphed: My plots had already succeeded. Scarcely could I propose crimes so quick as you performed them. You are mine, and Heaven itself cannot rescue you from my power.”

Satan deftly maneuvers within the homosocial and heterosexual bonds,

forging mastery through the conflation of his own desires with God's profligate sexuality.

what would Man do ?

“Endanger his own position as a subject in the relationship of exchange: to be permanently feminized or objectified in relation to other men ? Temporarily compromising his masculinity in order to gradually vanquish his ecclesiastical, yet pretentious, proclivities ?"

‘Thine, ever thine!’ murmured the Friar, and sank upon her bosom.'

Satan’s masculine existence as a woman “penetrated” by the other man’s emancipated sexuality, hid masculine force. Though at first prostrate within a female body, Satan perspicaciously transposes the idealization of masculinity into the egregiousness of his female counterpart, thus demonstrating His artful role as an object of both homosocial and heterosexual desire.

“Those afflicted or affected by psychosis have put up in its place the image of the Mother: for women, a paradise lost but seemingly close at hand, for men, a hidden god but constantly present through occult fantasy.” (emphasis thine !).

*cobbled from here

pengumuman kematian dan tata cara penguburan / dánarfregnir og jarðarfarir

2009-11-20T05:36:00.000-08:00

kita bermain sampai mati
lebah mendengung dalam telinga
terperosok dalam genangan
hilang di tengah lautan
hening

awal yang baik
kegelapan
harapan
kabut
terbang

terjemahan hopelandic :

við spilum endalaust
með suð í eyrum
hoppípolla
sæglópur
svo hljótt

ágætis byrjun
myrkur
von
mistur
fljúgðu

I'm kinda sweaty

2009-11-20T05:35:00.000-08:00

And I said, “What about breakfast at Tiffany's ?”
I will surprise you sometime I’ll come ‘round
I’m not gonna give you a break
How does it feel
The book of love is long and boring no one can lift the damn thing
Cinta ‘kan membawamu kembali di sini
It hasn’t been so bad, yeah, I’d do it again
Inní mér syngur vitleysingur
Hey !
The night you can’t remember the night I can’t forget
I got soul but I’m not a soldier
Keepin’ down the underground
I’m sorry that I love you
Invitation to the last dance then it’s time to leave
The dirt in your fries

Solo Valensi

Solo Hammond, Jr.

Every single one of us is getting massacred on a frozen path
The Great Big No
Bye bye Badman
Do you realize that everyone you know someday will die ?
All the clouds have silver linings
Gonna track this shit around
Úr stað – sjálfur
Some voice is asking how my weekend’s been
Tonight I’m gonna rest my chemistry
Flashback, wrong nights
C’mon let me hold you, touch you, feel you, always
Safe sex doesn’t mean no sex use your imagination
They just wanna, they just wanna
I feel alone and tired
First you look so strong, then you fade away

Solo King

Solo Hannemann

*all the lines were lyrics things I heard on my orange iPod nano (16GB) the ones that stuck in my head in the past two days at work 5/8/09 and 6/8/09.

Sepanjang malam

2009-11-20T05:25:00.000-08:00

Tapi satu malam di sebuah pesta ajojing di gedung Harmonie Nyonya Nomeydal bertemu dengan Tuan Ladyemon, yang bertaring pedang. Nyonya Nomeydal tetap tersenyum tenang, percaya dengan kesaktiannya melumerkan tulang belakang pria hidung belang. Tapi di pucuk hidung Tuan Ladyemon, hanya ada komedo yg mulai menghitam.

sembuh

2009-11-20T05:13:00.001-08:00

kunaik ke atas bukit
kutabur bungabunga dari dalam jala
kuterjun dari atas bukit
kutangkapi bungabunga itu satusatu
dalam mulutku

pantone 292*

2009-11-20T05:09:00.000-08:00

aku tak mau lagi bawa lentera
yakin akan akurasi GPS-ku ke arah hatimu
mata pun kupejamkan
pohonpohon tinggal perasaan
jalan seperti awan

oleholeh pun ku tak punya, hanya keringat sedikit dingin di tangan

aku tak sempat pula pakai deodoran
tak sempat sikat gigi
tak sempat mandi
tak sempat melatih teknik ciuman

kemarin cicak jatuh dari langitlangit kamar
ekornya putus
apakah ini pertanda sesuatu ?

aku tahu terasmu tinggal sepuluh depa di depan sana
aku seperti perenang buta
bernama nirwan
berwarna asalasalan

aku akan hancurkan terasmu
bakar atap rumbiamu
biar kita berdua moksa ke dalam pilu

*ditulis sebagai jawaban buat puisi maria ingrid, "warna temaram", di milis bungamatahari

Yang fana adalah twitter

2009-11-20T05:05:00.000-08:00

Yang fana adalah twitter. Plurk abadi:
memungut hashtag demi hashtag, merangkainya seperti #bunga
sampai pada suatu tweet
kita lupa untuk @siapa.

“Tapi,
yang fana adalah twitter, bukan?”
DM-mu. Plurk abadi.

*merusak sajak mumualoha yang merusak sajak sapardi djoko damono

live forever

2009-11-20T05:03:00.000-08:00

: pancrutkancut

who wants to live forever
liam and noel ?
weren't they just being ironic ?
like that guy in 24 hour party people who said:
'second coming ? i like it.'
and shrugged his emaciated indie-kid shoulder.
but you, my forest fairy, have been picking up pieces of irony
since day one, since yr last ex's fingers got stuck
in yr angel hair. dont ever comb 'em out, nothing is ever as good
as a memory inaccurately recalled. of a love that will not be
forever, of happily ever after: everything about it
is better left unsaid.

rainbow white-e

2009-11-20T04:55:00.000-08:00

For Edo Wallad
il miglior fabbro.

tergoda romantisme kota
mengantar ekstasi
kepada teman di ratu plaza
selamat ulang tahun
semoga hidupmu penuh pelangi
ah
rezeki pasti datang kembali
jawabku
pada pertanyaannya
kenapa begitu murah hati
jika tua
aku tak ingin dikoyak-koyak sepi
lebih baik punya memori
tentang jakarta
kaki-kaki emas
dibungkus jas hujan

jakarta (hanya untuk 24 jam) - kanto 1

2009-11-20T04:54:00.001-08:00

and in the year 2009 basi zeke khaseli was a boylien

concocting loops of strawberry fields forever
magical mystery tour of kebayoran baru dan sekitarnya

his latest solo project

weekly downloads at zekekhaseli.com
poet and song-destroyer
better than his band

or @Leonardoringo

while the rest of the cityliens
busy twittering their lives away

JNE man delivered darthvader unleashed to @curlylainbow's door

rain in november
@yoshife writing haikus on his job descs
laughing at unnameables catfighting on plurk

#pantaikecil

he made it at last

@ZekeKhaseli
on his own
sans TOA
sans pig masks
sans a tank in the background

selamat ya tante
kurusan sekarang
bajingan tenan

dan mengantarkan ekstasi ke teman
tak ada artinya
dibanding matahari yang pecah di binaria

menghunjamkan kedua kaki ke dalam AP boots
melindungi mata kaki dari lebam kobis busuk
dan sabut kepala di aspal

kan bisa pake loop
sabtu itu playground
dan manusia manusia dar berbagi pelangi
rajawali hitam
hoffman
dan candyman

hadiah ulang tahun paling hacep tahun ini
serentetan kutipan dari chairil @edophilia dan si possum
biarlah orang tidak mengerti yang penting happy

ini akan menjadi puisi epik tentang kota dan cinta matiku padanya

#kataudin telah merajalela
dengan melek sadis
LEKDIS
dan gaya sepa
ada pantulan manja di dahinya
ada pantura manja di dahinya

kemudian jika @jokoanwar kembali mereka sebuah #trendingtwoppic
semudah membalik pantat
kota kembali hujan RT
dan twitter police

menunggu kemurahan hati @fanabis
kemarahan pondok labu @mumualoha
#cumadiciledug @Destesita

sementara bekasi
telah pindah ke pos tumben
lihat saja di google earth
pin a 1967 vespa super on the roof of the joglo superindo
it took me seven pancious original pancakes to understand you
and your javanadian concept of sehidup semati
LEKDIS!
i truly envied the musicality of your multiply posts
the easy indolish haceppity
the lack of gengsi

unlike @clovique
who made me frown
question the sanity of durga tattoo

if the artery of this city really lies in cikini
she lies
turning her back on co-dependency
and a series of coolies as boyfriends

had fun in bali though
a year with a ripe pumpkin

and random calls from teman yang bertepuk sebelah tangan at 3 a.m.
to hear stars shooting in the dark of her kos

PJ and MJ collapsed in downstairs bedroom reading stephen dixon's I.
misunderstanding lorrie moore's puns for reality
mencari remah-remah hati dalam rené char
siapa tahu bisa menunjukkan jalan pulang

tapi perlu ouvres complètes
untuk mengerti efek alcools
dan pengaruh valery
pada peradaban

kan bisa pake loop
dan anak-anak ahensi pun berlomba pitching sofistikasi
so sophistic !

tentang logat tegal sopir mobil rental
dan #twitterstory tentang bersetubuh dengan mayat suami
sudah 40 hari
dan kontolnya masih kenyal

malam-malam di rumah retak
mulut menganga menonton casper dengan lengan baju yang menyala-nyala
dan kijang ber-coat of arms singa
the three lions of bosnia-hergovina

dan @blackuniverse menerima telpon di tengah-tengah usaha berhenti
menembus tembok
yes ive got a question mr kubrick !
kenapa aku merasa seperti berada di luar angkasa ?

dan kuping pun mendengung dengan ambekan pacar di somalia
tentang proyek air bersihnya yang gagal di eritrea
dan kapan mereka akan beli kamera lomo
yang tak akan membuat hidup terasa
slo-mo
basi lo

kan bisa pake loop

mendownload berjuta-juta ikhtiar dari gigapedia
mencari bagaimana cara terefektif meng-convert .lit menjadi a picture of a clit
yours baby

alamakjan
ia ngorok seperti buto !
lihat #jaemanis !
datukmu tertidur kelelahan setelah semalaman mengusung duka

puisi tidak seharusnya dibacakan di stasiun kereta api
maupun ditulis di wc
atau dijadikan mainan bayi
puisi itu agung
adiluhung
makkethungthung

sak karepmulah bambang lintang sugianto !
nek mung arep njaluk duik rasah nggambleh dhisik !
ra ilok
jaréné

dan anggoro gunawan pun menghilang
di tepian sirkuit sentul katanya
tidak seperti antasena
ia tidak bisa membunuh luka
hanya dengan menghentakkan kakinya
begitu juga holiday_sendiri
mereka semua telah menjilat jejaknya sendiri
dan mati
seperti antareja

sungguh martirdom yang membuat dada busung dengan bangga
di mana lagi aku akan bisa membaca tentang seorang pekerja LSM lokal
menggerus aspirin dalam sendok teh dengan ibu jari
pada pukul 4 pagi ?

di pedalaman aceh yang nggegirisi
katanya
jawa koh takue !

kembali kepada fiction as history

fungsi RT sebagai pemersatu
sekaligus pembelah
tidak semua orang mendapatkan fasilitas Retweet (BETA)
selangka undangan Google Wave kepada orang yang tidak hip

jikalau kemudian ia memindahkan semua figurine koleksinya
ke dalam hati binyonya
siapa yang akan xoxo egonya ?

jika memang masih au fait dengan bencana

kan bisa pake loop
bagaimana bisa jika macbookpro telah digasak pencoleng
di siang bolong
gunting besi dan gembok karatan
pintu laundry yang gentayangan

hidup di citylien ini sungguh seperti sebuah short story
abdullah harahap !
short
gothic-y
a possessed girl pissing in your face
worms eating your vitals
all a dead metaphor for
the dead

presumably

kan bisa pake loop

membaca the (annotated) waste land
lengkap dengan facsimile jiwa wilfred owen
deru campur debu sebagai sampul buku
didn’t really work

mungkin diperlukan semacam footnote untuk menjelaskan endnote
yang bisa dijual oleh valerie eliot
kepada faber and gwyer
posthumously

semuanya bisa diatur
dalam thick description
apalagi think description
sementara negara semakin mendekati level middle earth

sejenak sebelum sauron menjadi the eye
dan bunga matahari tumbuh di dada-dada orcs yang gosong

sam menggauli frodo
lidah pink di sekeliling ring
oh your precious

suatu hari berhenti dengan hujan
dan lampu send online yang menolak menyala
padahal selalu receive
dan pc/activity pun selalu standby
nanggung
belkibolang 250.000

USURA
how right he was
how prescient
il miglior fabbro
the better medicine man

kan bisa pake loop

jakarta (hanya untuk 24 jam) - kanto 2

2009-11-20T04:49:00.000-08:00

sementara ia tertidur pada tanggal 11 may 2007
the year of your lord
she went to the corner store
Keluarga Lestari
for a box of pens
a copy of the da vinci code on the cashier’s table
an english-indonesian dictionary
two books in chinese
you’re selling the da vinci code too ?

shopkeeper girl in tight tee: no not really

old man behind the cashier
white hair left-parted glasses
chocolate liver spots on arms and face
his ?
yes the engkoh’s
the engkoh wrote the receipt for her pens

sekarang tanggal sebelas ya?
iya
berarti besok tanggal dua belas ya?
iya dua belas
berarti udah sembilan tahun ya?
iya pak udah sembilan tahun waktu itu kena pak ?
enggak

she paid the bill and left

sementara ia tertidur dengan gadis kawanua di sisinya
di sofa bulukan di d’place
sebelum perjuangan tiga jam menuju tepi ciawi
dalam estafet angkot-omprengan-angkot-angkot
lebih seperti sebuah simfoni
di mana are we there yet tidak lagi punya arti

di mana itu there ?

jika ia masih minta diturunkan sampai depan rumah
di tebet timur dalam
sementara janjinya adalah ikrar jurnal perempuan
untuk berdikari dalam diam

di kota itu ia yang memikul jiwanya
harus berjuang
melawan bullshit
and images corporeal

tak bisa pake loop

menghitung suara langkah di atas aspal
kaki berbalut clarks
kadang cydwoq
(dalam kota tanpa sidewalk)
kadang springcourt depuis 1936
(kota ini depuis 1619 menurut susan blackburn
née abeyasekere)

feminis laki-laki berbulu gadis arivia
turun di depan TIS
kaki kanan belakangan
berjalan buru-buru
menuju matahari terbit
dan parking spot idaman

tapi itu nanti
atau telah terjadi
dalam segarra akanan

sementara ia tertidur di pinggiran
suburbia larangan
aspal yang bergerinda
those were nokia engage-QDs that were his eyes

he got the idea off his brother
to strap life on a piece of string
around his neck
better that than an albatross he said

dengan teman sihir rendra: permainan makna
dan the imagery of euripides
ini hari ketiga ia mengurung diri di luar kamar
dalam sesak hatinya

en attendant chao lei

mari kita tinggalkan
sementara ia tertidur di lantai tiga sebuah salon di palbatu
menteng dalam
sepelemparan cimski dari assisi
tempat obama dulu dicaci maki
negro lu !

tak ada yang ingat juga

presiden amerika hanya warung bubur kacang ijo
terlalu simbolik untuk diingat

di kota yang penuh dengan warnet 24 jam
gay guys chatting in multiple windows
cut uncut ?
posisi di mana sob ?
posisi gimana ?

sementara ia tertidur ditindih gay padang horny yang besok harus menikah
karena tekanan mommy

aku tak bisa lagi ke jalan-jalan
menghapus muntah dari poni
sihir rendra: permainan top bottom

ini masa pre-RT
dan mas ads tems menunts lo biks testi
dibiks duls sebels dibaks duls

kassian munir

berita pagi yang lalu: lagi mau baks
malah dibaks

ia bahkan tak punya waktu untuk tiga hari sebelum selamanya
dan sebuah invitation letter dari merton college, oxford
untuk belajar human rights and wrongs

karena terbalik sudah dunia

sementara ia tertidur di meja kantor
dengan collins pocket french dictionary
in colour
english > french
en couleur disparu

dreaming of notoprajan
naga mas
dan collobrières
pagi emas dalam sebuah citroên
dan soundtrack romanthony

a case of pineau des charentes in the boot
remembrance of things past

in search of lost time
take your pick
lydia davis

‘one might wonder about her imagined audience’

but why
melani budianta
why not imagine her imagined audience

a possum and a small coterie of impractical cats
bibsy soenharjo

what would’ve happened if you got bullied at school
perhaps you could’ve become a real poet

dikit aja semenjananya
gak pake belungsing ya

puisimu akan selalu warna-warni seperti telur paskah

sementara ia tertidur di taxi putra
menuju pinggir jakarta
89.2 melipur lara supir
yang bermimpi tentang indomie telor dobel
dari warung yu siti cikupa

sementara ia tertidur setelah meninggalkan pesan
‘bangunkan saya setelah melewati batas’

sementara ia tertidur di atas kap suzuki jimny
terparkir manis untuk menyembunyikan dirinya dari roti bakar eddy
setelah muntah anggur murahan di pagar tetangga
yang akan menemukan rumput jepangnya berwarna merah besok pagi

ia kembali ke dalam memori bayi ex-affairan

menempelkan kedua tangan dan bibirnya ke kaca jendela rumah petak tusuk sate
di samping kuburan
embun menciplak di kaca yang menempel ke bibir mungil

dan ibunya merencanakan seribu macam cara untuk mengakhiri nyawa sendiri
tiga tahun sebelum ia mengubur egonya
dan menikah lagi dengan masa depan yang lebih stereoscopic

sementara ia tertidur tiga tahun untuk melupakannya
tidur panjang di savana tanpa ilalang
yang tak bisa menyembunyikan seekor jangkrik dan sebuah kitab

bersampul biru

dalam rak best-seller
dengan stiker ‘self-pitying literary awards
2004 short-listed’

berarti udah tiga tahun ya
iya
waktu itu terhina pak?
iya

dan ia pun berjanji
sesepi apa pun hatinya
ia tidak akan pacaran lagi
sampai ia merasakan gemparnya

a thousand nights of disco

history as fiction
tidak seseru embassy setelah neken setengki
maupun dilarang masuk dragonfly
karena dandanan yang kurang upmarket
sementara john k.-john k. berbalut t-shirt junkies

alay prehistoris
memantulkan armani exchange di lantai dansa

sepotek lagi di kamar mandi

kemudian the obligatory fashion show

saat cinderella berubah lagi jadi suster dari lpk bina putri
dan kereta labu berubah jadi honda beat

cewek-cewek anorexic membayangkan diri agyness deyn

open fire: underneath desire

memancang kepala di depan ac hyundai matrix
paul van dyk we are alive and well in this sickening city

hacep sob ?

minta kahlua dengan sedikit eiskaffee

pecah hina

menyurukkan kepala ke punggung cewek setengah dikenal
di atas sofa yang baru diupholstered
dengan motif pembunuh berkeringat dingin

rasanya sepi

sementara ia tertidur dalam kamar
mengumpulkan bacol dalam angan
ex-girlfriends dan friends of ex-girlfriends
cunts and arseholes
loose fit on his withering cock

kering untuk withered
di perjanjian baru terjemahan lama

2007 seperti abu jenazah
melekat di lengan baju
melesak masuk ke lubang hidung
saat yang kauinginkan adalah kekhusukan yang anggun

bayangkan sebuah ngaben di jalan thamrin
pecalang yang mengarit semanggi agar bade bisa lewat
melanggar arus berputar tiga kali di daun-daun semanggi
roh diharapkan tahu jalan kembali ke plangi
begitu indah

dan pointless

this combo of fake modernity and incipient spirituality
gimme abu bakar ba’asyir anyday
dan secercah keyakinan di jenggot santanya

sementara ia tertidur di meja bar bb’s
setelah bertukar baks dengan tony q
pesta pantai di lantai 3
salam damai dari steven & danar prameztee

lelah mengingat tentang tahun yang tak begitu berarti
hilang dalam kesetiaan kepada pacar yang anak sos

sehingga ia kehilangan semua temannya
dalam chatting y!m sekali-sekali
dan kunjungan incognito yang selalu dihantui

ringtone the hydrant
lost in seminyak

makin malam makin gila

sementara ia tertidur
dengan bunga kamboja
di pusarnya

panas

2009-10-09T23:52:00.000-07:00

twiterranny killed me
i have no compunction to write beyond the roof of my mouth
you were waiting for me to rip your daster off
you were waiting for me to offer you a chinoiserie fan
you were waiting for me to give in to your stare
and i cracked open another can of beer
in the balmy afternoon of a third world concretanical garden
and said im in love with your best friend

one you two me three i see dog i dont understand

2008-03-08T01:49:00.001-08:00

Blogged with the Flock Browser

efek rumah kaca hanyalah propaganda al gore belaka

2008-02-18T20:34:00.001-08:00

Blogged with Flock

wait here i have gone to get hell

2008-02-18T17:04:00.001-08:00

and i will never come back

Blogged with Flock

to: goenawan mohamad, ie, gott, god, dieu

2008-02-05T01:56:00.001-08:00

halo mas goen,

kadang kadang
eh sering deng
saya suka membayangkan
mas goen meloncat melewati sirkel api
tapi gagal
perut mas terbakar
terus aku berdiri tegang
di bangku sambungan yang bergoyang goyang yang yang
pengen tahu juga
tuhan bisa mati juga nggak
gara gara kecelakaan konyol
kemudian gajah bertaring tinggal satu
mengencingi perut mas
bunyinya cesssssssssss
asap putih melayang layang

ya, begitu saja tuhan
doaku malam ini
ayo kabulkan

salam,

HAMBAmu.

Blogged with Flock

masalah bahasa yang dapat anda atasi sendiri

2008-02-02T22:30:00.000-08:00

MASALAH HATI YANG DAPAT AKU BATASI SENDIRI

ANAK BAJANG MENGGIRING ANGIN

2008-02-02T22:28:00.000-08:00

anak anjing menggigit bajing

We Will Write Our Names All Along The Fortification Of This City

2008-02-02T22:26:00.001-08:00

in 12 STICKS COLORED ANTI-DUST CHALK

Anagrams

2008-02-02T22:24:00.000-08:00

A ram sang

Aku Ingin Jadi Peluru

2008-02-02T22:23:00.000-08:00

Dan tameng Hephaestos di dadamu

torn raw worth

2007-11-25T20:37:00.000-08:00

only
the subject matter

is new

sort of

everything else
pedestrian!

it wouldn't be so bad
if

i get run over
by a passing motorist

soon

enough

'Tis clear thou art a loon

2007-11-19T00:14:00.000-08:00

The aim of yer chosen passage
Of charming masks and bergamots
The joy of Lot and a quasi-dance
The sadness of yer fantastic disguise

Chant in yer minor mode!
Love is vain and life opportunistic!
The air, the cross, the magic hour
The son & a mêlée on the moon

The calm air on the moon is full of tears, beautiful
The river, birds, trees & the sangfroid of ecstasy & jets of water,
The grandest jets of waters
Svelte as Parma marbles.

- translitic of Paul Verlaine's 'Clair de Lune'

Gondang Dia

2007-11-14T08:15:00.000-08:00

«Here the earth vomits trees it doesn't know what to do with.» And you said I was right.

Then

You put a hand, pale like a flower, on the grey trunk of a palm tree, «That's why I feel so out of place—where I come from, the trees keep everything in.»

Birthday letters #4 (The Blue Flannel Suit #2)

2007-11-12T10:02:00.000-08:00

21 years ago I saw my dead grandmother, naked & lying on her right side where the cancer started. That was the second time I saw her pubic hair. The first time was when I was five. Old men were trying to wrap her pale stomach in white silk. They struggled with the unexpected heaviness of her corpse. She was three hours dead and already, I had to say goodbye. Too young to understand, too old to cry. The only thing I could do, was turn the mildewed Koran tapes over on the silver Sony on top of the breakfast table.

Birthday letters #3 (The Blue Flannel Suit)

2007-11-07T17:38:00.000-08:00

I saw my dead grandmother, naked
xxxlying on her side
xxxxxxwhere the cancer
started.
xxxOld men
xxxxxxwrapped her pale stomach
in white silk.
xxxThey struggled
xxxxxxwith the unexpected heaviness
of her corpse.
xxxShe was three hours dead
xxxxxxand already
I had to say goodbye.
xxxToo young to understand
xxxxxxtoo old to cry.
The only thing
xxxI could do
xxxxxxxwas turn
mildewed Koran tapes
xxxover
xxxxxxon the silver Toshiba.

Birthday letters #2 (Red)

2007-11-07T17:31:00.000-08:00

Dark houses
An architect's fear of light

Dreams of England
Narrow stairs

Cold cubicles
No bath

Birthday letters #1 (The Beach)

2007-11-07T17:18:00.000-08:00

An émigré's shock of the new
xxxis nothing
compared to his repulsion
xxxa year on

xxxof the now familiar.

Chao Lei

2007-11-05T18:54:00.000-08:00

With one hand on your chin
You look like you're contemplating
Great Things
Like a career in Hollywood
Or ..................................
I wonder

What brand of pomade
Do you wear
To be able to flatten
Your broomstick Mongol hair
Like that
Royal Crown for a royal crown
You're propping up with the said hand?

Whatever happened?

What remains of you
Is a stock fan-letter reply postcard
Of a handsome oriental devil
In sepia

My girlfriend bought it
On a quick stop-over trip
to Hong Kong

Did you ever make it?

Now I look at the watch
You wear on the hand
That propped up your chin
Its hands
Frozen in time
Like the thousands
People found on 10/11

(Were you there?)

They show a mangled
Victory sign

If there does exist the Big Jakarta Poem, it would contain all the following things:

2007-11-01T19:22:00.000-07:00

Bratwurst und Beers
München within

the span of a four-leaf
clover:

The Filter Moment Has
Come.

People go out at 9.47
pm for donuts sprayed with

cheese in machines
copied illegally somewhere in

Sacramento, Calif., USA
and assembled in a war-

ehouse in the outskirts
of this city—Town Squares'

din beats the noise the
welders make with the

candy flame of their blow-
torches. Why

is everything so loud here
what happens when you com-

bine THX with Dolby? Maybe
the gallon-drum mestizo will

go off the scales and the
pretty redhead fly on the strange-

ness of her hair—you top beet!—
and all that's just about

the noise. Govinda govinda go-
vinda Jaya jaya—We've still

got David Hassellhoff on prime
time. This city is

a pan of boiling water, forget realism
and moving Amygisms

for a while now and let's
build a future harmonium while

the jury's out: Every-
thing threatens to boil off

into steam. Things disappear
the way the world's omphalos

turn from an outie into
something non-descript just

to make things easy we call
it an outie. Let's

do the long week-end at the
volcano: the merino death

cloud will make easy target
for your Canon Digital Rebel

SLR set to [symbol of thunder] or
for the optimists [symbol of cloud] & enjoy

a culinary feast with views
of terraced rice fields on green

slopes angled at the exact
degree to make the water

run down without ever appear-
ing to move. I think they

call it moving «vertically down-
stream». On boulders like houses

that pimple those green kids
sunbathe penises still recover-

ing from the bong supits' touch, bar-
baric, when they happen at 10,

11, you try to get it over &
done with before the fine fur

on the base of your cock
graduate into a full bush.

A dilemma you keep to your-
self since there's only one way

out. Forget Su Tung-p'o &
his walking stick, stop strik-

ing jagged stones with it &
start somewhere close

to a constant height
above sea-level.

kiss and destroy

2007-10-29T07:18:00.000-07:00

you have destroyed me more
more than even you think
you are capable of you
destroy other people

all those punches you threw
at me at i remember twice you tried
to hit me me in the groin that's you
in a nutshell: forever

below the belt but
you have destroyed me you have
from the waist up from the
waist up i have become

mean i can no longer let things go
no longer without baring my teeth
the way you do to frighten people
me i bare my teeth in anticipation

that people are you i bare my teeth
in revenge in an attempt at one
i lay down my arms i did
i did not want to hurt you

more than when i had on
my full armour but when i did
i lay down my arms i did
not want to hurt you you

took away my heart and the shield
around it you have destroyed me

you.

Le voisinages de Condorcet

2007-10-06T23:14:00.000-07:00

so that's it, eh?

you've groomed your look
for two centuries

so you
go

the spitting image
always

of condorcet.

when us were kids

2007-10-06T11:29:00.000-07:00

we drank red flowers
we later scattered
over the dead.

sortie de secours

2007-09-26T08:58:00.000-07:00

di kota asing ini
hujan sore-sore adalah

lautan parapluie

sungai tak berarus
air hijau

dan sepasang turis amerika

bermantel eurodisney
di atap bateau-mouche

yang melaju lurus.

in the face of so many projets pour l'art contemporain i feel like so much more like a loser

2007-09-20T11:38:00.000-07:00

no more comment.

naik sepeda

2007-09-11T10:30:00.000-07:00

It's quiet in the suburbs.
9.37. PM.
Trees have grown in abandoned corner houses.
Overgrown like afros.
And people are up
in strange places
squatting on empty
badminton courts
with the sign
white painted on grey concrete
just outside the touchlines
PARKING SPACE FOR MEDIKA LESTARI CUSTOMERS ONLY
a man bellycooling
his t-shirt rolled up just below his nipples
leaning on doorjambs
of a makeshift
plywood shack for builders
— you see them everywhere
a magnificent wog mansion
next to it
ceilings painted with ducks
doves
angels flying in mid-air
I prefer not to see how they make them float
above white domes lit
by blue spotlight
the colour of the sea in Fiji
Tourism Board brochures.
Yellow light
of cheap low watted bulb
behind the bellycooling man
O how I long to see what's behind the doorjambs
but all I did was smile
at the man
another quick look at his nipples
dark under the ambient blue
of the aforementioned
magnificent
domes.
Two boys
playing cards
outside a gate
sila on the dusty conblocks
(or perhaps they'd wiped the dust off
with their hands the way I used to
sweep loose earth with my hand
then sit
on the now smooth
hard surface
to watch a badminton match
at the RT court
— remember the lines
made of multicoloured raffia?
The shuttlecock
would bounce when a smash hit
above a depression on the ground.
Makes it easier
for the umpires to decide
on line calls. On the line is in.
Or out. I don't remember. It all seems so far away
now.)
So what I'm trying to do is get all the details down
everything perfect and complete
so I don't forget
do justice to this place.

Misalkan Kita di Sarajevo (RADIO EDIT)

2007-08-31T18:26:00.001-07:00

Let's
And say we didn't.

Misalkan Kita di Sarajevo v.2

2007-08-30T11:06:00.000-07:00

Let's just
Not go there.

royal faluda

2007-08-26T20:17:00.000-07:00

suatu malam sehabis nonton pan's labyrinth aku duduk bersama pacarku di kursi bar di komala's

dia memesan baby faluda, aku teh chai

dan kita ngobrol wek wek wek dua jam-an tentang salesman setengah baya, ibu-ibu india yang menjepit bawang bombay mentah dengan ujung jarinya, dan brondong-brondong di oh la la di seberang yang mencoba menyembunyikan cardigan murahan mereka di balik

tawa.

kita tertawa ha ha ha dan dia menggodaku kenapa begitu gampang menangis menonton pan yang berkulit kayu dan berbau tanah, dan aku menggodanya kenapa daya kritisnya hilang begitu nama gael garcía bernal muncul di layar.

'tapi kan tadi tidak ada gael garcía bernal?'

ha ha ha ha ha. 'kukira tadi sutradaranya juga benicio del toro!'

selagi mencengkeram perutku yang tegang tertawa

aku ingat waktu aku umur 10 tahun, duduk di atap rumahku di badran, jogja

menonton rumpun, gepeng, asep, githil, lilik, mas kelik, dan trio

membela gawang rt 6 dari serangan ganas nanang, bomber rt 12

buku pspb kelas empat terbitan tiga serangkai di pangkuanku

gambar jenderal oerip soemohardjo dengan epaulet-nya yang tak sempat disetrika

dan tangan yang menuding entah kopral siapa

di halaman 42.

besok ulangan.

waktu itu faluda hanya nama tante yang naik haji baru sekali tapi sudah lima kali umrah

(karena angka ganjil dikasihi allah)

dan chai, aku yakin waktu itu aku belum tahu ada sesuatu di dunia yang bernama seperti itu

ada kasti, ada gobag sodor, ada benthik, ada dhelikan, ada lèk lèk-an,

tapi belum ada chai.

sekarang pacarku menusuk-nusuk baby faludanya yang tinggal sepertiga, mencari vermicelli yang mungkin sembunyi di balik air susu yang putih seperti hatinya,

dan aku memutar-mutar sendok di teh chai-ku, memecah kerak lemak yang menggumpal di permukaannya:

waktu itu, juga belum ada dia.

write petty

2007-08-16T11:07:00.000-07:00

i want to write pretty
but i forget the whole thing is like muscles
i have to train
so the red stays red
and the white stays fat
and not turn into red
i worry about staying a half-beat behind
and enunciate every syllable as if it was the last
is that what they call phrasing?
i say to myself everyday:
today i’m going to lose it
the way i lost my petit javanaise
through lack of use.
but that’s not entirely true,
i can still speak it, perhaps
the problem is i was
never much good at it .
you know i want everything to be perfect
so i can’t ever think: oh, but the good
outweighs the bad.
to me the bad always outweighs the good!
sometimes i say, ah, let me just
paint pictures, as long as i have them
i will never run out of things to say.
i mean, don’t all intelligent people think in pictures?
or did he say only intelligent people think in pictures?
it’s only after that a whiff of words
flies past your nose
and you can only hope you catch all of it.
but they’re usually slippery as ghosts.
i’ll give you one:

i tilt my ipod
30 gigs for 30 years
of music geekery
so the angle
reveals to me
the white plastic
smooth to the touch
hides crop circles
of hairline scratches
that disappear again
when the sunlight
through the taxi window
hits.

see something’s wrong with the last line?
like it’s missing a word
and i know what’s missing
is a picture.
it was (scratches ...) “lit by the sun”
is it the passive construction?
or the servility of by
that i hate?
i mean, i’m learning new things
shoot new pictures into my brain
like how up or down is always better
than moving forwards
or that when she had her hair cut
the next day the shadows of her old cut
refused to go still
or that we memorise
the kinds of wood
but not the names
of trees
or a helluva things about nightfruits.
i make notes so that i don’t have to remember anything.
and i have learned how to suffer
esorais m’ hos ekdika paskho!
so i don’t have to cry
but still i worry how
the pictures play in widescreen
without a sound.
my drama! ha!:

and i see her in her old swimsuit
with the blue leaves
of the nameless plant on her left breast
and she had on a new bracelet, brown suede,
the way she likes it,
to go with her old look:
when she stares into space
and it is as if
she looks through you.
(i don’t have to tell you that she was standing
right on the edge
of the row of friends
she had since high school,
a feet further apart from the others,
the way she always does)

or do i make notes so i don’t have to write?
there’s nothing real in practising
just as there should be no trace
of practice in the real thing.
i am sorry i take thunders away from you
as if i need more
and you never need one.
“even in the slow practice
of a fast kung fu move”
and that’s just a picture,
after i plug the words
which i drag
out from the cold, in. as
i cup my mouse
with the tenderness of a virgin lover
and feel the talc of dust
on its curves.

The Cock*

2007-07-30T19:03:00.000-07:00

I dreamed that dead, and meditating,
I lay upon a grave, or bed,
(at least, some cold and close-built bower).
In the cold heart, its final thought
stood frozen, drawn immense and clear,
stiff and idle as I was there;
and we remained unchanged together
for a year, a minute, an hour.
Suddenly there was a motion,
as startling, there, to every sense
as an explosion. Then it dropped
to insistent, cautious creeping
in the region of the heart,
prodding me from desperate sleep.
I raised my head. A slight young cock
had pushed up through the heart and its
green head was nodding on the breast.
(All this was in the dark.)
It grew an inch like a blade of grass;
next, one leaf shot out of its side
a twisting, waving flag, and then
two leaves moved like a semaphore.
The stem grew thick. The nervous roots
reached to each side; the graceful head
changed its position mysteriously,
since there was neither sun nor moon
to catch its young attention.
The rooted heart began to change
(not beat) and then it split apart
and from it broke a flood of water.
Two rivers glanced off from the sides,
one to the right, one to the left,
two rushing, half-clear streams,
(the ribs made of them two cascades)
which assuredly, smooth as glass,
went off through the fine black grains of earth.
The cock was almost swept away;
it struggled with its leaves,
lifting them fringed with heavy drops.
A few drops fell upon my face
and in my eyes, so I could see
(or, in that black place, thought I saw)
that each drop contained a light,
a small, illuminated scene;
the well-deflected stream was made
itself of racing images.
(As if a river should carry all
the scenes that it had once reflected
shut in its waters, and not floating
on momentary surfaces.)
The cock stood in the severed heart.
"What are you doing there?" I asked.
It lifted its head all dripping wet
(with my own thoughts?)
and answered then: "I grow," it said,
"but to divide your heart again."

*with apologies to Elizabeth Bishop.

playin detective

2007-07-26T18:58:00.000-07:00

"... the queer light on his hands, neither warm nor cold,
of a temperature impossible to record in thermometers."

Elizabeth Bishop, 'The Man-Moth', from North & South (1946), in Elizabeth Bishop: The Complete Poems 1927-1979, p. 14.

"Dingin tak tercatat
pada termometer"

Goenawan Mohamad, 'Dingin Tak Tercatat' (1971), in Goenawan Mohamad: Selected Poems/Puisi Pilihan, p. 32.

memulung

2007-07-02T09:11:00.001-07:00

Last updated less than one minute ago

--->learnedly and single-handedly transforming the map
of Anglo-American poetry

Make me popular! is a leitmotif

"Till death do us part." Total bullshit.

"We'll be together forever." Fuck you!

Bungaaaa is in your overextended network

’nuair dh’&emacr;ireas mi’s tu gheobh a chiad sgailc*

Write when you feel moved to, in response to some inner necessity,
or
attempt to force your talent
never
let it develop at its own pace

'when I rise up it is thou who wilt get the first slap or blow'**

*We suggest that you try clearing your internet history, cookies, and temporary files, including offline content.

**ta to sinds 4 da scribefiah magik

Une étape autour de mon ville

2007-06-18T09:17:00.000-07:00

But when is around town when
I live très isolée? Am I
out of the loop or breaking out
of here? Remember, I can still see
the peaceable kingdom on widescreen
evenings and the chanai stalls promoting
Egypt on their window displays.

When do I have to start worrying?
When I have to start building walls
in front as well as at the back
of my house? Or when I can tear
down my iron fence and replace it
with pickets? Which I will repaint
white for the happiness conceit
for which I will ask permission
not from nature but from the nods
or otherwise of close neighbours.

Watch me miss my mark and strike
white the red earth.

But still these are oblique concerns
of mini-DV close-ups. Dull. I've
forgotten Kiarostami's misgivings
and shot ahead when what I really
want is a wide angle and a new tripod
for my ego. It's like at the end of Taste
of Cherry, when no one knows if it's real

or an approximation
of magic.

CXVIII

2007-06-18T08:45:00.000-07:00

when the night fruits roll down white chinese plates
a butter avocado, dark purple, it's everything.
she, her legs spread in a v,
threw an arm around the rider's black helmet,
and shot yellow octopus arms
of banana skin to the metal fence that went
clang! but her toes are puffy as if it
and any second might burst peach-coloured nastiness
where the nails used to be.
her legs though are stronger and leaner and shapelier
than her sister's, as she climbs the dark brown stairs
in her open stilettos, i could see one calf tightening like
a bodybuilder's arm.
and his mouth puckered as he saw
the blue kingswood with the blue navy
number plates—the yellow anchor and numbers
sticking out in the disco lite of 2 pm,
and his eyes followed its heavy curviness like
a lover departing and stopped as a suzuki escudo ran into
his line of vision,
the nice
comfortable feeling of seeing
a car the make of which is an icon in your country gone from his pale face.
did it come back when we saw the pink legs
of skinned frogs, next to the green
bumpiness of unskinned ones on green sliminess
of day-old papaya leaves, the spines shiny
from the juice of the frogs?
it's like when i dream of a new undiscovered, now disundiscovered,
but soon will be lost again when i wake up,
#34 series of unfinished tintins,
and he cannon shots his french cuffs
from under vivienne's pencil thin (staedler 2B=1.5)
suit arm,
up,
and shakes them like surgeons
waiting for the nurse to fix the surgical gloves
tightly like condoms.
enjamb your lines before
the meaning
—.
is it possible to think, pace N.'s insistence that genius
thinks in pictures,
in dolby dts thx surround sound?
for how else can i tell you of my mother's bad phone manners as she ends
conversations with yes i never knew don't you understand ... click.
but all you need is work at the end
of the day when the orange window panes frame
the black blue of an early evening and the grey rectangled
itunes stretches a blue line over a case of you and i looked at the time remaining
and i couldn't make out the seconds
because of the tears.

So Paëthon Said To Gatotkaca, Toking on a Cloud:

2007-06-16T22:17:00.000-07:00

“If only I had your wingèd singlet,
I wouldn’t have had to borrow dad’s
fucken sun-fucken-chariot.”

CXVIX

2007-06-16T20:37:00.000-07:00

Ini mungkin tidak akan menjadi sesuatu yang utuh:

Aku hanya ingat tentang kau di beranda rumah orang tuamu di Lismore
pohon mangga di sudutnya masih kuncup, banjir belum lama surut
tanah masih berdarah seperti langit sebelum jam enam.
Bau pohon gum. Knalpot ute yang mendentam.

Kau seperti sedang bersenam tai chi, atau falun gong, atau hanya salah satu
Broadway numbers yang kau hapalkan dari kaset-kaset VHS dari Harry's.
Rambutmu sudah abu-abu. Berandamu sekarang tertutup kasa nyamuk,
Tidak seperti dirimu dulu yang senang dengan angin semriwing dari kutub.

Kau sedang memandang ke luar, ke pinto Co-Op yang masih tertutup,
muka Rosalind tua yang tergambar di sekelilingnya. Hidung yang bercuping lebar
tepat di atasnya. Aku masih ingat waktu kau tiba-tiba bilang di kali ketiga kita bertemu, "Berarti selama ini orang-orang masuk keluar lewat mulutnya."

Kau meleleh di mataku. Udara seperti menekan ujung-ujung jarimu
untuk melengkung, membulat, membentuk tinju. Betapa susah
untuk mengenang kenangan seperti aslinya. Tidak seperti mengagumi foto hitam putih
Jendral Sudirman ditandu Oerip Soemohardjo di buku sejarah anakku.

"The smoke-flowers are blurred over the river," ya, ya, terus apa lagi
yang kau lihat di seberang sana? B&B mungil bercat biru di Watego's
satu unit lagi kali ini dengan pemandangan satu juta dolar di utara jembatan,
pensiun awal dengan super-annuation yang super dermawan.

Kenapa kita pernah heran kenapa kita tidak pernah bisa utuh?

Kata Ingwer Ludwig pada Sitor dan Saut, Sambil Berjalan Santai Sore-sore dari Tuk-Tuk ke Tomok:

2007-06-05T23:23:00.000-07:00

"Tempat ini aneh juga,
anjing makan ikan asin
dan babi-babi berbagi
dedak dengan ayam."

Pembantaian di Taman Kompleksku

2007-06-05T00:18:00.001-07:00

Your hair of non-descript cut
Your t-shirt a Lebaran gift
From two years ago
Two sizes too small now
Your skin
Clean as bamboo.

2m inland more or less, Saronic Gulf, 3hundredsomethingand4 BC

2007-05-22T20:34:00.000-07:00

Δημοσθένης, take those pebbles out of yer mouth
I can't understand a word you're sayin', man.

If Not, Anne Carson - Fragment No. 45, [ ]rd Draft

2007-05-15T21:19:00.000-07:00

]
]
]
hear people [shouldn't there be a comma here somewhere?] listen
]
]
]
]
]
]
decid[how do they make lacunae work in Loebs?]
what
]
hang

If Not, Anne Carson - Fragment No. 45

2007-05-15T09:40:00.000-07:00

]
]
]
hear people listen
]
]
]
]
]
]
decid[ ]
what
]
hang

Man in His Off Hours

2007-05-11T00:22:00.000-07:00

(dan ini terjadi 33 menit sebelum aku membaca Anne Carson's Men in the Off Hours di pojok Picture Books, Kinokuniya On Five)

"please do not unwrap books seek assistance from our staff"

the staff

thin waifish

girls in

unstable pumps

tapi ingat ini terjadi 33 menit kemudian.

sebelum itu

setelah mendengar

kondektur mendongeng

tentang sore:

glodok kosong!

seorang pengamen berpunggung tembok art nouveau

bandung circa nineteenthirtyfour

seorang gadis berlengan

naga dan daun-daun

hijau

bertopi nelayan

bersuara kawakan

Lomba Karaoke Tingkat Nasional

i don't know what's wrong with odysseus

what is wrong with him?

polumetis non compos mentis!

perasaan yang aneh:

di kota yang membuatku

merentang busur:

to try to resist the song of Parthenope

kemudian menunduk

karena sesuatu yang menggantung

dari mata dan keinginan

mencium bumi.

or the

staff thin

waifish girls

in unstable

regular issue

pumps.

SEEK ASSISTANCE FROM THOSE WHO KNOW BETTER!

(mungkin kau anne, walaupun aku yakin aku sudah terlambat, lebih dari 33 menit dan 7 tahun yang telah berlalu setelah Vintage International mencetak bukumu dalam versi paperback.)

klutemnestra

2007-05-10T22:41:00.000-07:00

you look like you're about to cry

(hanya pertanyaan yang kusimpan dalam hati)

hanya pertanyaan

yang kusimpan dalam hati

Rest, Assured

2007-05-09T20:25:00.000-07:00

Satellite, thou art
way out of time, but
worry not my cling-wrapped love

I will grow wings and fly through space,
dock and wipe the bug off thine interface.
Thy will be done, before Mars goes past its prime.

Now We Go To A Live Interview With Cicero

2007-05-01T07:25:00.000-07:00

Pasti, Archias akan puas
dengan ingatan tentang rumah
dan jendela yang membuka ke sawah.

Ya Ya Ya

2007-04-24T02:48:00.000-07:00

“Kisah ini sudah diceritakan berkali-kali,”

katamu sambil mengikis ranting dengan bilah belati.

“Mungkin, penderitaan di mana-mana memang sama saja.”

(Dan aku berpikir tentang kulit yang matang bukan oleh matahari

dan bapak tua di buritan kapal karatan. Kau yang berteduh di

bayang jangkar.)

When I Travel

2007-04-24T02:43:00.000-07:00

You unravel.

SESUATU HINDIA BELANDA

2007-04-17T08:58:00.000-07:00

Lihat, atau ingat
Burung hitam meronda

Cagak anim bertanda
"Ctulhu, die, die!"

α+ß₁D+ß₂D²+γX+δ₁w+δ₂w²+δ₃log y=

2007-04-12T01:47:00.000-07:00

There's a bird
and a tree.

What should it be; the body of dew, wholly at the mercy of wind?

2007-04-08T07:27:00.000-07:00

"mana pula yang lebih nyata, berjalan
merunduk karena angin kencang, atau
gemerlapan lampu di Amsterdam"

Pada pilihan itu mungkin bisa aku tambahkan
pohon-pohon ramping pipih
dan beton baru putih
seperti salju

Kamegayega-Yatsu

Pupur tebal
terlalu tebal
di pipimu

O Hitomaru

Tetes air mata
tak mencetak jejak
di lengan kimonomu

Warna musim semi
pilihan Shogun purba.
Setitik noda di awan.

Payung kayu
matahari kedua
di atas gelungmu.

Anak-anak sekolah
menggodamu, sekerei!
Bahu mereka mencium tanah.

Tapi lihatlah
mereka begitu kokoh
berdiri di samping pokok ceri.

"sejak dahulu memang, yang
tidak terucapkan, lebih berarti"

william it was really something

2007-04-04T19:47:00.000-07:00

william it was really nothing

william it really was nothing

william it was nothing really

william really it was nothing

william was it really nothing

william really was it nothing

Baby, you’re gonna miss that plane.

2007-04-02T01:32:00.000-07:00

I know.

Dan banyak orang tak melihat

ia meraba cincin kawin dengan ujung ibu jari.

Di luar jalan batu menunggu.

Katedral beku.

Orang berbicara dengan tangan

dan mulut bisu,

Mademoiselle telah mencat lagi palang merah Le Café Pure.

Waktu itu kau berkata, tak mungkin arus Seine berbalik arah.

Seperti cinta mereka?

Ya.

Tapi aku hanya sibuk tersenyum

pada matahari yang hilang di balik Pont Neuf.

Kau tak berhati, katamu.

Ya.

Sembilan tahun lagi yang tersisa mungkin hanya kwaci

di kotak rokok besi, batik Bali di atas lututmu,

dan rokok basi yang kau hidupkan lagi. Mungkin percakapan jam empat pagi.

Mungkin juga tak akan ada yang tersisa.

Karena tak pernah ada yang terjadi.

aduh aku lupa selotip sol pumps jimmy choo yang aku pinjam dari 707 dan sekarang hidupku tinggal abu

2007-03-01T23:05:00.000-08:00

Langit turun sejengkal
Dan di trotoar seorang pengarah gaya mencontek Chagall

The World is a Different Place When You Look Up

2007-02-28T19:20:00.000-08:00

I like James Laughlin
because he'd keep at a poem
keep keeping at it
only stopping when, *Applause*,
until, *More applause*,
it gave out on him.
He didn't hold anything back
didn't keep anything for, "Later ..."
He floated the whole of his iceberg.
He wrote mediocre poems because all that.
But I like him
because I wanna get at the truth too
and an iceberg will just hold me down in any case.

BERITA HARI INI 1200 TAHUN YANG LALU

2007-02-28T01:01:00.000-08:00

Gajah Mada, apakah benar
Raja Irlandia senang menukar puisi
Bukan dengan kuda
Tapi sapi?

Align Right

2007-02-27T23:43:00.000-08:00

maafkan aku kalau baru sekarang menyapamu
kita sudah begitu lama tak bertemu
dan hati jadi gagu

Colours

2006-11-10T01:23:00.000-08:00

The jailhouse stripes of the deadly
Aides aygepti.

TO KAKON KALON.

the rainbow mall

2006-10-31T21:20:00.000-08:00

around the ultra-modern water-walled
new shopping mall people still
put up fence in the old way:

thin slices of old bamboo that cut
into yellow palms, bits of wire and
the reliable softness of the red earth

of jakarta.

late night in a bus to newcastle

2006-10-16T08:21:00.000-07:00

was there frost
on windows did we blow

kisses to the dark
outside did you point

to the two overlapping
slowly-disappearing

circles was your arm around
my neck did you say

going, going, going
gone

is this what's happening
now to you and my memory of

going, going, going
gone?

IJWGA

2006-08-11T12:57:00.000-07:00

IJWGA
IJWGA
IJWGA!
but I don't
Just Wanna Get Along
with you.

IJWGA

Weather now outside your window

2006-08-08T12:10:00.000-07:00

Clear, 9°C
Wind NW, 3m/s
Good air quality
Low UV
Full moon
No pollen
61% humidity
Last updated: 2 years, 4 months, 7 days ago

widgetize this!

One Afternoon Before the War

2006-07-14T00:57:00.000-07:00

for Hans & Joosye

Ah! I see what you've got in your hands
an afternoon in the world of LAN
a sealed blue radio

(The night returns for an encore inside a tomb.)

Pray for finesse, on the branch of the arborio
strip it, sing it, fake it
come, wing it, into the river!

Note down: three pigeons
dive under the sun, acquiesce
to Spring!

& for a second
the soy-feathered pigeons
resemble earth after a quake

the agit-props of legendary risks

a universe under another.

Sur la place de Scheveningen
1er janvier 19somethingand8

translitics

THE ART OF FICTION NO. 69 LO!

2006-06-26T19:58:00.001-07:00

The Paris Review man came carrying an Olympus Digital Voice Recorder, the WS-320M. That's the one that's also a USB dongle, you press the Release button on its back and the battery will detach like a used launch rocket from a spaceship and reveal the rectangular USB plug with the two square holes on it like robot eyes.

I thought, from his voice on the phone when he called three weeks ago, and from all the Paris Review Writers At Work interviews that I've downloaded gratis from their DNA of Literature website, that he would've brought with him an old fashioned tape recorder and a stack of used cassettes with the recording tabs already broken off and the square holes plugged with balls of crumpled, ivory-coloured papers from his Moleskine to make them recordable again.

He was nice though. A little overawed by my greatness. Too overawed. It's good when they're a little afraid of you, then they don't talk so much. But when you can see terror in their eyes ... you know they'll get back at you when they rewrite the article. They might not even send you the proof to correct and revise.

His name was Barney. He's from Connecticut. Went to Harvard, then to Paris. For the Julie Delpys, he said. That was the first joke he said. I didn't laugh. So he did, and continued on, But all I got were un nation des Amelie Mauresmos. C'est une nation, I said.

The sun was bright and hot that morning and made watery stars of sweat on our forearms that itched terribly, but the heat was good and the little stars, on my chocolate brown arms especially, looked so pretty that we never bothered to wipe them off. Nor did we make any effort to go inside into the cool.

Lo!, 2004

INTERVIEWER
Do you think you can lose something that you once had, perhaps still have, but are afraid of losing?

LO!
Well, someone told me that I can't. That I won't. Especially not something that I actually had to do a lot of work to get.

INTERVIEWER
Which I guess makes you even more nervous that you will lose it.

LO!
Yes, exactly. I think of it this way. I learn a lot of things alone, by myself, at a desk, or lying in a couch at someone else's house thinking about how I can do something better, like writing, or once when I had the ambition, how to play the guitar so I can write the songs that were in my head without actually having to learn new skills, at the guitar I mean.

INTERVIEWER
I don't get it.

LO!
Well I haven't finished. So, what I have I think I did have to work hard to get. Because no one was telling me how to do what. I had no teachers, mentors—I've always dreamed about having mentors, one-on-one Oxbridge tutorials where we just eat scones and talk about Whitehead—and I remember a lot of the process of learning that I had to undertake to work out the secrets of, say, writing, or writing songs with three chords. I remember the checkpoints and landmarks, so you'd think that I should be able to just go back to that checkpoint or that landmark whenever I feel like I've forgotten what lesson(s) I had learned at that particular point.

INTERVIEWER
But the process of losing a skill knows no landmark?

LO!
Yes! Yes! That's right. You don't know what you've forgotten. Suddenly you just can't do it anymore. It feels like you were never able to do the thing you say you've merely forgotten how to.

INTERVIEWER
Isn't it possible to go back, just you know, like as if you're just going for a walk, and maybe the landmarks are just hidden by some new growth, or maybe they'd taken them down and built a McDonald's over it? Maybe you just need to do some dusting.

LO!
Well yeah of course that's possible. But one thing, you don't know where to start. maybe you've forgotten more than you think you have. Then you might start retracing your steps from near the finish line when really you should start with the warm-ups. Or the other way around. Though that's not as bad. You'll do a lot of revising. That's always good. But it slows you down.

INTERVIEWER
Give me an example.

LO!
OK. Metaphors. Lately I've been noticing that I write with less and less metaphor everyday. Especially of the kind that goes like, say, "the cold air nails the stars on the black sky". I used to write a lot of these. I think I know why I stopped. I've been reading a lot of classical Chinese poetry, though I think the example above was from Su Tung-p'o. Those guys didn't use a lot of metaphors, didn't seem to like it. Everything is just straight description of things that touch them, dragon-y gorges, cherry blossoms, the long Kiang reaching heaven. You know, that last example is a good one. It sounds like a metaphor, you know, like the long Kiang doesn't really reach heaven, does it? 'Reaching' there is like 'nails' in the earlier example. But I don't think it's right to see the line this way. I think whoever it was really did see the long Kiang, either at a riverport saying farewell to his fellow poet or in a painting, and he saw it snake upwards into the horizon, maybe it was misty and so maybe in that 'Man, there's poetry in this' moment, it looked so much like the poet's idea of heaven. It was heaven. It didn't become heaven and the river reaching to it later on when he was carving the poem onto the temple's wall.

INTERVIEWER
There was no metaphor in the line.

LO!
But the line itself is a metaphor, I think Carlos Williams called it a "total metaphor", for something. Not quite clear what. For a mood. You know, it's poetry. It’s all about mood. Sometimes I think that line is a great image (I've been trying to avoid using the word Imagist, I'm sure you've noticed) for what poetry is. Like if someone asked you, "What the fuck is this fucking poetry thing?" Just tell him to read that line.

INTERVIEWER
And what you're losing is …

LO!
No, don't get me wrong. I haven't like replaced my metaphors with total metaphors. I'd like to nail more metaphors if I could. But I think I've forgotten how to think in metaphors.

INTERVIEWER
You see things too straight? Unadorned?

LO!
Yeah. And sometimes the straight things I've written don't amount to anything like a total metaphor. They just become straight descriptions of things that never moved me in the first place. But that I thought should have some poetry in it. You know, it's like it's nice having metaphors to fall back on when you can't see poetry with your naked eyes anymore.

INTERVIEWER
And so you're saying that sometimes you lose things because you have to? Or because you have changed as a person, and so there's no reason to go back and relearn the skills because you won’t need them anymore? That you're just afraid in the future you might need them again and you don't want to have to relearn them when you need them. Like you want to have the spare tire ready, all pumped and cleaned and covered in one of those giveaway tire covers, Vicks!, Balsem Cap Macan!, even though you've decided you're going to sell your car?

LO!
Ha! Ha! Yes.

INTERVIEWER
So you've lost it. The ability to write metaphors like there's no tomorrow. How bad is that? How bad is losing something?

LO!
Well, I think sometimes all it takes is a lot of practice. And having lost something is a sign that you haven't practiced it for a long time. Too long. That you've been wasting your time doing other things when you could've been doing that, practicing what you once loved doing. And that's really fucking bad. That's the worst.

INTERVIEWER
Do you still think of yourself as a writer?

LO!
I never did. No, it's true. It was my weakness, maybe I would still be a writer now had I believed in myself more and called myself a writer and broke up with my girlfriend and moved and lived in a cramped kost in Jogja. I wouldn't even be able to stretch my legs fully when I slept but I would've had a little table, stubby, finger-y remains of 2B pencils up to here in a Hello Kitty pencil jar and a big, modernist architecture pile of double-sided manuscripts for sending every other day to an international journal that I've hand-picked (clicked?) from the Warnet's alon-alon waton kelakon connection.

INTERVIEWER
Not even a pipedream anymore?

LO!
I'll always write, I think. It's like having a best friend that's also your hobby. Not many people have hobbies, like real ones that you've been doing all your life, and even less have best friends. I've never had that anxiety that some people have when they're not doing something really active like bungee jumping or something or when they're not surrounded by a crowd. Or like the way your girlfriend seems to be always restless when you're not around. I like people, but when they're not around I know I can just turn on my laptop and write something and I'll feel better. The problem is I don't always do that when I do feel alone. But that happens only when I don't want to feel better, writing never lets me down. I do.

INTERVIEWER
Writing-as-therapy sounds really pathetic.

LO!
It is. But so are our lives. Writing-as-therapy is a consequence, not a premise. At the moment, for me, writing is therapy. Mainly to get myself to write more honestly. To be more honest. Two, three years ago it was about seeing things, and recording them as straight as possible, but trying to see life from as many angles as possible, to see as many things as were possible for a man to see, hence the baskets of metaphors I used to have to lug home everyday.

Now it's all about feeling things straight. To be as honest as possible with what I feel, not just what I see. Sometimes you see things, and what you really see are the possibilities of things, that it is possible to see it that way if you want to, but you don't really feel like it. It's hard to admit that. Because, especially when you've had a back story like mine where I did not allow myself to see many things because I thought they were wrong and then there's the going totally the opposite way of trying to force myself to see all the possible ways in which you can see things, you have this constant feeling in your head that hey, that's the kind of thing I used to see but had ignored all these years and so it must be beautiful, it must be true.

You become very reluctant to kill your darlings. Even when you don't know whether they are your darlings or not. Because you want to give everything a chance.

But it's exhausting keeping all your options open.

INTERVIEWER
What will make writing cease to be just therapy for you?

LO!
$50,000 a year.

INTERVIEWER
Yes. Here. I'll write you a check. Just email me when you've run out of that one.

LO!
I haven't had a breakthrough for a while. You could see my total metaphor fixation as that, but it's more like an addiction, before I knew it I was doing it everyday, so it kinda doesn't count.

INTERVIEWER
What's a breakthrough?

LO!
It's self-helpese for like a big bang, a volte-face of fate, something that will definitely now! change your life. After much suffering. Though when you see them on Oprah you think get over it you're just fat it's your own fault. But that's the point. It's my own fault I haven't had a breakthrough for months.

INTERVIEWER
What do you think will happen when, if, you do get one?

LO!
It lets you go on. You think everything's gonna be okay now. There's a reason to go on. Like seeing land when you've been out at sea for months in a life boat and you're starting to contemplate killing the other passengers and suck their marrows oh how nice compared to the raw fish you have to wait for a day to catch, and though the land turns out to contain nothing but two palm trees and poisonous bright red pebble-sized fruits and you think that's what the forbidden fruit must've looked like, not at all like an apple, the expedition, the getting there, the jumping out of the boat before it reaches shore and you almost breaking your leg landing on the heel of your left foot—when you jump off anything you have to land tip-toed apparently—the whole thing nourishes you enough that you wanna go on and find more land. And wait at least a couple more days before you stab Motinggo in the back (he's the fat one, he's too weak he won't resist too much).

INTERVIEWER
How long will it last, the new recharged you? You're just fooling yourself right?

LO!
No. I circumnavigated the world after that.

You feel like you're invincible after a breakthrough. Though in a negative way. The process up until the breakthrough is usually painful. It's not easy to talk to dolphins. And though it makes you happy now that you can do it and that makes you feel like you can talk to anybody now you’re on top of the world of telepathic communication, your hands are shaking, your whole body is shaking, because you know, not long ago you were ready to hand your coins over to the boatman. Just so that you didn't have to suffer any more. You didn't want any more disappointment. No more dry island.

INTERVIEWER
And when you've been to hell and back you know nothing can hurt you?

LO!
There's less mystery. The world and the afterlife contain nothing but misery.

INTERVIEWER
-

LO!
But I'm getting sidetracked. We were talking about writing. In writing less mystery is a good thing. If I knew exactly how Williams wrote The Red Wheelbarrow and I could use that knowledge to write about, say, the brown-grey wheelbarrows that Jakarta's scavengers pull along the hot streets everyday, how they let the handles go up and the vespa tire attached to the bottom hit the ground, like playing see-saw with your dad, then I'd be happy. Man, Williams would've been happy! He could've written a better Paterson.

INTERVIEWER
But that sounds joyless.

LO!
Yeah, well, of course there are those says when everything's so fucking hard and you don't remember how you could ever think that you know anything about writing but you force yourself to finish a little poem about the neighbour's kids playing tags and you were observing them through the windows of your living room and how evil you were thinking of jerking off looking at their flat, hard, bony chests, and you're kicking yourself for not knowing how to describe the sort of clamminess of the kids' hair, like it was shining from the bright sun but it was also wet and damp, and the best thing you could come up with was:

this is the place
where people blame
the sun for the smell
of sweat.

And you give up and close your laptop and jerk off in your room trying, not very hard, to think of big, pendulous, MILF breasts and fall asleep sweating and with that uncomfortable dampness on your crotch.

But then you look at those lines a couple weeks, a month later, because you have been trying to avoid them of course, and you think, hmmm, that's not bad. It's almost a complete poem in itself.

2004 The Paris Review Foundation, Inc. All wrongs reversed. Nothing in this publication may be reproduced without the permission of The Paris Review or the original copyright holder of the text to be reproduced.

The DNA of Literature

It's Cool Under the Highway

2006-06-22T22:07:00.000-07:00

Under the T-shaped Sosrobahu pillars
Grey now brown like the skin
Of people taking shelter under it.
A worker in his YMCA helmet his
Girlfriend sit cross-legged
Under a giant Samsung DigitAll
Temptation poster. AllDigit Temptation!
Two workers sleep cross
Arms under heads for pillows
Their white helmets
Like two bleached tortoise shells
Covering their faces
From the glare of the sky.
The sky. Long white-brown lines
Between two grey-brown lines:
Bogor or Grogol. Of a sort
Of nondescript colour. An absence
Of. As if all the colourists at
Pantone had suddenly gone
Colour blind.

Pantone 292

Notes Found at the National Museum

2006-06-21T09:29:00.000-07:00

Ink stand ink stand
Silver Plate Silver miniature of a temple
A miniature of a church 60 17 106 48 East Longitude
Then and Now: Jakarta
An oval table
A stick-on table
Write down what the Holy Spirit does:

Spiritus Sancti

Them Analysis

2006-06-08T22:34:00.000-07:00

Experienced researchers provide
additional analysis “etic” in nature
make use of established theoretical
frameworks for interpreting anthropological
sociological social-
psychological data &
tell the story from the point
of view of the contemporary
consumers to provide a smorgasbord
of additional insights “emic” in nature.

the words are theirs, the poetry mine

samsons & delilahs

2006-05-30T20:45:00.000-07:00

"You could get
at least
three versions
of Samsons
on the one bus trip:
one accompanied by a guitar
badly tuned
one on a ukulele
custom-made for the short fingers
of a girl-beggar
and one
the best
came from grains
of rice poured
into a plastic
water bottle
shaken."

samson & delilah

"Praise be to God, and to you too."

2006-05-29T11:30:00.000-07:00

I know, you must be sick of me. I'm sorry. I don't want to do this either. Who would? But I need the money to pay for my school fees, my brothers', books for my sister, ribbons for her hair. My parents are not rich, not like yours. But I have hopes too, dreams, plans for the future. So, please.

And of course: praise be to you, and God too.

God

les animaux domestiques

2006-05-22T10:12:00.000-07:00

i
marvelled
you
everyone in the class
your workshirts
so crisp!
we talked
Botswana
Zambie
Afrique du Sud
who won
Miss Universe 2003?
elle a été
noire!
really?
you said
your eyes
met mine
and yours
disappeared
into slits
as you lol
pareille au cheval =D
i'm a moslem
i'm not allowed mais
j'aime beaucoup les
chiens!

les chiens

tubagus angke

2006-05-15T02:26:00.000-07:00

On my way to the Chinese House of Mourning
I saw girls in mini skirts sitting
On plastic green stools (electric! in the cars' headlights)
Cross-legged on the river side of the street

'We sit cross-legged
So there's less skin
Exposed to the mosquitoes
And the cold of early morning
And so there's more
For the men to see'

Ah! Everything makes sense so
Girls, everything here's done out of modesty
And the desire for commerce!

'Yes, just look at the bright lights
Of the karaoke bars across the street
Look how the fence they've put up
Across the traffic island looks like the bars
Of a cell. From here anyway. The wrong side of the tracks'

'Oh and yeah, tell your friends,
When you sit cross-legged
They can't see up your skirts
Not until you've handed
Over your money!'

aspasia

sentimentality is the evillest luxury

2006-05-11T22:12:00.000-07:00

she wishes nothing will make her angry anymore. she hates that lump in the throat that shoots pain both down to her heart and up into her eyes. the lump is a water pistol, it squirts tears into her eyes and sadness into her heart. she knows it’s ridiculous to see her anger in these terms. but she’s trying to get at something, that lump in the throat perhaps, she doesn’t know for sure, there’s a kind of pain, and the lump in the throat is a part of it, but say last night, when it happened again, the pain was so overwhelming that she couldn’t do anything but walk slowly to her bed and slip slowly under the cover—already cold from the air-conditioner set at 21 degrees, celcius—and sensing there was still something wrong, pull the cover up, over her chin, over her eyes, over everything, and she stuck her right index finger up like a tent pole into the cold bed cover/tent above her head and she opened her eyes and looked up and she could see the soft light from the lamp in the japanese garden outside her bedroom making exactly the kind of bluish greyish light she used to spend her whole childhood staring at in a real tent her mother used to put up in the back garden of their old house. that house was in the country, and she would then stare at the light and the dark clouds made by fallen leaves from the rubber tree above and which now rest like boats on the sea of her tent roof and depending on which tent her mother had put up, the blue one or the red one, she would say to herself, it all looks so much like the sky, or hell. there is no question of putting up tent or imitation sky and hell in the back garden anymore, she is old now, in a two months she will turn thirty, and that is old. in developed countries that means she’s already lived out a third of her life but here in the outskirts of a third-world megalopolitan, what with all the grey sky and black water and air that smells like dead bodies, she thinks she will be lucky if she has twenty years left. not that that was what was making her feel such pain last night. she doesn’t want to put up tent in her back garden anymore anyway. she often feels sad about that, true, but she realises she hasn’t put up any kind of tent, real or imagined, for ten years now, not anywhere, not in the back garden, not in her sleep. maybe just in her head. sometimes. and she knows this is not good enough. she had read once, one painful night like last night, when she was browsing for ‘sad books’ on amazon and she came across close range: wyoming stories by proulx, on the first review that amazon had put under all the trade descriptions for the book, that as you get older and older, “evidence stacks up.” against your hope, your dreams, that something you had once thought you would make your life into. make something out of your life! someone would scream that to you and you would stick your hand into your pocket and pull out your prepared answer, hand-written one night in the booth of some cheap diner, on a piece of tissue now so crumpled with life you could barely read the words, a promise to yourself that you’ve stuck by and followed for so many years you know it by heart. you’re just doing the pulling answer out of pocket thing for effect. “243 people out of 265 found this review helpful,” and she had smirked, or smiled, because on painful nights like this she easily gets sentimental, and did they find it helpful to work out whether or not they might like the book and buy it or for relieving the sadness they felt that led them to browse for sad books on amazon? haha. she had read on and the reviewer said that he was a middle-aged gay theology professor living in san francisco and ah, she knew then that the right answer would be that 213 people out of the 243 were probably gay. evidence has stacked up, stuck up!, its middle fingers against her. she has not put up any tent anywhere, and that means only two things, that she doesn’t want to, or that she’s happy enough to spend the next twenty years of her life thinking about maybe putting up tents she doesn’t want to put up really on sad nights like now when, looking up into the soft white roof above her, she would feel the lump in the throat again, try to swallow to who knows perhaps the lump will go down with the brief river of saliva into her guts and she would think, the lumps of goose down really look like clouds huh? and she would realise like she does now that she had asked too many questions like this to herself all her life, and no one else had ever answered it for her and her eyes would grow hot and she would close them and the goose down clouds would disappear and the tears, when they come, running hot across her cheeks and into both her ears, would slowly remind her: this is how you get rid of that lump in your throat.

amazon.com

from kwitang to kebon kacang. on foot. it took three hours if you wanna know.

2006-05-09T23:03:00.000-07:00

a government
that doesn't
take care of
its elderly
and weak is
EVIL.

school of government

i, shatter

heartbeats

l'anti-bourgeois gentilhomme

mayor of everything and nothing (incumbent)

Semakin Kaumenjauh, Semakin Kumendekat*

1 5 0 J U T A

150 JUTA KREDO PUISI

The palm at the end of a cheese rind

Ttruh cilam slberamcd 5 temis oevr*

Safety5 EXTENDED WARRANTY !*

Bukan Tentang Seorang yang Terbunuh di Sekitar Hari Pemilihan Umum

wondering motorcycle the

60CL

azagtoth, trey

4KU

RED33MED AR3A

tentang seorang satanis yang gemar mendengarkan lagu-lagu santri*

The Latitudes of Homosocial Motility within Heterosexual Desire in Matthew Lewis’s The Monk*

The Latitudes of Heterosocial Motility within Homosexual Desire in Matthew Lewis’s The Monk*

pengumuman kematian dan tata cara penguburan / dánarfregnir og jarðarfarir

I'm kinda sweaty

Sepanjang malam

sembuh

pantone 292*

Yang fana adalah twitter

live forever

rainbow white-e

jakarta (hanya untuk 24 jam) - kanto 1

jakarta (hanya untuk 24 jam) - kanto 2

panas

one you two me three i see dog i dont understand

efek rumah kaca hanyalah propaganda al gore belaka

wait here i have gone to get hell

to: goenawan mohamad, ie, gott, god, dieu

masalah bahasa yang dapat anda atasi sendiri

ANAK BAJANG MENGGIRING ANGIN

We Will Write Our Names All Along The Fortification Of This City

Anagrams

Aku Ingin Jadi Peluru

torn raw worth

'Tis clear thou art a loon

Gondang Dia

Birthday letters #4 (The Blue Flannel Suit #2)

Birthday letters #3 (The Blue Flannel Suit)

Birthday letters #2 (Red)

Birthday letters #1 (The Beach)

Chao Lei

If there does exist the Big Jakarta Poem, it would contain all the following things:

kiss and destroy

Le voisinages de Condorcet

when us were kids

sortie de secours

in the face of so many projets pour l'art contemporain i feel like so much more like a loser

naik sepeda

Misalkan Kita di Sarajevo (RADIO EDIT)

Misalkan Kita di Sarajevo v.2

royal faluda

write petty

The Cock*

playin detective

memulung

Make me popular! is a leitmotif

"Till death do us part." Total bullshit."We'll be together forever." Fuck you!

Une étape autour de mon ville

CXVIII

So Paëthon Said To Gatotkaca, Toking on a Cloud:

CXVIX

Kata Ingwer Ludwig pada Sitor dan Saut, Sambil Berjalan Santai Sore-sore dari Tuk-Tuk ke Tomok:

Pembantaian di Taman Kompleksku

2m inland more or less, Saronic Gulf, 3hundredsomethingand4 BC

If Not, Anne Carson - Fragment No. 45, [ ]rd Draft

If Not, Anne Carson - Fragment No. 45

Man in His Off Hours

klutemnestra

Rest, Assured

Now We Go To A Live Interview With Cicero

Ya Ya Ya

When I Travel

SESUATU HINDIA BELANDA

α+ß₁D+ß₂D²+γX+δ₁w+δ₂w²+δ₃log y=

"Till death do us part." Total bullshit.

"We'll be together forever." Fuck you!