On Reading/History

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  • phase six; telltale

    phase six; telltale

    An artful life sojourned through a cliché: a young kid from an Old Town once tried to make staging theaters out of the world yet failed because their economy was just too cruel. Later, after two decades, a friend asked: “what would you do if you can?” “Maybe theater; a dying art in this country.… Read more

  • phase five; come on to

    phase five; come on to

    Weeks in-between spring and summer were bright; most times dull. I keep contracting my own deadline. I’m not hard on myself. I know I wanna do more things, but I’m just tired all the time. I already have half of a draft and whatever. Should I celebrate small things? I don’t wanna. I keep refusing… Read more

  • cerebellum

    cerebellum

    She fell hard from a higher place. It was an accident. With her younger brother and a childhood friend, she climbed over a big bed hanger and had fun pushing each other. And then she fell. Two stone planters broke. Dark reddish blood coloring pavements, all around the spread soils and her mother’s snake plants.… Read more

  • unmanifested

    unmanifested

    You know: our writing ain’t shit, and we take pride in every cloud we replicate as we refuse rain and storm. Fretting with frat boys of literature, tobacco blowjobs until our whole view is smokey shadow. No shit we can’t write good. We have no clarity. We need to leave friendships. A circle of bad… Read more

  • Sandiwara Pengakuan

    Sandiwara Pengakuan

    Confession of a Mask: Yukio Mishima menulis tentang topeng seorang laki-laki berbicara tentang dirinya sendiri, meliuk ke dalam, ke luar, berbalik, berputar, melalui, ke dalam tubuh. Pecahan memori yang tidak selalu bisa diandalkan berubah menjadi gerlap fiksi memoar. Topeng itu meminta kisah hasrat, nafsu, seksualitas, dan raga erotis, merajuk pada jiwa libido yang meronta hendak… Read more

  • phase four; pacing

    phase four; pacing

    I kissed her goodbye a thousand times; and yet the gaze still sees her as part of me. It doesn’t matter anymore what I call myself. I can only write. Out of disaffection because what I have right now is responsibility to finish, to think, to answer, to sit with the past always for the… Read more