The Hang Man, and the Fear of Falling

The ride up was bumpy but smooth with occasional blinding lights, swaying, stopping on side track. I love the view, distant light in the city - swallowed by the dark, starless night. Your were already crying silently, masticating the pain, digesting every single reason you came up (out) with. You were quiet with occasional murmurs, which I couldn't make out. Low hindered voice, cracking through cold  air. I guess colder nights are hardest, blowing random access memories; poking through strands of thoughts like new seeds efflorescence into life; one after another, questions that demand not answers, but closure.

Your bitter smile hinted exactly opposite what your words meant. I know. It's not so much of a memory that is waiting to be tucked into the basement of your head. I wish it was that easy for you. But, rather it felt like a new wound that was left pried open, and everything else that you had left was taken out of it. The charred remains left to burn, vanished in thick air. I empathize, and yet I feel silly (for you). You are lost deep down, but I can't tell you that, just because I am as lost as you (you lost me). 

| Three perfectly aligned dots, and the straight line across. 

Everything seemed different, the subtle tone between black and white, a lesser hue of grey. It blurs the line, as real as it could be fake, as wrong as it cold be right; fabricated truth to lie, or lying to tell the truth, nothing seemed relevant, for you it's just a changeable variable. And we walk, run, pause, chase then pause, nowhere to go, been to everywhere, familiar, yet you felt different. It's not what you yearn for, perhaps not as mesmerizing, or perhaps it's still raw. I tried to figure out what I don't understand, everything is changing, right before me. I grab the moving pieces, like three (or a million) dots, a line across, and they cease to exist. 

I didn't know what to expect, but I was expecting something. Something beyond the sea, further than the edge of earth. Unaccustomed land, not that kind of ground you plant your footprints, certainly not the sky that could be reached (felt) with raised hands, eyes closed, the idea of zeitgeist of blue and yellow, and a red convertible. I lost grasp of what is real; even doubted your seemingly sincere presence. It's a pleasant discontent, a seemingly perfect solution to an uncomfortable problem; a coping stance that requires fearless leap of faith and generous forgiveness.

| The deaf and the uncomfortable silence.

The straw was green, and the drink was ice-cold-sweet. I finished it as if it was bitter, hot. Thirteen miles away, walkable even; one day later, I could not wait. I fear tomorrow, when you would finally worked out your direction, and decided that this is not what you want. And yet, it's these rush that keeps me going, pushing me further, to be loud, to be silent, to be out of reach, and to be close to you.

Cold air blazing above, soft pillows underneath; it was perfect. At least I think it was perfect. I thought I'd ask you, as if a simple explanation could justify a lifetime of heartache. I thought I'd tell you, as if forever was part of the plan. But I realize it was merely a blanket whisper, heard only in dreams, deep into dark, stale night.  

Help me carry the fire, cut across the land, help me with the lights. Keep me alight for now, this road won't go on forever.

When the sun came, it's a brand new pain.

III: Greater Good

Where the luminance bounce in the inner linings, something lightens, whether the understanding of old acquaintances, be it the new found connections, that shadows that brought the edges deeper than it already is, completely tucked behind, diminishes with the yielding light, into the darkness. Never to be found. In the stark silence, a quiet click was so loud, then it came, out of no where, the cacophony of of voices, talking, occasionally laughing in a language I could not understand. Strange distinctions, strange familiarities, unknown connections.

Since October skies ceased, days had been inconsistent, dreams of random nightmares, haunting in sequences. Sleep is scarce, remaining leftovers are satisfaction spent seeking that path that lapse between both worlds, sometimes drifting, unknowingly into the state of unconsciousness, always with a grin. But I refrained, and resisted the transition, often too much. A visceral reaction, to be in control, to subdue that intensity into stillness. Expected, but uninviting. Impossible almost.

Then, If I'm alive, still resisting the form of transformation between various states of consciousness, can you perhaps see now, even when everything is basked in darkness, for night is best to see with not your eyes, but senses, when all else fails; truth emerged with touch and thoughts, the greatest things of all. For during the night, I remember things which I would've otherwise left behind, tucked away by the ethereal noise.

[Being] With you ticked me off, in a way i could hardly understand, Like fire daggers striking in snow covered forest. The truth with you in an ambiguous thing, like a game without rules, word roams without directions, strayed off the path, into wilderness. To understand your mind, I would only dwell in it, to know your thoughts, I'd almost reverse my role, to play beneath a foreign mask, out in the merciless sun. Somehow, I managed, saw what you saw, just fragments, but it was more than enough to piece everything together. The power of memories, one you always seemed to discard (overlook). It was terrifying.

But it seems I find every possible reason, every possible excuse to question you intentions, to question everything that seemed too good. Incomprehensible, at least for me, always hoping to find a clean shirt tucked underneath the filthy laundry. But it did paid off, almost every single time, it appears when you are least expecting it, hits it right home. Perhaps, all this while, you wanted me to tell you everything is okay, or acted as if it were okay. I would, and I have told you that I'm all good, despite everything on the inside suggests otherwise. But I couldn't tell you everything because there are to many things to begin with sometimes I'm just drowned it it.

More than often your naivety, to the point of innocent, ignorance is a blessing I am envious of, because everyone who sees, with their eyes that is, could not possibly be happy about the way things had turned up. And why would anyone be? With you, it's different. You happiness is a result of inept definition of the world according to you, where it does not involve seeing or feeling; ignorance. Where no grief dwells, no regrets felt, not sorry for everything. Why would you?

At this point, you might be thinking, this was all about me, perhaps seeking some sort of remorse, or it was about you, where it all started. But it really isn't.

Neither both.

There is no hostility, there is no hatred, no regrets, with much love.

The anomalies of intentions, no random efforts.

It's all part of the greater good.

I,II

II: The First Thing We Saw, Far, Far Away | The Length of Truth

The clouds gaped and folded, closed across the moon. The night passes by, as the world seemed to disappear all together into the stale, soporific air. The rain finally stopped, as if to make way for the cold lightnings, no sounds, just constant flashes of harsh, blinding lights against the canvas of pure darkness. And you awoke, out of darkness that was not sleep, not dream, but something beyond the comforting sight, magnificent, pointing steadily towards the promise. In that stroke of light, the cradle of a future emerged, vaguely on the hindsight. Hope stretched far across the sea, drawing the outline of the past, dark silhouettes are now gone, the sea, visible glimmering waves, vanishes into a thin line, touching the sky above.

I remember the truth, like the warm and humid September nights, sublime agony and a million dotted lines the sweat once trickled. The vine grew after the rain, snakes up the barren land, within the gaps that split open like fresh wound. Rooted freshly at the tip of the ground, drawing moisture, dissipates heat, a container where the inevitable occurs. How many nights spent, watching the trees shiver in the midnight breeze? The perfect stillness, an after image of the future, captured in the thin glow.

The fool within us slowly stepping into murky waters, to strangle truth, to bend and twist, as if to drown it with force, every limbs, every strengths, every muscles conjured. The truth is undeniable, it is a great power that is able, and must exist on it's own without binding to any sort of beliefs and definitions., despite individual perceptions. The absolute is the same for everyone, regardless place, time or culture. With you, however, the truth is an ominous thing, your voice that promises that same thing, darted from that point of origin, torn and beaten up, long lost, confounded.

The perfect stillness outside is now gone, the whistling wind seeps through the window pane, the fluttering curtain fabric, the notion is clear. Through the window glass. A dozen trees strummed by strong merciless wind, sand and tiny pebbles flew, carried by angry ghosts. Loose pores sinks deeper, skeletons revealed. Destruction, deadly - just when normal life felt almost possible, when the world held some kind of meaning, when order finally fell into place - even some strange loveliness, it haunts, consuming it's own debris, to fortify and manifest it own existence, finally exploding brighter than ever.

I admire the length you go, just to obscure, or even manipulate the truth when you know it better, it finds it's way out eventually. Regardless the great lies you made up, or the layers of beliefs you stacked up upon, it takes the form of time, shaping it existence. The infusion of boundless chaos, injected upon controlled order, the world according to you.

That glimpse - not the imposing dark figures, not the towers raising steadily ahead, but that blistering light into the future. The wonderful feeling to be caught up in hope and deadly expectations. One step forward, to dive below, everything falls into perspective.

The first thing we saw, far, far away, nothing mere than unfulfilled fantasies. That little dream, as wide as night, deeply rooted in our vulnerability, filling all inadequacies with made up realities.

Hence we landed,

feet on flames.

Burnt into ashes,

in the light of day.

I

I : Well-Worn Shoe | The Foundations of Truth

It was rather accommodating, though it tends to get dirtier in one of these nights than any other, and every time, I’d scorn as if I never understood. Often in this light I’d be awake starring out in the dark. And it is darker in one of these nights than any other and every time, I’d wail just a little, just enough to shed a little of its weight. It is often vague, and when I’m lucky, it reflects vivid light and reveals an image. I’d stare as if I’ve seen it before. The familiarity is unmistakable, although I cannot begin to fathom the reflections of what it is; supposedly real. I’m only guessing.

Towers raising still and solid above the earthly rock, thunder blares and streaks followed by rains pouring in bucketfuls. Many nights since then have become a ritual of guessing, a million riveting thoughts penetrating its wall, eventually feeling unsatisfied, confounded. It is extremely easy to be confined by everything that is beyond us, taunted by a shadow of cosmic proportions. A wronged journey could send towers crumbling from above the earthly rock, imminently shattering every foundations of truth, revealing the barren ground it once stood.

There, your figure emerged behind the pillars, standing at the edge of the top of your tower, so high it vanishes into the clouds, swallowed by the moonless sky, and yet your shadow, dark against dark, outlined only by intermittent strikes of lighting. But you, your hands clad in silver lining that glows and sparkles, rested firmly on the pillars, stood still and proud looking down, smirk on your face, unshaken by the blares and flames of neighboring towers, crashing down, burnt to ashes and red hot glowing rocks.

I wish I were you, I wish I were exactly like you, so I could penetrate your thick mind, so I could read everything that’s hidden so well in the basement of your thoughts. I wish we traded shoes, just so you could feel the ground underneath your feet, stumble and fall because of the untied lace, hurt and bleed, just so I could understand how hard it must have been to walk tall and proud, all alone, dismissing the most innocent gaze, even, even hidden underneath that shield.

Your foundations are of immaculate artistry, however strong yet brittle, never fails, even under the enormous weight it held upon, constructed upon layers of confidence, perpetuates a truth that lies, to fill a void with gaps, defiance of sanctity, everything imagined.

My well worn shoes, they brought me close, so close to you – just like the first thing we saw for the very first time, far, far away.

Just a glimpse, it was strangely reassuring.

..and so it is.

Finally called it off.

And to the act of desertion, of which no one is to blame entirely for all things to fall apart, I know I had it coming, knew it all to well. I'm not too sure if it'd hit me totally just yet, I am feeling strangely calm and composed, or which at least, I'd expect myself to throw a tantrum, or at least I thought I would feel my heart pumping so hard that it would just literally jump out of my skin. But non of it.

Gosh, one year and I am standing right there to see the bane of it, and yet there is so little I could do to save it. Honestly though, I almost feel like I've shed an unbearable weight off my shoulder, finally being able to catch a breather from the feeling of living on the edge, almost every minute of it. But soon as I've finally said this, I could feel one forging just right about now, slowly creeping onto my shoulder again. I hated the process, it sucked, and it hurts like hell. It's almost like when you feel that you are just about to get out of a dark tunnel and into the light, only to find yourself at the beginning of another one.

Really, I am so afraid to go to bed tonight because I know that as soon as I close my eyes, depression is going to find it's way into me and it's going to plague my entire system the next day. It might have given me nightmares too, or I'd wake up to a train-wreck. I'm not too sure, but I am definitely not anticipating the possibility of waking up in piles of relationship debris, and there is so much to clean up when there's work to be done, when there's life to live on. Ah, there goes again, the process of putting up a fake smile for everyone like life is perfectly beautiful, when in reality I just wished everyone would just fuck the hell out of my face. Perfect.

And so it hurts, and it hurts deeper, and it gets better, and then it gets worst again, but seriously, just how bad can it get? I am yet to find out. But now, I need to keep moving - to just keep moving and leave it behind a little at a time.

All I know, when a heart's broken, carrying on bravely is the easiest thing to do.

After all, it's just another chronicles of a broken Beaker.

For I have chosen darkness

Soft rains drizzles, subtly crafting lovely strands of translucent white, bristling in the air against the darkened background. The moon is swallowed by the sheer darkness, not by clouds not by mist. It’s the omens of terror, and yet my mind is contently settled underneath the visible void.

The scent of the night is almost tangible. Orexia must have fallen into the hands of ghostly silhouettes again. Nothing visible, nothing heard. It was darkness beyond the flickering lights. Am I so lost in your dimension, taken aback by your stubborn ruminations? Please, grant me an empty bottle, let the rain trickle up tonight, and then let the sun frizzles it dry and empty tomorrow.

Your proposition was a formidable one, it was,really, an impeccable design. To my idle curiosity, would you have succumbed to my fears when I yield to your seamless powers? Now that the king has fallen, slain is the skin of the night left to rot. I’ve sunken much deeper over the discourse, and yet I’m still very much enthralled within the mystery of your existence.

Oh, your copious mercy is all that I beg for underneath my opulent faith. And yet you set me leap against the field of trees, blindfolded. I saw darkness from within, not trees that would stumble and take me down. I falter, but in darkness, to nothing and against nothing. I’m not frightened anymore. Questions left unanswered are the equations to the truth, ultimately everything that I doubted, and it’s slowly unfolding beyond me.

Do not call me upon your faith. I’ve buried them underneath that grave. In that deep trench, I thrive where no light penetrates. Yet as the sun rises, I cease to begin. I hailed my senses from within and devour the chaos of the day. Ah, let the splendid sun swallow my lifeless flesh, it’s the heart that’s still beating underneath the drape. I’m so sorry, for I have chosen darkness.

2 x 4

My predicament would not hold true, if the moon hasn't exploded the night before, had the sky filled with dark, dense clouds, moving swiftly as the wind blows. Chasers traverse across the highway like lifeless flesh, succumbed to the ephemera of darkness.

Oh it's the tantrum in Orexia again. The invisible walls would falter come night falls as miasma of fears emerged into the thin air like a contagious virus, as fire burns, hatred grieves the wall, it was bedlam.

Spreading across the forlorn shore are the faint traces of your existence, as if you had been walking in the air, caressing the ground so softly with the tip of your shoes. Scrapping palm tress and the sound of bushes reassured the inscrutable occurrences, the growing feeling of guilt and uncertainties, so disturbingly abstruse, so disturbingly real.

The things they say about him.

Burning candles glow stillness, melted ire and let-downs. Quietly, you flipped your book full of words printed on the warm aesthetic of the brownish paper. Held firmly in your left hand and being read in dim flickering light. It's the mysteries of powerless, it's almost primal. Was it really this easy, and simple for you. How could you have remained so clam, in the moment of utter kerfuffle.

Do you have a reminder for me, perhaps the leaves of silvery green would fall, and yet the night before, had the outlines of shrubs and towering trees gathered underneath the ghostly shapes of high clouds dim and illuminating. Have I been here before? Perhaps it was the sense of your presence and that strange warm sense of commonality.

And every time I think about it, my palms would sweat and my heart would squabble. At times, I would leave everything in disguise. Little pieces of torn up promises scattered across forlorn memories, flown and warbles into the dark skies above. Many questions left unanswered, much like yesterdays crosswords, despondent of filling in today.

Would you still dazzle, in your little world, when blood smeared on your face, when the light goes off, would you think about me? Would you gaze in the sun looking for the spotless dream, tampered within it's shell, basked in despair, tarnished in your pain and mangled in your great fears.

I still dream of you all the time. It started and stopped, started and stopped, like an endless loop, it was always the same but different, much like how everything looked the same in vivid blurry. I still talk to you, but only in dreams. I would forget what I said, but I knew I did. I could only reach you in my dreams, and it's the only time I feel real, and the only chance to find what I am looking for. And a dream is just a dream, it's as close as I could get to you.

At 4:51am, you quietly flipped to a newly unread page.

At 4:52am, when I woke up, the dream was over, and you were gone.

And so were we.

I still think about you everyday, I really do. Baffled by our existence, ringing the common buzz, still, I never understood why had to moon rose before the sun went down. Still I never understood why did you leave before we even get there.

intangibleplace

R.I.P. Andrew, I miss you.

Let me in,
I shall walk
in dark
guide me,
with tears
and pain
I will see
hidden shadows
famished
in your silent thoughts
Lead me
into the bedlam
basked in
spits of disgrace
You said
control
tranquil shall come
steams of tears
rolled down
back into your rusted box
Unlock for me,
I too feel the same
forsaken
faiths and hopes
You had
too much
reconciliation
It means nothing
no more,
Fuel you heart
with anger
burning
your pain
silent screams
echoes
skin,
they lie
pores of joy
veiled
rotten rue
fear
they are real
look through
blindfolded eyes
Have you seen the other side?
show me
the intangible place
I shall follow
was it all worth it?
Tell me,
Why'd you lost it?
I want to know
if this is real
why did you let go?

Independence and Imperfection.

It rained again tonight.

Little drops that mangled into strays of bursting light and vanishes into smokes and ashes before touches the ground I stood. It was, really, a spectacular night tonight, relentlessly blinding with unforgiving beauty.

There's too much, the eyes, once blinded, adapt and acclimatise, then we start feeling the space we all stood, the space between us, the proximity between us, emitting bodily heat.

Light keeps on bursting, rains keep pouring, merciless, even in a deluge of people, almost everyone is experiencing the moment through their view finder, or their cellphone, collecting megapixel memories. But yet, strangely enough tonight, it was just the four of us.

Merdeka. For me, for Us, for our country

Feeling the moment slip away like a flowing tap, footsteps fast and steady, we run like little kids in rain. We sat down sipping our drinks with water dripping from our forehead, out shirt wet and damp, and it doesn't bother us. We laughed at the drama that was on TV, it doesn't bother us. It was nostalgic, jump back 7 years, when we used to parade in rain, when life is too simple to bother us. It made me realize, our life falls apart, our day differs, we age, we move on, but there's a small part inside that remains untouched, the one that never grow up.

And I am on burst-fire mode.

Grumpy, like thick, dense, greyish clouds before the storm. Unfortunately, the world doesn't stop when Tsunami hit's Indonesia, and the world doesn't stop when Katrina wiped New Orleans. Why should our world stop because you decided to pull a dark cloud over your face? No, I don't have a girlfriend that resides thousand miles away, and no, I certainly do not understand what it felt like to have a girlfriend resides thousand miles away, life must be so hard for you. Life is hard for me to. How do we compare? How do we measure? At least I don't try to make the world stop for me.

Funny isn't it? Having a girlfriend/ boyfriend overseas is like the best reason of all time you could always use when you feel like ditching your friends. I could only imagine. Now I understand the peril of technology. Apparently, its true that people would choose a cellphone over a human.

I have been sick, I took a zap yesterday afternoon and I was practically paralyzed the whole day, I stayed in bed, but come night falls, the idea of going out excites and I feel better again. I was sick this morning, because apparently, I have a nasty infection on my throat, but, I make an effort to go out. What's worst than being sick is being alone, at home. It has always worked for me that way, when I'm sick, I go out, I enjoy myself, and guess what, I feel so much better. I try not to miss out, because it'd by my lost if I did, and even if I did, I don't complain, like some people does. It's daft, because they think the world, it actually revolves around them and not the sun.

Don't get me wrong, I am not sick of you, maybe one day when I'm sick of cigarettes, I will. But that is not going to happen any time soon. I'm just annoyed, like sometimes, I am annoyed how expensive cigarettes are these days, but I still buy them, and I still need them.

It all boils down to one conclusion, happiness is not rocket science, sometimes, being with the right people, at the right time is happiness. It's spontaneous. That said, thank you for disappearing today. I just cannot imagine how much of a burden it would've been for us to put up with your shit face the entire night. You just did us all a big favor. Thank you. Thank You.

Imperfection is life,

I know,

That is why, at the end of the day, we pretend,

We pretend nothing ever happened,

Everything falls back into place.

And that scares me.

Temptations.

The night craws beyond the thick clouds, moonlight penetrates trough the dense moist layers, diffused and scattered over the misty air. Street lamps shone harsh, shadows on the ground kept still, small drops of rain cripples the form of darkness, blurred edge and head zipped in the drain, body's upside down, the air would not suffice.

The streets, they are narrow, cars parked both sides, opposite faced. The streets, they are empty, doors sealed shut, windowpane rusts, and glazed with thick secrets too dark for the night. The trees, the cars, the buildings, the people and their thoughts ricochet and swirl. All the nasty stains, they will come out.

The ground I once stood, flutters, they crack, and they break. The lights on the street skimming voiceless souls. Silence dribbles in opulence, body stood still on the makeshift platform, minds wonders, too painful to bear, much like tiny red hot glowing needles penetrating the skull.

Nothing to worry about,

I realize I haven't intended to stay this long. Flashlight popped, bodies hurling back and forth. Underneath their feet, the earth vibrated a common joy, and above, white splotches of light, scatters, and they grow, on top of one another, hovering within one another. Arms were flailing widely, mouths chewing hate and spat them out one by one.

If friendship meant obligations, I'd rather not have one.

Crossroad II

We came upon many crossroads,
We realize that this is the end of our journey together,
We use to held each other's hand,
Not an easy journey certainly an interesting one,
But now and then,
I stepped upon the unbeaten path,
Every time I looked back,
The road we came became vague,
But memories came back each time we crossed path,
Though we now we no longer stand on the same mass,
Every time the lonely light of morning sun hits my face,
Every time the silent moonlight casts my shadow upon the earth,
I could feel you(all) in my heart.