Silly Monkey: 2011/09

Perfect Love

I have this enormous capacity to love, yet all I seem able to love is Love itself. Love: ephemeral, inconsequential, illusive and mocking. Have I truly learned how to love people? could it be that I love them only as physical representations of the Platonic ideal? or as temporary vessels of perfect Love. All I know is; my love never fades, it only grows stronger as it passes from vessel to vessel. This is wonderful for Love, but perhaps not so great for me and the other mortals whose limbs and hearts become tangled with mine. There are a lot of scraped knees, bruises, cuts, gashes and sometimes whole limbs severed, mine, yours, who knows. But there’s no time for regrets, Love stays one skip ahead of me, and blindly I chase it, disintegrating, leper-like, as I go.

The Scribble

The Scribble I found in our rubbish bin.

There's a poet under the same roof I didn't know about.

Sunday Wordgasm.

Good Morning Indonesia.

There is nothing that so alters the material qualities of the voice as the presence of thought behind what is being said.– Marcel Proust

My ears are always hungry. They have their own sense of taste, their own sense of filtration. But there is nothing more delectable than verba; sips for thirsty ears… not just bland words but filled sentences. They aren’t just sounds that break the silence. They’re meditative tones in the middle of all the white noise.

Some of my fondest memories are the chance words, the one-liners people have said to me that catch me so off guard that I’m completely unable to speak afterwards. It’s why I have my notebook with me at all times… just to collect these fleeting breaths of gold that take my own away.

I like to daydream about a giant book that would collect all the words ever spoken (or even thought) in the history of existence. I imagine this enormous tome, dusty with age, filled page after page with the daily garble that comes out of our mouths. What a privilege it would be to read it.

I like to imagine having a giant instant messenger chat log of every conversation I’ve ever had since I was born.

What would I revisit? What would I avoid?

Would I be surprised with what has been said? Would I take back anything? Would I want to change any of it?

In a way, this is the spontaneous screenplay of our lives that, in seconds after the line is delivered, becomes a fragment of our histories. A lifelong production that is perpetually changing in all the nuances of the performance.

And yet there are scenes that are eternal. Ones that still give us chills when we replay them.

It's nice being around with someone

who believes in something so much

and who's interested in working things out

with me.

My beautiful friend <3

My Day In 3 Lines

She went to bed with the night

and wrapped herself in the stars,

hoping to forget the sun.

In this modern time, it is very convenience to have at least one "SUPER" nerd someone who know his way around the fun yet can be quite scary virtual world we're living. as for me, I get to know who had been trying to fuck me up virtually (gosh, I love how this is sounds like).

Don't bully the nerds ^_^

Have you ever wondered

if vices and virtues

are actually the same ideas

being presented by differing viewpoints?

Thoughts #2

07:00 am

It is a representation of the ridiculousness of my mind that, when I miss my love to the point of laying down and sobbing and clutching pillows, I cannot but wish he were just here to hold me. To soothe me by his presence, also just to join in physical empathy.

He would indeed remedy it completely.

So on mornings like this I find myself wishing for impossibilities, because the possibilities seem almost as far away.

Good Morning Indonesia - Sleep Well Europe

Thoughts #1

04:30 am

I take things to heart to the point where they eat away at me. Where everything is assigned some sort of meaning because every second counts. This is one of the many curses of the way I choose to live. Maybe the hidden meaning isn’t always there. Maybe so much of what I perceive as real is nothing but a figment of my imagination. I’m not sure which reality is more disheartening.

la mémoire

Just received an email that sparked a million memories, memories that I didn’t even know I was capable of remembering.

Someone Is Watching You

How easy is it to laugh at everything like as if nothing bad happened? To say that you don’t ever want to talk about it and shrug it off? To tell yourself that you’ll never think about it or that certain person ever again? Too easy, right? — Then it hits you, that very moment when you’re alone, your thoughts creep up behind you and you’re forced to succumb to the pressure of your own mind. That’s the moment when you know you’re lying to yourself; only in the solidarity of darkness can you freely admit that you have not yet been able to forget. That’s how life is. Exchanging masks throughout the day that never once shows your true self; you are hiding yourself in the deepness of the dark. But even in the dark, someone is watching you. You are granted the bliss of ignorance.