Do You Want to be Born?
The first thing any parent needs to do—on earth—is to apologize to their child. Why? Because they had given birth to him or her without ever asking: "Do you want to be born? Are you sure you want to be born in this bastard world? A world you would hate, even if you were born out of so-called lovemaking—which in the end will always bring out the ironic side of every parent's dream."
(2021)
Sirens to Parent
O c'mon, Mom, Dad. I'm just a kid who is trapped in an adult's body. Seeking for attention, affection, and love in the midst of my head. And I can't pretend that I just need both of you—to comprehend all of this nonsense reality.
On the other hand, I know the world is huge; too huge till it made me so scared. I accept the dare. Outdare the time, to live without regret. Despite sometimes, my will to die is stronger than my will to live. Grieve: like a kid who can't face the void of night.
I know, life is overrated, while death is so underrated. But, I don't wannabe a sinking ship in the ocean of fate. When I try to conquer those endless dread. So please understand that, Mom, Dad.
(2021)
Sextet: Old Dread' Tales
I wandered like a cursed devil
Roaming in the darkness of heaven
When all the angeI died, I saw an owl
End up in the womb of a craven;
Beside the brave, beneath the desire,
Dancing with time, so look at the sky
Its over, o its over my mighty god
The last light slowly goes out
Rip a bones then tears a blood
Forgoten in the midst of crowd
Blinded, no cursed soul allowed
Shallow, let destiny throw a sorrow
The hell is other people
The people just build a border
Even Adam and Eve eat an apple
The sins better faster than never
Lose by fate is immortal death
O lonely soul; hunt for a soulmate
Should I? Tell me, should
I kill myself or kill my rage
Or blissfully with solitude;
Burn every wave or a cage
Alas! O who wants to forgive me?
O mighty god, who wants to hug me?
(2021)
Dissolved
I want to sleep
crawl the owl
slowly, deep.
Then dreamy
a lark: o I feel lonely
in the cold of the dark.
For truth and for shit
I swat a mosquito, offer it
to a clumsy lizard.
A blizzard
under the piled-up snow
now turns into rain.
Night; and once again,
the waves of Kanagawa
can't save our last enigma.
(2021)
Time and Being
Time after time—
Being and time
take sadness
and sorrow
to know
and borrow
a happiness
that is timeless.
(2021)
Let's Dance, My Dear...
In the end, the essence of life is not about celebrating birth or condemning life; but dancing with the anxious corpses, over the graves—our own—which are always in the shadow of the fear of death and vanity.
(2021)
Duck Syndrome
bad luck lark
called duck
seems stuck
in the truck
in a dirt muck
that must suck,
but the duck
has lil luck:
lack of fuck.
...
be like a duck>
doesn't give a fuck<
(2021)
Genealogy of Married
married
married
married
married
married
mar
ried
mar
ried
mar
ried
mar
ried
mar
ried
<died>
who?
wo
ai
ni
wo
ai
ni
wo(e)
-rried
wo(e)
-rried
wo(e)
-rried
wo(e)
worry
worry-
ing
worri-
some—
worries
wo(e)
-rrier
wo(e)
-rrier
wo(e)
-rrier
wo(e)
-rrier
woe-
fully
woe
-ful
woe
-be-
gone
wow.
(2021)
Tell Me Why, Baby...
Baby, why do we go to school? obey the rules. Why do we go to university? handing over our creativity to those rubbish educational hierarchy. Why do we work for twenty, thirty, forty, or maybe fifty years? surrendered our soul to those rigid companies.
Baby, why do we get married? drown ourselves to endless responsibility. Why do we breed a few children? raise them to deal with goddamn reality. Why do we fall down to the same rabbit hole? to repeat the whole ceaselessly of our condemned destiny. Baby, why do we want eternity? if this mortality was so weary.
And why do we want to be born again? worn a torn again, again, and again. And why do we think we have freedom? If freedom words indicate that we never have any freedom. And why do we seek for a meaning? if the meaning has no single meaning.
And why do we still live this meaningless life? strive for essence that always hides and seeks inside our breath. And why do we always deceive ourselves? then dying with the worst of regret. Tell me why baby, why we are so naive, and the death was so underrated. And why can't we be bored to death?
(2021)
Why is Blue So Rare in Nature?
There are no blue tigers. No blue bats, no blue squirrels, blue cats, blue dogs, or blue horses. Even the blue whales aren't that blue. In nature or in the zoo.
Animals come in pretty much every color. But blue seems to be the rarest. So please answer my why or tell me pretty lies?
Whether half of the blue in nature belongs to humans, to poetry, to reality, or to us? If it's true, we need to trust that it is the saddest truth in nature study—who always comes so absurdly, so out of the blue in the deepest phrase of suddenly.
(2021)
Le Mythe de l'abysse
It's foolish to say that existential crisis has more crises than climate crisis. So we look outside to find the root of the crisis. But deeply we feel the crisis is inside—of ourselves. Sounds crappy. Because we don't know what the heck we miss. We stare into the abyss.
Time flies so fast as fast we are happy then bite the dust. Hence, resistance is a must. Honey, let's gaze at the sky. Thus the darkest the night, the brighter the stars. Look, chaotically—tells us that the core of reality is the most chaotic of chaos.
Now we know one thing, something that hurts us—being able to kill us. And something that kills—makes us invincible. Like a second spring who brings endless lust.
It's brutally true when they say we were lost; long before we were born. But we aren't born and are grown to drown. It doesn't mean we need to say—that life has no intrinsic meaning, so what's the point of living?
Yes, we were born to postpone the biggest loss. It's truly yes that life has no intrinsic meaning, that's why the point is just living. Feel the vibes—or suck the merely of life—before we lose for the nothingness of nothing.
(2021)
TXT MSG from Your Existentialist
Studying philosophy is a poetic way to find meaning—or lose the meaning. Sounds like the art of thinking. Technically, a war cry to goddamn overthinking. Cynically—a quarrel with what, who, when, why, where, & how. Now and endlessly.
To be the eternal pupil of a question. To take action and responsibility. To picture a civilization. To fulfill our deepest nature. To conquer maturity. To live with aesthetic and ethic. To be a human who humanizes other humans. To use our potency as the most intelligent being—in the continuum illness of space & time.
To learn how to die—without the worst of remorse. To accept fate: that the only things we know are nothing. And to love the unpleasant truth—that the more we know, the sorrow we get. Even in the end; it doesn't really matter at all.
(2021)
A Lesson in the Alphabet
>abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz
zyxwvutsrqponmlkjihgfedcba<
>qwertyuiopasdfghjklzxcvbnm
mnbvcxzlkjhgfdsapoiuytrewq<
...
did i miss something?
i think i don't miss anything.
...
o i miss you, but
that is impromptu.
...
& unplanned.
(2021)
Lose One's Nerves
when i lose my mind,
i lose nothing.
when i lose my soul,
i lose something.
when i lose you—
what the hell am i doing?
i fuckin' lose everything.
o please, i can fuck losing
everything but not you—o
not you. alas! i can't lose you.
(2021)
Twas Always Thus & Always Thus will Be
twas true love only hails from the mess of you. like messing up your unawareness—thus now you are aware that fake love mostly hails from the best of you; whereas, all the time you try to be the best to find out where true love hails from.
but what if the point of love affair, maybe hails from the middle of nowhere—an awareness and formulation which will always be unawares & formless?
(2021)
Love is Love
it doesn't matter whether race disconnected us, religion separates us, politics divides us, language bordered us, or wealth obstructs us.
at the end of the day—love only says it's evening and i love you without any reason; because love can't be imprisoned in a man-made conception.
(2021)
Odes to u(rsa maryana royani)
i said i love artworks by michaelangelo, botticelli, leonardo, kandinsky, picasso, & dalí. but, if we were in an art gallery, i'd love to waste my time staring at u. & stand still staring at u—its u, o u, only u, its me, o me—i'm going nuts, o frankly; u are the pureblood work of art.
(2021)
Perhaps
perhaps, there is always a reason behind all madness; except in the homesickness and love of a man who's already been mad for a woman.
perhaps that's why there is no stronger creature than a woman; for there is nothing more mad and frail than a man who is under spell by a woman.
perhaps that's why madman only refers to a man. perhaps that's why i'm still a madman who is under your spell. perhaps that's why there is no other love, it's only you; never sound too insane.
(2021)
My Dear, How Long is Longing?
sure, nobody can precisely measure how long is forever. never. some people may say, forever is forevermore. furthermore, and more. evermore. more and more.
the others say, sometimes, forever may be just one second. brief like a temporary grief, like a seasonal fever, like the bright of the sunrise, as the moon at darkest night, or such as love at first sight.
how long is forever? in reality, it doesn't even matter, ever since one realizes that everyone is silent when being asked: how long is longing?
one must dare to ask and answer how long is longing. because no one knows how ugly the unforeseen sorrow when somebody suddenly says:
"someday in someplace, somehow, someone will try to stance then say something bad about the distance-time between first hi & the last goodbye."
(2021)
Forthright
If you tell me to write a book about why I love you, then it's about 1002 pages with 1000 blank pages.
Opened with a foreword saying that I don't know why, somehow, the goddamn language had managed to escape from my head. Ended with a bibliography of honesty about how I will never be able to write a book like this—unable.
But I will gather the feeble of all my courage together to say: "I'm sorry"—thence kiss upon your brow. Whereupon stare blankly at those magical eyes.
(2021)
If What I Wrote in Life Echoes an Eternity
Once upon a time, or once in a while—you will finally try to read my poetry. Then find it's not too lengthy. Because it has 3 things only: how cold the world of this shitty-reality; the brainless of the language when expressing your beauty; & me who hide the sins of our futility underneath my insanity.
(2021)
How Can?
You are beautiful. Unfortunately, I'm in the writer's block. But you are still beautiful. A flock of clock locks on the wistful. But you are still beautiful. The rhyme looks confused until confusedly confuse by confusion. But you are still beautiful.
I soberly sobered up from a sobering hangover. But you are still beautiful. Our head had a rough night to right off through. But you are still beautiful too.
I'm done with writer's blocks when I finish this ugly poetry. But what I found is the world whichsoever beautifies their nasty & you who beautifully never finishes your beauty.
(2021)
What is Beauty?
<thesis>
Beauty is when we try to express on tone in music, it fabulously becomes melodious. When we attempt to describe it in words, it poetically becomes poetic. When we try to paint that in painting or art, it marvellously becomes artsy.
<antithesis>
Beauty is when we visualize what beauty is; afterwards suddenly we clearly see the invisible—those in the midst of ugliness lay invincible loveliness. Or maybe beauty is soundless, languageless, formless, & unspokenly.
<synthesis>
Beauty is when we close our eyes & feel our lips crash; that causes all of conception about what beauty is—crush instantaneously.
(2021)
Portmanteau > Intertext of Cigarettes After Sex
<web + log> = blog
<chill + relax> = chillax
<electronic + mail> = email
<friend + enemy> = frenemy
<man + explain> = mansplain
<mock + cocktail> = mocktail
<emotion + icon> = emoticon
<stay + vacation> = staycation
<drama + comedy> = dramedy
<costume + roleplay> = cosplay
<your lips + my lips> = apocalypse
(2021)
Life is a Tragicomedy
What if we're just a tragedian who is caught in the heart of space-time—or between the illusion of heaven & hell—that is tragically becoming tragical, gradually feels tragic; because we never know the hidden mystery of tragedies—inside every tragedy—before we finally die & mysteriously realize ... we're god's failure to create a funniest comedy.
(2021)
No Fucking Way
There are only two ways to cope with a broken heart. Reject it and commit suicide; or accepting it, then became a poet who wrote tragedies on endless destiny—for life, o life! entire life!
(2021)
& So on, Life Must Goes on
Astronomers say there are 100 billion to 200 billion galaxies in the universe. For more than 3 trillion planets on each galaxies. Revolve among a vast bizarre-universe.
& we're still vibing—on this tiny blue planet covered by seas. Drowning our ignorance, within hope inside enigmatic-sacred verse. & we struggle to death—to fill the void that we can't even see. Sown our own dread: buried by all of nonsense—vanity.
& we can't run, we can't hide either. & the bad news is, in the end it doesn't really matter at all. & the good news is, in the end, it doesn't really matter at all. & I'll be your Sisyphus; thus you could be my absurdity—who says: "fuck 'em all!"
(2022)
Rhyme at 2 AM
I was skeptical—
before the big bang,
god filled the human heart
with void ...
poetically
sounds pathetic, huh?
thus, after all of this shit—
o goddammit,
one must dare to live,
not try to avoid it;
albeit they had
more courage
to take one’s life,
than to resist the voidable
—from being born
& get torn by forlorn.
(2022)
Slaves of Certainty
frankly, human consciousness
is a heavy burden.
that's why some of us—
consciously, choose uncosciousness
& be a junkie: religion, philosophy,
ideology, political party,
or other shit to retreat
from the bitterness of reality—
such a coward, who can't live forward
to shone the darkside of time—
in the face of presently.
: o life! are humans
the closest metaphor
for the most pathetic slaves
of certainty—on the dead planet
who enclose uncertainty?
(2021)
Gravestone Reverie
one must live to life. to strive. to defy that existence precedes essence—isn't a human first problem. in spite of being in vain. to paint the pain. one must redeem the condemned. come after godot in Beckett's head. despite—if the cost while struggling was loss of meaning, & disconsolate. while too late to solace those goddamn gods;
perhaps, first human problem—feel endless agony on the death bed—without knowing what the fuck is going on & when being buried.
(2021)
Thought of the Night
"what comes first,
essence or existence?"
an endless howl of abyss
on humans heart—who can't
create the meaning
of his meaningless life.
(2022)
On Success
success was the lump of nickel I saw sinking at the bottom of the clear gutter—reflecting the light of the late afternoon sun. it represents nothing at all, except as a sign of something that has long been revered, worshiped, but had been lost, drowned, and forgotten.
in relation to the object as a work of art, the nickel lump has been transformed in such a way with carvings, into currency: a hot object that regulates the exchange of value in the eyes of modern society—& divinity.
(2021)
Omnipotence Paradox
if god is almighty,
can he/she create a
stone that can make
sisyphus happy?
(2022)
Wanderer Above the Sea of Hope
decease
of
the
author
is
the
cause
of
the
more
nativity
of
their
reader.
(2021)
What's the Saddest Words in the English Language?
"believed"
I once believed I was getting older, wiser enough to tell my father & mother: "I had childish half-naive thoughts. sometimes believed there were shortcuts on every impasse road. often believed that all the suffering had a meaning. usually believed there was always a happy ending."
I knock the desolate sky—ask—talk to God but he/she is never too late to distract myself: with pleasure, with unsatisfactory answer, with theatrical melody, with lullaby, with the melodramatic language of poetry—on scripture whose lost their raptures.
believed. I believed: life is a multiple garbage truck accident—in the body of a human—who had motion sickness. & time is madness. I believed, there was no one from nowhere—came down through the chimney—while I sail the dreams; then mystically paying my tax, paying my bill, paying the price of human existence that lost their essence.
believed. I believe there is always a nonsensical will to believe. & that makes me stay alive. & makes me reverie in every sight, every night, all night.
I believed ... nothing ... to believe ... was ... tangible ... grief.
(2022)
What Part of an Absurdist Morning Routine Takes the Longest?
deciding:
to kill
himself
or make
a cup
of coffee.
(2022)
On Table
a bunch of dumbass who occupied this table—I could guess had just left—dirty surface on the hefty table—like a bouncer, covered with the remaining glasses & splattered water. I told the waiter to wipe the table, then said: "in this city—this goddamn city—many men are willing to be tipsy, to drain their time & money—just to steal the attention of nightfly—who gather in these kinds of places; that could reasonably be the melting points of urbanites."
those dumbass are trying their luck. hoping to make the women's things 'wet'. regrettably, all they always do is wet the table, wet the pack of cigarettes—that I put on this table, wet the beer coasters, wet their despondency—but couldn't wet the entire evidence of how pathetic & lonely they were. so fuckin' silly.
(2022)
Time when Time Hits Different
: how flimsy the boundary
between space & time
first day school / first day college / first day work / gazing the stars / swim whilst rain / walking alone / in the woodland / in the quiet city / in the mortuary / on empty streets / absently at art-gallery / walk into the museum / muse on mausoleum / discern the sunrise / set eyes on sunset / catch sight of firework / finish up lenghty book / the day before birthday / wake up after get tattoo / attend the lively concert / listening to melodious songs or desolate melody / watching masterpiece movie / it's raining outside / go on night-riding / it's dark outside / but the desire to beyond space-time is too dazzling /
(2022)
To Win,
We Have to
Think Outside the Box
⇡
⌈ x | o | x ⌉
| o │x│x |
⌊ o | x | o ⌋
: but couldn't change the fact—
that mindset & knowledge is a power
which makes their master feels suffer.
(2022)
Three Things Cannot Be Long Hidden:
the sun, the moon, & some kind of antiquity yearning which slowly murdering me—that unfortunately can't be domesticated—o untamed desire to hug you. right off, right now—to assist me avoid a void who breeds bewilderment beneath my angsts—right off, right now ... o we are so far, yet so close. bound me, crucifix me inside your left lateral or in the midst of your maternal soul—right off, right now. fold the space, bend the time. o hug me, come to me. crawling, shuffling, rolling, walking, running, teleporting, moving, howsoever—at speed of light or speed of sound—no matter how. right off, right now. o baby, hug me.
(2022)
I'll be ∴ u ∵ I.F.L.Y
Doctor Strange: "I love u in every universe."
Modal Realism: "I love u in every possible world."
Me + Furor Poeticus: "I love u in every universe, in every alphabeth of my verses—in every possibility of gravitational singularity-spacetime singularity: a condition in which my gravity to u is so intense that spacetime itself breaks down catastrophically inside my poetry.
(2022)
The Myth of Phoenix
I
in the stomach of time
clock tickling, clock ringing
arouse Phoenix from
his ashes form
as if bringing tidings
on the rustling hourglass
ask for the wind-ask for the past
age of stone turns to copper
in the hall of spiteful sun city
which may unceasingly
spell reincarnation metaphors
& our futility.
II
500 years, Phoenix
learned nothing except to
end the angst of the flames
squirm then ask for eternality
right in the heart of earth's mortality
o immortality spells
desperately sought, since ancient times
Prometheus steals fire of knowledge
of the gods-goddess on the edge
of Olymphus ascendancy;
Phoenix, fully fell sorrowfully.
III
Phoenix dies many times, reborn
—was gutted, & scattered
such as speck blown away by typhoon;
& for his death
the umpteenth time, now,
the tongue of fire is trying to
spawn the seeds of language
without a shred of incredulity:
"This evil world, it turns out
more hellish than hell itself.
o when the karmachain was at
death’s door, he wrapped his body
on his face—& built a nest
of wood, then burned it,
let it dissipate until to dust,
& from above the tomb,
Phoenix was born in a new form.
& everything repeats themselves
—would be like that perpetuity."
: o camus, o sisyphus
if every leaf was a flower
—isn't autumn nothing
but the second spring?
IV
"god, why were my reflect designed
like a heavy mace for a flimsy mirror?"
—murmured Phoenix, who was too
tired to live eternally, such as agony.
(2022)
Let's Play Melancholic Music before Minor Tones from Danzig Knock Our Door
"man is a conscious & intelligent being—they can survive whatever it takes, sacrifice, & endure all the anguish as long as it has a meaning."
but what if the meaning of life is: to see life without eyes—but by means of melancholic music; to hear life without ear—but by means of melancholic music; to smell life without nose—but by means of melancholic music; to savour life without tongue—but by means of melancholic music; to feel life without skin—but by means of melancholic music.
but what if the meaning of life is just to keep alive—thus we can play melancholic music? thus we can dancing—by means of melancholic music; thus we can stop seeking about meaning; thus we can console the endless cycle of joy & sorrow; thus we can forget how grieve the death—how brief life was ... thus we can ... postponed anything, escape time, & just vibing.
: without melancholic music, life inevitably be a sins & the remnant just constant suffering.
(2022)
Love is A Brightly Colored Poisonous Dart Frog that We Immediately Perceive as Dangerous once We Touch It
yes, it looks interesting, cute, & adorable ... but it has enough chemical compounds—to change ten million color spectrums, so it's only pale blue like western philosophy ... then disrupts the lacrimal system in the eye to transform the grammar of tears into tear;
it was able to kill ten thousand innocent men, then turn them into language-composing machines that fabricated tens of billions of myths, creeds, & odes about how love affairs turn spring into a second fall, turn major notes into minor notes, turn realism into surrealism, turning thoughts & feelings into the center of the archives busiest all night long;
just by touching it—just by touching that damned creature … love is a brightly colored poisonous dart frog that we immediately perceive as dangerous once we touch it.
(2022)
Odes to Søren Kierkegaard
I
the most painful state of being is meeting the right person at the wrong time, then realizing you are the wrong person—& the time is still ticking.
II
loving someone, & we will regret it. not loving someone, we will regret it. loving someone or not loving someone, somehow we will regret it either way. regretting something is an inevitable state.
III
to stay alive is all about cynic to the naive things—who said by one foolish that is too optimistic. but loving life is an endless war of how to kill regret, which unfortunately can't be dead.
IV
we can stab our arteries
to divert all of the misery &
try to forget—but we can't run
from the inescapable of regret.
(2022)
امور فاطی
how lovely it means
if we can imagine,
be friends, & love sadness
with sincerity, with madness,
with bravery—till it burns
our left chest, crumbles our bones, excorticates our skin, & tears out
our last flesh—even if ... even if ...
we consciously lean our bodies
& realize ... that life is still a mess.
(2022)
On Absurdism
sometimes
we
forget
to
appreciate
the
little things
that
make
life
worth living.
(2022)
*****
