September 23, 2013

Why are you thinking again, little brother
When you know there's a story for every wrong
But I won't be around in the morning
Can only pray there's no harm in me moving on
To the trials in your unknown

And if you could just walk home by

With signs just flying around
And if this storm was just a motion
Of your kid just trying out
If we could only lose these minds

Why are you drinking again little brother

When your remnant's the hard part of loving you
You say the creeks and the falls want to drown you
But there are deeper wells where we're going to
There's no drown in this unknown

And when your memory is lost on the hillside

And the wind takes you further and forward now
Your world is a kite in the weather
Gently tight to your end that is pointed out
There's a sky in this unknown

September 15, 2013

At Night

Rancabuaya, 02:12 AM
I was compromising when I affirmed that the Milky Way seemed only like a towering constellations of clouds faraway, unmoving. It was, of course, an exhausting day for everyone (except for me that wasn't driving at all), so by the time the burning fire and the faintly-lit oil lamps' stable murmurs started to amplify the grand starry mirage, they were already asleep in our packed little tents, placed right next to the juxtaposed, lined up as if they were on display, motorcycles. The waves beat itself ashore in a perpetual noise. No chatters or laughs could be heard. Not even from the only camper there other than usthe drunk Germans (I think they were Germans) on the tent across.
I slowly closed my tent's zip from outside, tiptoed over some of the members courageously sleeping out in the open, leaned over the only car included for the trip, a Volkswagen Beetle, and gazed upward.

Sunset Road, Kuta, 01:40 AM
The wide bypass stretching all the way from Kerobokan to the airport (and more) were all seemed lonely with only dim lights from the buildings sideways. Buildings, some of which were badly crammed next to each other in many corners, and some isolating themselves with a wall of wild grasses. The surface of the sidewalks were uneven in unfinished pavements. The veins of the Land of Gods had started to secretly dream of lofty cottages and estates, after all. Our two rented motorcycles stopped aside under lines of humming palms wavered peacefully over the street lamps. We were waiting in silence for something I couldn't remember. Had I just misheard scraping sounds of ocean waves then?

Bandung, 03:08 AM
What happiness do I derive from being burdened by hymn-like songs, lengthy in their ordinary, songs that sound so otherworldly human that I can't help but thanking my thin being, I can't really explain (neither can I give you examples of the songs I'm referring to). Anyway, that night the open skies couldn't be more pleasant with shifting haze of skeletal clouds here and there, yet tender drizzles sprinkled my face as the red light signals, reflected imperfectly in wet streets, blinked.