Subterranean Homesick Blues

merci, les enfants terribles

2007-10-01T01:33:00.000-07:00

Avec toi, j'ai la vie sans temps mort ! N'ennui, ni mort, ni guichetier devant moi!

Attempts on articulating loss, apocalypse, decay, and being 22.

2007-09-08T05:32:00.000-07:00

Eidos/Eros

Mautmu

Parousia

itu mata

--lindap tergenang

harusnya padam

menyusur tikam

itu senja

mampir sedekap

pada tilam

Kalki

Kematian

adalah cahaya

yang masuk

dari pintu

yang setengah terbuka

Celan

badam

benam

malam

silam

Episoda Film Bisu untuk Desbaresdes

untuk Poe

Sebaris fuga berdencing

di kamar itu,

hotel itu

Camar hitam

dari jauh membayang nafas

antara gorden lapuk

pada musim itu kesaksian tak ubahnya alleluia di ujung rute penghabisan.

desember 2006

deux ou trois choses que je sais de lui

2007-09-08T04:32:00.000-07:00

apakabar ayahanda? maaf merampas kesunyianmu dengan berlembar-lembar surat. sudahkah kau membacanya?

jakarta jakarta revisited

2007-08-30T07:47:00.000-07:00

I CAN'T BELIEVE I'D OVERRATED AMI PRIJONO’S JAKARTA JAKARTA! The script was fully heavy-handed when it came to portray class conflict-based society whether by putting altogether politically-correct social commentaries (A.K.A Ami Prijono’s 40 nights and 40 days of excessive montage debauchery) or by playing soggy tearjerker in the end. It’s impressionism (as, too, put on plot and cinematography), it’s cynicism, but it’s also undeniably fake intellectual orgasm: so many shitholes and improper uses of classical soviet montage, besides some symbolic undertones which made it no better as in a scene when El Manik saved by the limp guy and a neighborhood hooker rendering a biblical allusion. And also notice the action sequence when El Manik’s infinitesimal-oh-that’s-my-savior scene turned caricatural as mundane as mondo-esque ITA SI ANAK PUNGUT serials (while Prijono also involved himself in the productions). I’m highly suspicious Warner Bros funded this project due to both its noirish realism and clamoring sentimentalism—following the hushhush of ironically Russo-Warner Bros. cooperation with local petty bourgeoisie and reactionary proletarians at that time--considered one of the most important conspiracy by the deed. Sexually speaking (as long as its complete title was no longer than KEKUASAAN, UANG, DAN SEX DALAM JAKARTA JAKARTA) this film was a work of jolt of pure energy...from an unbedded virgin. One of zillion points Ami really wanted to say in this film was like, “Jakarta’s too crowded and poorly misguided and lost its charm and energy at its peak point of development. You came here, made a living but then your life get you assfucked.” And he was indeed assfucked by these problems on the same cause of Jakarta itself: “Napsu Gede Tenaga Kurang”.

But the casts did better. Rae Sita played as power-dressing bitch mother figure with solemn Javanese attitude (think of aging Kathleen turner with Liv Ullmann’s face); adulterously charming but virginal Ricca Rachim as sexually repressed catholic school girl (If Gus Van Sant were the producer, she’d have the dykier personae at least until hormonal El Manik seduce her); and juvenile fatcat Rudi Salam (no wonder, being a predecessor of Agus Melasz, only maniacally corporate-greed face of Michael Douglas in The Game and Wallstreet would exactly compare him), the limp guy’s cast (I don’t even know his name) was a total resemblance to pot-intoxicated Steve Buscemi trying to be discreet but end up rabble-rouser by nature.

ma vie en rose

2007-08-29T06:30:00.000-07:00

amoureux de toi. encore.

Vers Minuit

2007-08-29T06:20:00.000-07:00

Ses yeux luiraient dans l'obscurité de la nuit. On m’a dit que sa beauté déchirant quand elle s’enivrée seulement. On n’avait pas trop sujet en parler sauf les tableaux des revues agées, ou la musique de la chambre, ou les films, mais nos yeux qui se parler gentilement. Mais les lueurs de nos verres qui ont tous les baissers opprimés sont envoyés par siens vitraux. On aura recontrer l’un pour l’autre bientôt, (et pourtant, plus pudique bien sûr!). Je me suis reveilé tout seul ce matin…mais toi, pourquoi n’es-tu pas ici pour m’éveiller?

Last Year in Marienbad

2007-08-27T02:28:00.000-07:00

“Das ewige Nacht ist okay, wenn man entsprechend gekleidet ist.” (Woody Allen)

Dia berjalan siang. Tapi gaunnya malam. Selalu malam. Mereka jalan siang-siang di taman. Tapi tak ada bayangan. Adakah malam lalai menggauli siang sehingga siang tak melahirkan bayangan? Adakah arsitek yang terobsesi membangun empat taman dengan bentuk identik sekaligus di depan, belakang, kanan, dan kiri hotel, supaya kau bisa menghindari hari? Apakah itu caramu menolak kuasa waktu, delphine?

montage, mon beau souci..

2007-08-27T02:25:00.000-07:00

pikiran saya kosong tiga hari ini karena substansi ajaib itu. orang tua saya datang dan saya menyambutnya entah dengan dingin atau cekikikan dalam hati. Halo bunda, ayah, adik...i was totally in a bad shape but nobody has ever got suspicious though. A day passed, we headed to grandma’s. Cilacap itu dekat. Hanya 4 jam dari jogja, tapi setiap jalan dan perhentian yang kami lalui berasa psikedelik dan pernah disebutkan satu-satu di terbitan moon publications. I never trully awake and never trully asleep too. Felt like as if someone sinking my head scrupulously in anything but tavern and whorehouse. 4 hours then compared to 4 days drunken debauchery. The night before when i was getting hospitalized and barely escape intoxication i keep myself closer but very intanct to death. A fascination though whereas i soon no longer agonizing it. My word! It’s still the same case like last year: i came few weeks before her death. A year later, we have a tour, apilgrimage one and since, i’ve forgiven my dad. I’ve no regrets for him. It’s death that keep us closer. Death creates rupture, but kniting other ruptures too...I soon remember what Passolini wrote in his journal: Cinema is identical to life, because each one of us has a virtual and invisible camera which follows us from when we're born to when we die. In reality cinema is an infinite film sequence-shot. Each individual film interrupts and rearranges this infinite sequence-shot and thus creates meaning, which is what happens to us when we die. It is only at our moment of death that our life, to that point undecipherable, ambiguous, suspended, acquires a meaning. Montage thus plays the same role in cinema as death does in life.

Lagi-lagi tentang hubunganku dan dia

2007-08-27T02:12:00.000-07:00

Mudah-mudahan aku tetap bisa memaafkanmu. Mudah-mudahan juga sebaliknya. Mudah-mudahan kamu mencari arti lagu itu. Sementara aku terus menyanyikan Piaf saat bersepeda, saat marah, saat berjalan kaki, saat mengingatmu mengajarkanku berjalan, membaca, dan hidup….mudah-mudahan bunga-bunga yang kuberikan padamu tidak lekas mati. Mudah-mudahan aku mati lebih cepat darimu. lebih cepat dari bunga-bunga itu. Atau biarkan aku tua bersamamu dan menjelma dedaunan musim gugur…yang lekas tahu kapan harus rontok ramai-ramai dan kapan harus membusuk ditanah yang sama. Sampai ketemu beberapa jam lagi...

(dis)closure

2007-08-27T01:38:00.000-07:00

Bunch of thanks to blogdrive for closing down my former blog. I myself intended doing the same thing basically on these reasons: that blog was pretending to be existentially anxious, bitching about death morosely, aggravating psychological problems, trying-to-be-politically-correct-but-then-fatiguely-serving-for-infamous-politically-incorrect-notions, and as consequence I completely became much of my own anger reservoir (wasn’t I?). And that’s bad, and looks ugly. Then what? I became less personal? Least and least…shouldn’t one do some writings for creating distance from one’s earlier estate?

Lagu untuk ayah

2007-08-26T07:05:00.000-07:00

Non, rien de rien
Non, je ne regrette rien
Ni le bien, qu'on m'a fait Ni le mal,
tout ça m'est bien égal !
Non, rien de rien
Non, je ne regrette rien
C'est payé, balayé, oublié
Je me fous du passé !

Avec mes souvenirs J'ai allumé le feu
Mes chagrins, mes plaisirs
Je n'ai plus besoin d'eux
Balayés les amours
Et tous leurs trémolos
Balayés pour toujours
Je repars à zéro

Non, rien de rien
Non, je ne regrette rien
Ni le bien, qu'on m'a fait Ni le mal,
tout ça m'est bien égal !
Non, rien de rien Non, je ne regrette rien
Car ma vie, car mes joies
Aujourd'hui, ça commence avec toi !

(Edith Piaf, 1961)