Love, The

"I loved you like a man loves a woman he never touches, only writes to, keeps little photographs of." Charles Bukowski

this itchiness called imagination

ah this tingling sensation;

i can feel it emerging from deep within the soul

gasping for some air

grasping every vessels 

climbing

trying to come out

but it just won't do without you

Tersungkur

So You Want To Be A Writer? Charles Bukowski


if it doesn't come bursting out of you
in spite of everything,
don't do it.
unless it comes unasked out of your
heart and your mind and your mouth
and your gut,
don't do it.
if you have to sit for hours
staring at your computer screen
or hunched over your
typewriter
searching for words,
don't do it.
if you're doing it for money or
fame,
don't do it.
if you're doing it because you want
women in your bed,
don't do it.
if you have to sit there and
rewrite it again and again,
don't do it.
if it's hard work just thinking about doing it,
don't do it.
if you're trying to write like somebody
else,
forget about it.


if you have to wait for it to roar out of
you,
then wait patiently.
if it never does roar out of you,
do something else.

if you first have to read it to your wife
or your girlfriend or your boyfriend
or your parents or to anybody at all,
you're not ready.

don't be like so many writers,
don't be like so many thousands of
people who call themselves writers,
don't be dull and boring and
pretentious, don't be consumed with self-
love.
the libraries of the world have
yawned themselves to
sleep
over your kind.
don't add to that.
don't do it.
unless it comes out of
your soul like a rocket,
unless being still would
drive you to madness or
suicide or murder,
don't do it.
unless the sun inside you is
burning your gut,
don't do it.

when it is truly time,
and if you have been chosen,
it will do it by
itself and it will keep on doing it
until you die or it dies in you.

there is no other way.

and there never was.

Drown Out

Aku berjalan perlahan antara timbunan daun-daun kering, sengaja nak menyepah-nyepahkan lagi tanah. Aku korek, aku cungkil, aku sapu ke kiri ke kanan.

Sedihnya.

Good at being ironic.

Sedih.

Apabila orang-orang sekeliling engkau yang datang melengkapkan expectations yang sepatutnya aku penuhi.

Atau fragmen-fragmen diri aku yang kau harap untuk nampak, kau nampak pada orang lain, dengan senangnya. Dengan naturalnya. Tanpa perlu kau minta-minta. Tanpa perlu susah-susah nak cakap. Tanpa perlu habiskan setengah tahun bertekak atas benda yang sama. Berulang-ulang kali.

"Ada ramai lagi yang boleh buat."

"..tapi takkan sama dengan engkau. Because it's you I want."

"I always have high hopes on you."

"Apa yang susah sangat kau nak buat?Is it me?"

"Why is it so hard?"

"Please. Just let me be."

"Why is it so hard?"

"Why?"

Dan aku tak tau penganugerahan apa dari Maha Esa yang melayakkan aku untuk dapat otak macam dia ni.

"I am just afraid to cross the line and lose everything in result. Even now, I don't know where is the line. Its too blurry I don't know where I stand nemore"

Semua benda yang aku tak tercakap, ayat-ayat yang tak terkonstruk-

Ini menyedihkan.

I think I'm converted.

Jadi sekarang aku dah mula memikirkan balik pendirian aku. Yes,(maybe)I won't get married if it's not because of that thing called love.

And no, respect, trust, admiration is not love. They coexist, with love.

Ah, didn't I love the sequel to Before Sunrise.