Amschely Dreams

I hope, you don't regret knowing me, meeting me, and spending time with me. I am never qualified to be someone’s priority, nor be someone’s first option. That’s why I hope you don’t regret it all because I’m not what you’re looking for. I’m not the one you hope for in your prayers. I’m just like a candy you buy at the store, the one you like only for the time being before you realize you don’t like the taste. The sweetness is gone the second you see the brand. The ties are gone the second you see it’s me. I am never qualified to be a best-seller product. I am just one people buy when there's a sale. And I think I understand why I’m never good enough. It’s okay. Because if everyone were good enough, wouldn’t the world become so boring? So, I hope you don’t regret having crossed paths with me who cannot give you anything, but a brief rest while watching the world crumble. After the show is over, you are free to go, without any charge. No more us, guaranteed. So, I hope you don’t ...

I used to think I could be as happy as a Bollywood rom-com main character. Instead, I am just an extra, clowning for everyone's happiness.     I used to think there was a cure for what's going on inside me, or a stop button for the caged anger and the unreleased sad songs. But, no? Because releasing them gives me more pain than pleasure.   I used to think it's enough to submit myself to The One but then a habib said seeking professional help is urgently needed and "Please, don't kill yourself." because if He wants me dead, He'll show me the way. Am I not good enough to go home?   I wish there were one psychologist or a psychiatrist working for free, for a charity. Or will money rain down if I perform a ritual of the insane? because it's crazy how expensive sanity is.   And have you heard the price for a bottle of hope?   Everything essential is for sale, but there are no...

I'm a person people remember only when they're low and lonely like a comfort food they want only when they're upset and I think that's pretty that at least they seek me when they have nobody.   Why is it all dark inside that even my heart is bleeding black and the oxygen is running out.   My head is by my toes sanity under my shoes and I still say to those who chose to not be close, "I'll see you for sho'!" while I am mentally circling a noose around my neck in a silent morning or busy noon as I'm watching the blood spots from yesterday's head bangs illuminated by the sunlight all visible, on the plain blue wall forming numbers of a clock to remind myself when it's time to boil water for a cup of black coffee.   People say, "It'll be okay." And English grammar dictates that will implies a promise but why would anyone make a promise so empty? For the it means no...

The doctor said, "No more noodles. No more spicy food." Yet I've been combining them for my primal ritual to enter the Dreamland. Maybe he didn't get it. It is never the food I'm craving. It's the slow destruction. 2021, June 4.

Art by Christian Schloe. capsuled in eternity are our traded sacred secrets and cherished temporariness of a timely paid friendship. the stories exchanged in an undecorated room have threaded a bond so strange too weak to weave forever too strong to unfasten the past. filled with haunting serene gone moments preserved in memories is the lived-ongoing present. the anxious expectation of and restless wait for a time has not yet come and the invisible devouring bond tying us in a whirling time of never agains and ever befores have us cry in our prayers, "may we meet again." 2020, Oct 20.  

Seolah kedua matanya ialah mataku yang membelah dan berpindah ke dalam matanya. Seolah kedua matanya ialah mataku beberapa waktu lalu sebelum berlalu dan kembali padaku. Seperti bulanlah kedua matanya yang tentram cahayanya, hingga sepi dan sunyi dalam diriku meraung-raung bak serigala di bawah purnama. Seperti bulanlah kedua matanya yang dengan sinarnya aku melihat nyala dalam buta. 2020, Oct 27.

  Art by Christian Schloe. In each other's most hidden, darkest least abandoned, most visited corner, of our memories, we live. 2020, Oct 26.

Whose eyes do you see when the sun shines? Whose eyes in which you dwell when the morning sets? Whose eyes do you seek when midnight comes? Whose eyes do you wish to see you when you are sad? Whose eyes from which you know you will never be invisible? Do those eyes outshine the moon for they gleam even brighter at a gloomy night of Earth? Are those the eyes so kind, they smile even though they are tired? Or, are those the eyes  so foreign, yer strangely you see yourself in them? 2020, Oct 27

Tuan, tiada cinta di tanah merah darah, hanya ada ia yang melayani tanpa pamrih, yang sehari-hari mengais kasih. Tuan, tiada cinta di tanah merah darah, hanya ada ia yang dadanya menggoda bagi mata marah serdadu merah, hanya ada ia yang punggungnya pasrah berdarah-darah. Tuan, tiada cinta di tanah merah darah, hanya ada ia yang dalam matanya duka menyala-nyala, yang hatinya berluka nanah. Tuan, tiada cinta di tanah merah darah, hanya ada ia yang hidupnya begitu tak bermakna tatkala arak merabunkan mata dan mengoyak segala. Hanya ada ia yang jeritnya tak mengubah apa-apa, kecuali lepasnya dari tubuh seragam merah itu. Tuan, tiada cinta di tanah merah darah. Kebebasan dan bahagia ialah fana. Ialah duka yang amerta. Tuan, tiada cinta di tanah merah darah, hanya ada sahaya yang oleh tuannya dihunjami durjana. *** Ditulis setelah membaca buku "Perang Napoleon di Jawa 1811" karya Jean Rocher. 2020, Aug 31.

Art by Christian Schloe . I've carved you out of our promise tree in the woods we sneaked into where we both were free in each other's company. I've carved you in a place so vintage where we used to speak a language only we knew so new, it captured us weak. I've carved you when came morning dew quenching our thirst anew. 2020, Sept 21.