kek cawan ku yang begitu manja ( Read more... )

it's generally white. a kind of blindness that sits awkwardly. like groping towards death. the muscles around my eyes tauten to pull as much skin away from eyeballs as possible, meeting in folds on top of my forehead. i am only imagining this. i don't actually know. but memory sometimes serves as a mirror. fingers splayed, touching in hiccups at ( Read more... )

you know something is cracking ( Read more... )

reboot ( Read more... )

some people are able to see words form inside their head. the sinew and fleshiness of their anger, hurt, unbearable sadness or joy or confusion or frustration or... other things where single words try to define but hold nothing close to what is, becomes. through sentences and metaphors and memory that conjure up details remembered as acutely as a ( Read more... )

i have just watched a documentary about nick drake, and in the process, found one of the most beautiful poem i have ever encountered. it is by nick drake's mom, whose name was not mentioned throughout the documentary. even when she spoke (her face was not shown throughout, i'm not sure why. instead, they shot a close-up of rain falling on leaves ( Read more... )

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She woke up to small explosions. All bubbles in the sea decided to burst at once. They sounded like an infinity of tiny screams amplified by aeons of being bottled up. Burbling in stabbing fear like treble cracking bass ( Read more... )