Sunday, 17 September 2023
Friday, 15 September 2023
Tanpa Moralitas Objektif Semuanya Boleh: Emang Boleh Seboleh Itu?
Artinya apa Banh Messi? Pake nanyaaaaaaa...
Tanpa moralitas objektif, semuanya boleh? Affakah iyyah banh?
Epilog
Thursday, 14 September 2023
Genrifinaldy's Poems (2)
Ode to the Adulthood
: Beach House - Space Song
i'm still that random boy in every sci-fi/adventure movie—playing hide & seek with the constellation of stars—seeking to understand what the hell is going on or what the fuck god's problem is. where did he throw the dice?
& how can a mature outside of me still have a light after entering the black hole of reality?
(2023)
-
One of Reason to be Sad
long ago, one of the things that could make me happy all day was finding money in my pants. today, it actually made me sad all day. i realize i'm getting older & forgetful.
forgot that i had those pants & there was money inside of them.
(2023)
-
I'm Disillusioned
by the fact that life isn't like a movie. there is no cinematic backsound for every filmic thing we experience: when we take a deep breath before making a tough decision, close our eyes while kissing our partner's lips, let ourselves be wet caught in the rain, sunken in puzzled philosophical daydreams, smile at childhood memory we have, hangout with friends on friday night then laugh so hard, crying alone silently on the top of pillow on sunday evening, & so on, & so on.
in life, there is no 'protagonist' either. since everyone is an 'extra'. & we never know who the antagonist is. but i found that the “advanced antagonist” can give us shelters, serve us food & drinks, lecture good value, go to the grocery store, pay our bills, & tell us to keep going on the endless circular track they build ahead of us.
unfortunately... that's not the worst part, but the probability that our life was probably directed by the most untalented-amateur directors with a bad sense of humor & taste of art.
(2023)
-
Live Longer
aspirations
are just undiscover
disappointment.
(2023)
-
If You Ask How's My Day...
i just feel like a schiz with a bad headache. too bad, me & my mind speak in a different language. & my neck tells my ears longing for the blade of guillotine. i want to believe that there's a grand lullaby to my agony, a story that will validate my tears, stomachache, & back pain. that's a frail voice inside me hoping for a glimpse of light in the vast darkness. yet, as time unfurls, i recognize those whispers are merely echoes of a desperate heart. but the universe remains silent, indifferent to my pleas. since i'm just transient beings, insignificant in the boundless expanse of existence. my fretfulness, in the enormous narrative of life, is but a meaningless noisy disturbance. i think i consume too many western thinkers until i assume there's no cosmic reward waiting for me at the end. unhappily, i simply exist, endure, & the idea of me eventually vanish into oblivion, with no real assurance that my streams had any true seas. while my hopes perish like little flowers swept by the volcanic mudflow. perhaps, my daily basis struggles are that tinyer than i feel they are. unlucky, now, i have become a gigantic monster under the bed that countless religions fight with...
no, just kidding. i'm okay. that's just a phase. as you said.
(2023)