There was always a voice around the radius of my conciousness to write more in my native tounge, so today that voice won.

I need a new camera.

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a blog entry where in,
which the blogger posts what he wrote while taking shelter one rainy night at a bus stop.
This thing he wrote, although unfinished , became the central element of this blog post and therefore completes while being incomplete.
And,
the blogger will post a link, here, to the lyrics of the wonderful song by Elbow “Not A Job”. This would compel the reader of this blog to click on it and try to listen to the actual song which is really very good despite lack of attention from the maintream. The irony will then be, the blogger while blooging will try to give a different meaning to the song than what was on the link prior.
Additionally,
irony will arise in the realisation that this description is quite long itself.

I am the person that stands on street conners at night
Alone and silent
Sighing words of poetic consolotion to myself
A bit off center

I am one that says hello and good evening to strangers but hide when I see you
Odd and awkwardly I have no abilities for hissing bitter punchlines, but I know dreams that nobody understands eventhough for my personal one I am not even close to encapsulating it in words. This song have mentions some elements of imagery that I use as reference for emotions that I try to convey in my works.The walk through long grass is what I use for the emotion of peace without effort, The lovers at the station is the image for romanticism in modern times, notice the juxtaposition of human relationship taking place at a place associated with rapid transport. Even if the imagery is what I use, I have never been as good.

I saw an angel cross the street,
Eyes radiant, steps serene.
Managing not to overwhelm,
With skywide wings, made with light.

Grasping at words,
I said “Good Day.”

for T.S.Y.

Today I slept on the train and missed my stop and and continued to go for another three. Then there at Segambut I got off as to ride on the opposite line, making my way back. It was this decision made of early morning folly that lead to her.

Rosebud as lips
Tired even before the day started
Swayed by the shake and rattle
Serenaded by the uneven beats

Rosebud as lips
Hope you rest and start anew
My stop is here-
and so I leave.

Wrote this at the old station, where it is sometimes deserted and lonesome to be in and yet so comfortable and soulful, writing next to a bench here a guy slept, looking at his clothes he is not homeless, yet he doesn’t show that he is shameful to be supine and relaxed. Oh how I envy him…

I didn’t even saw rosebud’s eyes, but i know it was closed, her fingers was blocking her face and no I didn’t take any picture. I want to be the only one…

Heh…

In the rays of the morning sun.
Her face shone like a glass jar of honey.
Knowledge of sweetness without tasting.
To taste is to sully the purity with dirtied hands.

Hanging to her chandelier earrings was me.
Grasping to the edge of sanity.

Warm me, Sun!
Banish this cold feeling.

Fail me not, Memory!
For I want to remember this face.
And for me to fathom why?

She had a big ass too. w00t!
Now wait a minute…
I never talked to her.
Never knew her name.
Never knew where she lived.
Aye…

Depressing and lonely, again.