to night

Aku adalah binatang jalang yang menghembuskan angin kedinginan. apa pun bisa kita lakukan, biarkan Hayal mu melambung tinggi menikmati sensasi lambda sehingga hayalmu menembus batas, bangun ketika kau mulai lelah akan semua, bakarlah dinding-dinding yang membuatmu tidak mempunyai waktu untuk membuka sensasi Lamda. masih ingatkah kita pernah bercerita tentang puncuk-puncuk lambda di ketinggian 200Hez aku telah menemukan seluk beluk lambda. Mari bersama menembus batas normal, yang akan membuka tabir mimpi menjadi kenyataan. aku lambda yang membagunkan dengan Argumentum ad populum, wujud nyata, ilusi, melayang maya membuka tabir biru menjadi sir Lamda

Sunday, January 20, 2013


The lyric of Koes Plus song from the 70s still grips the heart. In addition to the fact that the song is a delight to listen to, the two words of return and Jakarta have a certain nudge that feels special.
The word “return” has its dramatic aspect. It echoes a long story of separation. And suddenly the north wind blows, the reversing current sweeps or drags back to the starting point. What then surfaces is a spilling of longing and moving feelings.
Then what about “Jakarta”. As the vanguard of the republic, Jakarta was Batavia, then Jayakarta, once. As the capital city of Republic of Indonesia, it is the centerpoint of sight for every citizen. Various feelings fuse behind that sight. Some are upset, hating, angry, even felt sick of it. Yet, there are astonishment, longing, joy, passion, even heroic feeling, and some view Jakarta as a summit.
Jakarta is the miniature of Indonesia where many elements condensed. It is the point where many different things throughout the Archipelago blend in. They merge into an amalgam, just like a dish of gadogado. Authenticity fades away, fused into a spinning vortex of frictions, but each one is still there. The local shade of every region is still present, felt. While the local element of Betawi, still thickly felt, glue the elements of Jakarta into a giant mosaic. Usmar Ismail recorded it in a film with a provocative title: The Big Village.
Some prefer to call Jakarta as a jungle, while more than few see the metropolitan as an Ivory Tower. A display window of lies, that can never really picture the true Indonesia.
The best and the worst sit side by side in Jakarta. Those who care to eat a fish dabu dish with a pricetag of Rp 8 juta, they could; while a mere Rp 8,000 could also make your belly happy in a Padang foodstall. Bunch of pickpockets, robbers, thugs, conmen, thieves, kidnappers, from featherweight to heavyweight are everywhere. But the masters, people with golden heart who devote themselves to help improve the fate of other people, without expecting anything in return, are equally many. They educate street children under the bridge, as a sincere service from the heart.
Jakarta has a thousand face. Divided by the brownish Ciliwung River that sometimes turns dark from pollution. Jakarta felt luxurious yet lackluster. Ferociously alive for 24 hours, as if the residents are sleepless. Yet, in some corners there would be kampong areas, snoozing wearily. It is not unintentional, they are helpless indeed. It is the gaping wound caused by the “rape” committed by a diverse of contradictive ambitions.

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