tattoo

What’s so right about tattoo. It is a rather painful process, especially for an individual like me who takes pain as annoyance rather than enjoyment. After those painful scratches and punctures, then come long recovery process that includes compressing, keeping it off water and heat, and covering it from public scene (the sight of half-made tattoo might appear repulsive for some people, not to mention scores of negative comments and grunts from parents). It is a long-boring process, really.

But, then, people tend to make one on their body, and I must add: again and again. David Beckham said that he likes it as he kinda addicted to the pain, and someone said that the whole process is addicting. Like what happens to me. Yup, me, the same person who hates being in pain, even from a small scratch. The first time I made one, it was in 2003. I kinda promised myself, following the process, that I wouldn’t do it again. But after just three years the urge surfaced. Next tattoo appears, this time on my upper right hand. Same pain I had to endure.

Now, after few months of the last tattoo, the idea of having more comes to my head. I had to hide the pattern I downloaded earlier from internet, or better still, throw it away. Otherwise, there will be another tattoo coming. We’ll wait how long I can bear it.

Things inside your head

You know what's so good about imagination, recollection, memory, or anything inside your head? I give you the answer: they are imaginary. You can shape "those things" according to your own likings. Yes, they may have happened and nothing you can actually do to amend them. But, hey, they’re in your head, re-arrange 'em, re-shape 'em, frame 'em, make 'em as things you might feel enjoyable the most as possible. And no one would sue you for fraudulent, treachery, insensitive, or whatever say you. You have the right to make yourself king inside your head's kingdom.

You know what's so bad about them? The answer is: they are imaginary. However pleasent and enjoyable they are, you can not actually feel 'em with your skin.

Vive le Roi, le Roi est mort! (Long live the King, the king is dead!)

Don’t mess with a song

Take few clicks, pick some songs, and be prepared...!
It felt like I was grabbed by collar, pulled up and thrown away, very far away. I was cast away to distant space and time, back to the past.

Listening to the song, I was living the life I was before. The life when things were all beautiful and memorable, worth kept and different. The life where the ground I stepped on were soft and scented like new spring. Ambience around me was welcoming, yet sometimes felt alien. It needed to get acquainted with and approached; once I stepped inside, it held me so tight like long-lost lovers who just reunited.

My eyes looked again to those dull walls, empty rooms, and long corridor. The building’s old staircases with murals emblazoned on, they invited its inhabitants to come and dance with them. Yes, of course I would gladly come and dance with you, guys. That’s for sure, and oh, don’t forget to say hello to elevator’s door, tell her to keep all the things she witnessed to herself. Nothing good will come out of its stories, anyhow. Yes, the same goes to Madam washing machines and Mr. basement. They are such a reliable bunch. I suddenly remember when Li asked the council to pass A RULE to require people to present themselves properly when entering the basement, otherwise there will fall some victims from cardiac arrests and maybe humiliation, hahahah.

Now go to the playground; Look at the dog running around here and there. Sniffing for non existence rabbits and fetching a branch she threw on the air. See some young people practicing martial art across the street? They didn’t know I was here looking at them. How about children? Where were they? C’mon, no children were allowed to go out at a cold night like that. For sure we all could see the moon out here. Big, beautiful, and sad. She was also a cooperative witness, my pretty one.

Hey...! You...! come to my office at once!
Uh oh…. Let by gone be bygone, a man must have enough room in his lungs to hold enough air to go on living his present day. And a good song writer must know when to end a song. See you Mr. Cohen!

boredom

Taking a shower this morning, thing I've been doing for 35 years of life, I couldn't help but notice stuff inside the bathroom. I can mention each and every stuff there without see them, anyway I do the ritual for more than 10 years minus 17 months absence in the same bathroom. Then, popped up a word, the word, boredom.

Am I bored? If I am, of what then?
Of scaling the same route every morning of the day? I almost be able to drive from home to office with my eyes closed. I can picture each and everyone of damn potholes on the road, hell, I can even imagine and anticipate points of crowd arond every corner of the route. Yup, I can drive without using my brain, just mere animal instinct.
Of the same task for the last 7 years? Maybe so, I can not find the joy in my job these days. All is done automatically, without gusto, without interest, just for the sake of ending the mission.
Of life itself? No comment, really.

I guess I need to find something new, something to cheer my heart up. Something to make my life "alive". Something to pull two ends of curve in my mouth up, the thing I used to doing those days. By the way, one phrase knocked on my head, "Give your smile to a stranger at least once a day, maybe it is the only sunshine she/he sees today". How long have I lost contact with that sentence? too long, my moonlight. C'mon, sunshine, bring me my life back.

Dark side of man

I thought I have written about dark side of man, years ago (no need to scroll down and seek for it, I wasn’t sure, myself). Well, just think about how great these outstanding men were: JFK (remember Marilyn Monroe?), Sukarno (led democracy), Suharto (KKN), Batman (socialite) etc. etc.

The world, yet again watch another outstanding man showing his darker side of himself. He is none other than the maestro, professor (some people call him), the great, the master in beautiful game, Monsieur Zinedine Zidane. Years of master art of football, trophies, and awards, he is believed to get another World MVP in football this year. Allegedly provoked, he proved that other than his feet, his head was also “skillful”. What a way to end a glorious career, monsieur....

ps. it was supposed to be longer blog, but dark side of me gave me trouble, too and blocked the ideas....