you came to me as a traveler. and left me as a soldier.
the war is everywhere, yes. if it is not happening here, if I can’t see it right nor, it’s actually everywhere, and always.
questions are left unasked. what is your principle what is your cause. how do you think you can change your country, or people’s mind.
have you used your weapon? have you made a soul lost? what is the worst scene you’ve ever seen? the bloodbath and fluttering sounds of machineguns… ramppamppaam!>
what do you do to escape the burden, as you call it. going for vacation every year. did yoga in Dharamsala. it’s been five years now, you say. five fuckin years.
soldiers are soldiers, obligatorized by uniform and authorized by guns. yet, humans they are still, men they are. blood within the flesh, streaming to their penis. some t i m e…
how can i not have prejudice that bad things happened to the flowers. how predictable, though not expected. delusional. weeping death. music that keeps you sane. or maybe make you afloat. tunes that bring you home. mother tongue that makes you feel holy. un-sinned.
do you close your eyes some t i m e
you said people hate each other. i’d ask you, what do you think about god now. what do you think about gender-prescribed roles. is your mom crying now? you write letters for her?
i’d want to ask you how do you juxtapose culture and violence. home and hell. you are too surrounded by conflict-triggering hatred.
but you are beautiful…
even your hands seem to pose all the times. the composition of your fingers just seem right. there is order. perhaps hope.
i would have asked you all those questions, regardless they may sound silly, you know.
the peace in your smile held me back.
random ‘misperceptions’ after consuming the following, to the extent of my awareness: Garin Nugroho’s Soegija, Eka Kurniawan’s Cantik Itu Luka, Zhang Yimou’s The Flowers of War, and Usmar Ismail’s Lewat Djam Malam