SIGMA

Sigma

From Dostoevsky:

Laugh to whatever you find, provide a balanced opportunity for the ignorance and the genius, Give value on your nothingness.

From me:

At the time and the heavens are silent. I want to start all of this from a serene sky on above. Divine light passes through one by one as to be the road to heaven. Some say that’s the light that picks up the souls on earth. And when the light is gone, I'm relieved; the light was not picking me up to walk through the sky.

From me:

The sky is eyes. We could not lie to him. White, black, blue, gray. Look, how can we lie to that beautiful sky?

From me:

Remember we are on a secret, kept our fingers clasped in. That's when we break down our hands, we are trying to uncover the secrets of heaven, but we did not find anything except lies.

From you:

The happiness that we wish to release when water falls from the sky is not real happiness. He is just kind of wing we flop on the clothesline. The wings can’t fly. And we will release it. Very soon. One by one.

And when the sky was calm. And as the sky was moving to me, to time, move me, I painted the light in your hands; keep moving upwards, infinite time. When looking for you, life is lived couplet said that stuck in the tree.

From Us:

Then I found a yellow building on the land. The building was surrounded by old silver buildings. The buildings were surrounded by small black holes. We still ask why there are holes. Apparently we are aware, the building were as such mines and bullets, piercing our land, tearing our land, and spilling them.

Then I peeled the skin off the sky which is layered and perforated it. One by one. The sky’s Skin was slowly opened until I found the black part, which bothers me. Then there I found a night. The night that bothered me. Night with no end. Night that would stay at my eyes.

The sky was still silent, when you try to close your eyes for fear of a time, you find no me on the building behind. The sky was getting quiet because he did not want to bother you.

Your body holds the oceans. Your body floats in the sky, your tears are falling.

You call my name, many times and your eyes closed. I was afraid to go. You were scared that I might go back to my world. And I was too afraid to leave you alone.

The sky holds your tears. The water will fall on my head. The water is not going to the ground so the ground can’t be wet. The water has dried up over my head. Drying on the upper floor of the yellow building behind me.

The water will not touch the ground, he will continue to exist above my head, dry, dry, dry, and wet soil will not.

And the water, we know, will never come to the ground. Your tears will not coalesce into the ocean. I shut your tears in my head. I shut your tears in my life.

From the sky:

Infinite time will be lost no imprint. The sky cannot accuse us who carve out the ocean with the tears that fell did not imprint. And the oceans will not go anywhere, not to heavens, nor to my eyes.

Rain the universe. We are pieces of books. We are the fragments of words. We will be wrapped and sleep until the divine light in the mornings is still reluctant to pick us up. Then we're going to accuse. Is the sky still moving? But the sky remained silent like I imagined. Sky as the water swept sand beaches.
A green house, probably netting. The houses we are digging into the body of soil. These lands became ill and crying.

And the bodies move, escape from the ground, hiding in a pile of legs. He still receive jokes, lies, and ignominious.

My roof perforated. I do not have time to fix it. My house soon is shattered. And then I will not settle down. I will have nowhere to come. Houseless.

And our eyes can’t see but unwet ground, houses destroyed, and the tears did not imprint.

Then we tried to dig our own land. At that time you remember, we cannot even shake the ground. The sky is watching us from behind the window. We are walking like a mannequin, to a world that we never understand. Because the trees are suddenly changed their color, the colors of the smiling trees. The trees had died, or we are not aware that the trees are actually death itself. Dead standing.

In our fingertips, we hold fear and doubt. Then we thought, what is beautiful from these clothes? We already knew, the clothes do not mean anything. Then we disarm them. One by one. And nothing happened. Or could it be so?

From the smell of our bodies, we will know what food we dropped in our stomach. Then from our veins, we will know what drinks have been flowing in our blood. Then from our eyes, we'll know what is shading in our back.

From the Sea:

The sky was crying. I have to go back to my house. I have to go back. To be human. To be a lie.

Waktu

Catatan ini terbuat, saat waktu tak mau tergenggam di tanganku,

Kita memulai segala, yang tak akan pernah menjadi. Dan kita akan mengakhiri segalanya, yang mungkin akan segera menjadi. Kemudian kita mengingat apa yang mungkin pernah menjadi, tapi kita melupa, bahwa segalanya begitu singkat untuk diingat.

Kita yang muncul begitu singkat, dalam waktu yang selalu tak tergenggam, mengingat segalanya yang tak pernah dimulai atau gagal dimulai. Waktu. Arloji. Pengingat. Penanda. Tujuan.

Kita masih menyimpan ingatan. Dan aku menyimpannya pula dalam warna-warna. Mungkin ingatan justru membuatku melupakan segalanya. Tapi warna dapat mengingat segalanya.

Kita membangun sebuah bangunan berlubang, melukiskannya pada kanvas yang telah berlubang pula. Saat itulah warna-warna tak sanggup mengikatku. Warna memaksaku keluar dari arloji yang kau berikan padaku di sebuah saat sebagai penyelamatku. Sebagai penghiburanku. Sebagai hidupku.

Lalu kita diam, menunggu badai berhenti. Kita menyambut gerimis datang mengguyur tubuh kita yang telah lelah lalu sakit. Lalu diam, dengan luka yang masih kita pendam.

Masih tertanam dalam ingatanku, rumah itu hancur, oleh segala yang merusaknya. Tanah-tanah terbang, dahan-dahan terbakar, dan rumah kita terhempas. Oleh panas, oleh rumput, oleh mata kita yang kasar menatapnya. Dan kala rumah itu menangis, kita kembali diam.

Rumah itu menangis dan kita menghembuskan nafas dusta yang baru, untuk rumah yang baru, lalu mengorbankan segalanya untuk mengingat kitab yang mencipta kita (ataukah kita yang mencipta kitab?)

Waktu masih tak membiarkan dirinya tergenggam di tanganku. Ia terlepas, terbang, dan tak pernah singgah dalam rumah yang telah rusak yang pernah kita bangun itu. Waktu terkulai pada rantai yang tak pernah terkait.

Dan tahukah kau, waktulah yang menjeratku. Dan apa yang ada bersama waktu tak akan kembali bersama kita. Apa yang kita peroleh dari waktu, tak mungkin berjalan bersama kita. Apa yang kita pikirkan tentang waktu, tak akan berhenti mencari kita. Apa yang kita lakukan dengan waktu, tak akan menjadi kita.

Mari menyelesaikannya sejenak.

Tapi mengapa waktuku sakit?