Conversation with a Masochist

‘Which one do you prefer, a loving-ship or a hurting love?’
‘Perhaps you likes punch better than gentle carreses’
‘You like being tied, right?’
‘You like it hurt, right.’
‘Did you also love meaningless words?’
‘How about lies?’

‘Then I really wanted to be you.’


Everybody Got Time for Sketch

Was that crazy when I thought, ‘who cares about assessment(s) and competition deadline, I’ll just spent my precious time to sketch.’

So here’s my sin to my own Thursday.

random activity in front of an old building
random scenery in front of an old building

like that’s not wasting time enough, I got another sketch

The stair in the old building
The stair in the old building

My senses back when I drew this sketch. I got a panic streak and I hurrily went to did my deadlines. Haven’t add details and rendered the sketch. Well, at least sketching is fun.


Who decided to censor real blood on a steamy river,
What if no one accepted the censor,
Why don’t we censor hands or mouth instead.
How come a sinner have pixels on its face,
Since when we decided to hide things that already happened,
Yes, let’s censor all awful things.
Pixelate, all, blur.
Bad things let’s blur
Go away, your face.
Cast away, you evil form
A sinful existence, censored.

Understanding Bits of Your Brain

I used to envy your skull,
Of its knowledge of your brain,
On its ability to protect your essential organ,
Used to is the saddest word, isn’t it?
Because when we say it, we can’t differ, is it us or time getting older.

We used to had those jolliful first moment,
the first ‘Hehe’ you wrote,
our first matched step,
two pairs of eye stared each other,
that first forceful kiss on our way to my home.

Afterall, I used to need more knowledge about you, like how your DNA formed, which neuron formed your words, which hormone formed your fingers.

I tried to match my eyes with your height, secretly hoped you would stroke my hair,
You would tell me, ‘feel my chest, it is all thumping.’

Boy, how great would it be to never write that all in past tense.

Unfinished Stories

I don’t know, but I really wanted to write words of unfinished story :

“Look, there’s someone behind you.”
“Oh, it’s good. And perhaps you would like to know, it is not someone.”

“Man, such an unfaithful, ugly, penniless groom. The lady decided to marry him!?”
“Yea but you knew why she would.”

Grace was walking at the bridge yesterday. She stopped and saw a suspicious, darkish, mysterious cupboard.

Cathy the cat walks around the house like usual, but, zap!

An unknown hands cheerfully catch and fly her cute fragile body.

How can every thing I tried to write turned to be a bit horror-ish. I’ll try to write a rather cute story perhaps later.

After the Window

Momma always tells me, “never open the window in the attic, or row of crows would be panic.” I don’t understand what does she meant by that. So when I was 4 years old I went to the attic and open the window. I jumped and reached the window. When I opened the attic window, I hate Momma because she lied. There wasn’t crows there, I only saw sky. I was dissapointed because there was no any secret in it.

I am eight now, I think I will open the window again. I don’t know, I just wanted to. So I sneak to the attic and open the window, I think I finally understand what Momma said now. The window showing me the same sky like I saw 4 years ago, and belom them there is a corpse, perhaps that was my missing dad, and the shocked crows stop eating his body, fly and fly away to wherever they want.


being tall isn’t that good.

Talking With the Strongest Man

Look at that strongest man walking, look at how bony his hand is, look at how vigorous his toes is, look at me, the deadliest man.

Shut your thought, as I shatter every people’s cocky minds, shatter and destroy their limbs

Look at people bowing their weak head onto my impressive chest, mumbling how great I am.

So rowdy, that’s my daily life as the strongest man.

A blind girl challenge me a combat today, screaming his-beaten-by-me-father, today.

I laugh at the blind girl’s face, mocking how dark her vision is,

how black her hair is,

then she tries to slap my shoulder, I don’t even try to dodge it,

Her weakness beyond any joke I can found.

Later she poke my other shoulder,

Our foot kick, shaping a cool X,

Flip our body, facing the vast sky.

Hand meet other hand,

Palm push other abdomen,

A good battle,

I win easily.

her open neck, I will broke her open neck,

her blind eyes look up to my face,

my moral kick in,

I didn’t do what I had to,

she stab my eyes.

Suddenly all my shoulder, my hand, foot feels like about to blow, she said, ‘I am the strongest.’

‘I am the master of blind combat,’

‘My suhu taught me how to be blind,’

‘You are a joke.’

Hand reaching her foot, swallowing my pride, ‘teach me be the strongest,’ begging her.