A picture will hold such as you are in that physical, definable sense. What if beauty were more? What if, of the thousands of words that a picture can speak, what if the words that they didn’t describe were the words I needed to read, or even needed to hear from your voice? If a picture tells a thousand words, well, a picture of my heart would speak a single sentence at least a thousand times, all of this beating at the rhythm of a heart. The words of a heart don’t need to be spoken. Allow me to say that even the sentence itself falls short of its own being. Emotion falls short of itself. One minute we find ourselves absolutely passionate and with the next we are full of apathy for anything outside of ourselves. I wonder how our heart still beats. I’ve memorized the right answers for anyone who would bother asking. Strange, it’s such any easy thing to forget. I don’t quite understand it and I find myself loving a thousand different trivial objects and concepts. They will make a clear picture of my selfishness. These words are far beyond me. Regardless of what I am meant for, there will always be what I have to choose. There will always be our choices, I have not forgotten that I am not one. I will keep a thousand words all told to stand still in a photograph. Know that the words I long most to read are the words carved into my heart. Know that these words will exist as long as I do. They will die with me as well.

It is never too late to be what you might have been. Ohh..



Maybe if every day life was like a musical, we’d find a way to sing all our troubles away. We’d dance to joke, and still smile while singing sad songs.

But this is a dream, and when I’m walking downtown we all remain silent inside our personal hell. One by one, the shadows morph as one to create a bigger picture.

We don’t sing together, nor do we smile through sad songs.

We are all unified with our personal destiny, to be called ours in this tiny world; that is how we are human.

Today, migraine.


I started inventing things, and then I couldn’t stop, like beavers, which I know about. People think they cut down trees so they can build dams, but in reality it’s because their teeth never stop growing, and if they didn’t constantly file them down by cutting through all of those trees, their teeth would start to grow into their own faces, which would kill them. That’s how my brain was.

My 'blue-baby' supersampler.


I’m grateful for anything that reminds me of what’s possible in this life. Books can do that. Films can do that. Music can do that. School can do that. It’s so easy to allow one day to simply follow into the next, but every once in a while we encounter something that shows us that anything is possible, that dramatic change is possible, that something new can be made, that laughter can be shared. Just like my camera with x-pro film. I feel like wanna to jump-dance-jump-dance. Jyeah! Alhamdulillah.

Lastly. Thanks!



Never trust anyone who has not brought a brain with them. Such like a shit man!

It’s who I am. Put somebody else’s comfort ahead of my own? Go hop in a toilet to spare somebody else’s feelings? That’s the kinda thing you do, fella. You got everything bass ackwards. And look where it’s landed you.

Other people ought to have more consideration.

You oughtta have less. Me personally, I am opposed to all strictures. If you feel it, let it rip. If you want it, go for it. Dude’s gotta put his own interests first.


Infinite Me.


Everything must have been once. That’s why life seems to me like a ghostly undulation. History does not repeat itself; yet it seems as if our lives are caught in the reflections of a past world, whose delayed echoes we prolong. Memory is an argument not only against time but also against this world. It half uncovers the probable worlds of the past, crowning them with a vision of paradise. Regrets spring from the nadir of memory. Regression of memory makes one a metaphysician; delight in its origins, a saint.

I always see it too late. Just remember that the truth will set you free. But not until it is finished with you.

Character is action and I am present.


There are no reasons for him to feel as he does. Yet, of course, like all people tend to do, he feels as he does regardless. At times he tries to change his feelings, the way he perceives things, his outlook on the world, but each time around he automatically, gradually, goes back to thinking as he thought before, and thus feeling as he did before. It is almost as if he is addicted to feeling sad, miserable and depressed. The pain he feels stops him from living his life the way he would like to live it. Most of his energy seems to go to muffling the screams he feels boiling up his chest multiple times an hour. His feelings only seem to grow murkier as time goes by. His soul seems easily hurt by even the smallest of altercations and the most common of situations. It seems as if all the protection he has built up over the years to guard himself from the outside world has turned into mush by his own state of mind. Maybe you could give trying to change your state of mind another shot, stranger. I know you feel you will probably fail again, but this time just fail better.

Don’t be afraid. The darkness you’re in is no greater than the darkness inside your own body. They are two darknesses separated by a skin. I bet you’ve never thought of that. You carry a darkness about with you all the time and that doesn’t frighten you…

So, you have to learn to live with the darkness outside just as you learned to live with the darkness inside.



‘I love you’ means that I accept you for the person that you are, and that I do not wish to change you into someone else. It means that I will love you and stand by you even through the worst of times. It means loving you even when you’re in a bad mood, or too tired to do the things I want to do. It means loving you when you’re down, not just when you’re fun to be with. It means that I know your deepest secrets and do not judge you for them, asking in return that you do not judge me for mine. It means that I care enough to fight for what we have and that I love you enough not to let go. It means thinking of you, dreaming of you, wanting and needing you constantly, and hoping you feel the same way for me.

Whenever you think or you believe or you know, you’re a lot of other people: but the moment you feel, you’re nobody but yourself.

Forget the shit and move on.


Listen up. I know the shit you’ve been saying behind my back. You think I’m stupid. You think I’m immature. You think I’m a malformed, pathetic excuse for a font. Well think again, nerdhole!

Push to start.

Today, just like every other day, I wake up empty.
Take down a musical instrument.
I let the beauty that I love be what I do.
There are hundreds of ways to kneel and kiss the ground.

Open the door and start to studying people without books. 
That people without brain and soul.

See ya!
God speed!

I'm limited edition.

I write differently from what I speak, I speak differently from what I think, I think differently from the way I ought to think, and so it all proceeds into deepest darkness.

If you don’t know history, then you don’t know anything. You are a leaf that doesn’t know it is part of a tree. The more you know, the more you know you don’t know

And be happy of your speculations. Don't worry. Your name, head and dignity are always at my lovely ass. You should sell your soul at the devil but I think even him doesn’t want it. Coz you are bad asshole person. Haha! Enjoy your last day before 'that' day. God speed.

Who i am? I am me. An angel.

Last Card.

That one moment when your world came crashing down. When the truth brought you to your knees, and reality hit you hard. When your vision was blurred with the tears that would not seize, and faith seemed impossible to find. That one moment, when life came slipping through your fingers, and it took all the strength in your being to hold on to whatever was left in the palm of your hand. How did that moment change you?

Did it make you braver?  Like you could still take on the rest of what you had coming, or did it break you to pieces, and leave you on the floor struggling to put them back together. The first option is what everyone wants to hold on to, and make their reality. where you actually believe that what didn’t kill you only made you stronger. Where you could find the will to rise again, and face the fears you hid behind the doors of doubt. However, a lot of people live the latter. Where pieces of yourself are scattered all around you, too broken to fix, and far too many to find. That’s when life surprises you. When it throws in someone else, just as damaged, but someone who will help put you back together. That someone is your everything. The one who picks up the pieces, and when they’re too lost to find, creates new ones in your life. The one who gives you the strength, and more importantly, the reason, to get up off the ground and start living again. The one who wills away the tears and somehow soothes the pain. The wind beneath your wings and the fire behind your flame. Who is that one? And will you choose option two, to find your everything?

Oh, FY!

"Pakai otak bukan lutut. Insan ada otak bukan hati."


People, for here I hear and over sea I see.

Cinderella walked on broken glass.
Belle loved a beast.
Snow White barely escaped a knife.

But you always keep on wrong track, some shit one.
Wake up.
Open your eyes wider that before.

You just afraid to move out of your comfort zone.

I am, I was and I will always be everything.
Your feelings are not my responsibility.
You cannot take my life away from me.
You can try to hurt me all you want and I still won’t care about you.


Behind her strong, calm exterior and her well faked smile, all her unexpressed, negative emotions and feelings are fighting to get out. The chaos inside runs her life. Her sorrow, her self-loathing, her torment, her loneliness, her disappointment, her envy, her frustration, her helplessness, her anxiety, her grief, her guilt, they are all fighting to be released into the world. One day they will break free, stranger.

Remember, everyone makes mistakes, but not everyone learns from them. That was you, stranger.

Mind Me.

After rain comes sunshine. I loves rain. Don't worry, stranger, after sunshine comes rain.

Beautifully Impractical.

Lying has a lot to answer for. Maybe, one day, we will get an answer. And if that day comes, we can immediately dismiss the answer for it will no doubt be a filthy fib. Sure, lying has a lot to answer for, but we do not ask for an answer because we owe more to lying than we may ever know.

We may debate what is truly considered a lie and what is merely a decorated truth. We may debate the moral, ethical and spiritual dilemmas arising from speaking that which is not. We may debate the point at which lies cease being compassionate and start being dishonest. We may argue that lying should be eradicated and that chastity belts should hold all lips shut lest our tongues be sullied by a sinful fabrication. And we may one day rid humanity of lying; on that same day we will stop humanity from moving forward, leaving civilisation to turn stale.

The problem with telling lies and hearing lies — even when the lie is clearly heard — is that repetition will leave an imprint; repetition of a lie will see traces of it attach to truth and mingle in memory until eventually, what is believed is merely a dull reflection of the facts.

The beauty of telling lies and hearing lies — even when the lie is clearly heard — is that repetition will leave an imprint; repetition of a lie will see traces of it attach to truth and mingle in memory until eventually, what is believed is more than the facts could ever tell.

What is a story if it is not a lie told to paint across your mind an image of what could never be? A story of forbidden love coming to be, a lie of forbidden love coming to be. A story of overcoming adversity, a lie of overcoming adversity. A story of wonders beyond imagining, a lie of wonders beyond imagining.

Stories that we tell again and again in different ways, in different forms. Repeated. Again and again. Fuck and fuck and fuck. Stories that have no basis in reality, read to us from the moment we can hear. Before we can even speak we are surrounded with repeated stories. The facts of life are permanently imprinted with the fancies of lies, and we believe in that which is not. We believe in forbidden love coming to be, we believe in overcoming adversity and we believe wonders beyond imagining simply lay around the bend.

What is innovation if it is not turning a lie into truth? A story heard or told in ones mind of something which is not; repeated again and again until actuality is a matter of course compared to the certainty of that lie behind the eyes.

Because we can tell stories and lie to ourselves and to others we can dream of more than what is, we can dream of that which is not.

You may have a heartbeat, you may breathe, eat and function, but unless you lie to yourself and convince that which is not, can be, you do not live. Keep your fucking heart to fridge. Iceberg. Throw, remove and destroyed.

Sadness can sometimes be a pleasant emotion to feel — can brings inspiration — makes feel alive. Don’t drown in your sadness, stranger, swim in it. All the positive things just left. The cuddles and the late night conversations. The love. The hope. The connection. What now, stranger? I'm stronger enough.

I am be(lie)ve.


Things that are true and I can believe things that aren’t true and I can believe things where nobody knows if they’re true or not….
I believe that mankind’s destiny lies in the stars.
I believe that candy really did taste better when I was a kid, that it’s aerodynamically impossible for a bumblebee to fly, that light is a wave and a particle, that there’s a cat in a box somewhere who’s alive and dead at the same time… and that there are stars in the universe billions of years older than the universe itself.
I believe in a personal god who cares about me and worries and oversees everything I do.
I believe in an impersonal god who set the universe in motion and went off to hang with her girlfriends and doesn’t even know that I’m alive.
I believe in an empty and godless universe of casual chaos, background noise, and sheer blind luck.
I believe that anyone who says that sex is overrated just hasn't done it properly.
I believe that anyone who claims to know what’s going on will lie about the little things too.
I believe in absolute honesty and sensible social lies.
I believe in a woman’s right to choose, a baby’s right to live, that while all human life is sacred there’s nothing wrong with the death penalty if you can trust the legal system implicitly, and that no one but a moron would ever trust the legal system.
I believe that life is a game, that life is a joke, and that life is what happens when you’re alive and that you might as well lie back and enjoy it.

See More. Hear More. Think More.


Most of the time I'm doing just fine. My life is balanced. I do what I loves. Of course there are insecurities and uncertainties, but it wouldn’t be life if I'm free from all doubt. I've an air of confidence about me. Many people hide their eyes from the world. Scared that people will be able to look straight in their soul, brain, heart and see all that is hidden in there. All the regrets, all the embarrassing moments, the disturbing fantasies. I looks people in the eyes like I've nothing to hide. I looks people in the eyes as if I've no past. The intensity in my eyes puts people off. They look away. People don’t just hide their eyes to hide their soul, they also don’t want to see into some stranger’s soul, scared of the unknown. What would they see if they did? Other people’s problems, doubts, fears. Their own soul is already more than they can handle. I don’t know and I don’t cares, my soul is out there either way. Are you as strong as you seem, stranger?

Goodbye, random people.


She still thinks about him a lot. They never said goodbye, they just stopped talking. That’s how she knows it is a permanent goodbye. Permanent goodbyes are rarely said out loud and almost never explained. They just are. He knew, and so did she, that they couldn’t be friends anymore after what happened. But that doesn’t mean she is at peace with it. She misses him. The way he could make her laugh and think. The way he could make her do things she would normally be too scared to do. Together they would get in all kinds of trouble. Good trouble, the kind of trouble that makes you feel alive. Now that side of her is gone. The worst thing is that he doesn’t seem to care, it looks like he is just going on with his life, like nothing of any significance happened. That hurts her more than not seeing him anymore. If only she would know he cares too, that he suffers too. But they don’t talk so she will never know. Maybe to him it looks as if you are going on with your life like nothing happened too, stranger.

Her future is so open, so undefined, so unlimited. Nothing is decided yet, she can still do everything, choose everything, go everywhere. It is excited to know her story is still incomplete, that the ending is not yet determined. At the same time it is scary, if your life can go everywhere it can also go to a dark, sad place. Sometimes she wishes it was all behind her, her whole exciting, open future. There are moments she can’t wait for her undetermined, unlimited, mysterious future to become her amazing, adventurous past. To be old, to look back at her life, to enjoy it, to know the future is safe behind her, that’s a feeling she longs for. Now she has to make it, that amazing, adventurous past, and she is not sure if she has the courage, the strength to do it. She has no idea how she wants to go about it, about making her past, but she knows she has to do it. And you will do it, stranger, just take your time. Your past will probably be long.