new year

entering 2011 with renewed determinations. tic toc of the clock keeps ticking. distant stars keep shining. new year is coming. another milestone. marking the moment we blacken the pages in the books of our lives. with lessons.

last night i walked the historic distric of capitol hill on the new year's eve. national mall. passing by the neighbourhood where the solemnness of january icy night resides. my thoughts were mainly of a face and a name. and at times, of reflection of lamplights once seen from across the bridge in inverness scotland. a strange fragmented combination of thoughts. in two hours of stroll at night, dc offered me space and silence. no firework. no trumpet. no loud music. no jubilation. no camera flash. no giggles. no traffic. just stars, ducks, frozen pond, and heartbeats of the moon.

a small groups of people sitting on the staircase of lincoln memorial hall. holding in their hands a drink or two, which the security guards later took from them due to the respect and courtesy to the heroes in memoriam.

i saw a merry couple wedded in the first minutes of the new year's eve. only a small number of guests were present. a priest. and an accoustic guitar. what a timing for a wedding. when the night was dark and air piercingly cold. midnight and twinkling red lights on the top of washington monument obelisk were their witnesses.

jakarta celebrated the new year's eve twelve hours ahead of me. twelve hours that separated us in two different numbers of years.

bismillah, 2011 is coming in. and with steadfastness it brings within, i will keep on walking.

once a jolly swagman...

along the harrington street, further down the australian avenue,to reach sydney harbour and the opera quay. still impressed by the street lamps at night. i walked on...

"who'll come a-waltzing matilda with me?"

white mug

this is but me and my simple rituals, which i perform tonight with a white mug, as i revisit this one-way street in jakarta city. cikini.

i came in; and they nodded.

they roasted the beans finer than they usually did,

and poured the strong result into a white mug.

seemed like they knew what i was coming for:

work until late,

right here, close to the window,

where you could see me,

and i could see you,

if you were a pedestrian.

i placed my devices on the round marble table,

and unrolled my earphones from its spiral box.

just by gazing into the white mug,

i could smell and absorb everything:

it contains essential elements of which inspirations are generously made.

i was also thinking of you,

who are perhaps not so keen to go out tonight.

because the forecast said it was about to rain.

it was probably only my guess:

but if i asked you,

directly or through the electronic device that you carried,

wouldn't your answer be ambiguous too?

so i took a pair of antique wooden chairs,

and let the white mug steaming,

blurring the window glass.

it sat unaccompanied

except by me

who was, like it, steaming,

and performing my simple rituals...

dark room

heeiiiysss mr mosquis, fly away from me plisss,
need some sleep right here; can't stand your buzzing noise.
i speak no chineze, and don't understand this,
so stop buggin' me with your itching kiss.

(and thizis what mr mosquis sez:)

"i aint comin' to bring ye a kiss,
let alone to converse in chineze.
'am here just to see ye freeze,
without blanket in the mornin' breeze."