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Mature Content
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Mature Content
as i walk by, i found my self lonely
and congeal word after word,
compile them into a random
series of meaningless.
I chose to walk alone
tread the gravel and shrubs,
that lie in the old books and
histories that can no longer touch
the time.
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please, don't ask about what I'm looking for
because I am no longer able to read
and could only sense every word
and meaning. my sensitivity swallowed
by the foolish solitude,
to force me to choose this path,
until the clock no longer ticking alone.
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where am i ?
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It's been quite sometimes i left DA, not that i loose my interest scrolling around any great photographer works here or no longer have a huge desire in photography. It's getting hard for me to stealing few minute of my time to log in here, basically my job keeps me busy all the time.
But i do have plans for my photography, this year i want to have a exhibition at my home town Surabaya-East Java (interested to be a curator, anyone?), and develops stronger portfolio to apply a scholarship. Later,
write me you favourite plaese!
hey guys,
it's been long time since my last journal. I just wanna let you know if this year i got opportunities to join with two exposition, one of my work selected as as part of 'What's Next?' - curated by Dazed's Jefferson Hack (Dazed and Confused) at Foam Gallery, Amsterdam. Also earlier this year, three of my works was shown in an exhibition call Tribute to Radiohead (Yogyakarta, Indonesia).
right now i wanna start to build a strong portfolio but it's hard for me to gathered and arrange it so i need help..will you take a look my gallery and write me at least 10 of your favorite piece of mine, especially my self portrait...
thank you,
a very short story*
the rain comes when flowers are blooming,fulfill the grim night. yellow petals falling scattered, like a Persian rug, soaked, crushed, fused in the dark streets.
I danced, but her blue eyes aren't as sad as the stars by the end of time, a line of the song. though the legs moving with the rain, moaning in rhythm with the singer's husky female, she remained silent as park benches. "This is not a sentimental journey, then let me go ...".
Then flashes of color that burst by the children of the season, wound flick that melts at the end of the door of your heart. I want to enjoy it, cold in your solitude, but I'm sure that you're not the snow. Yo
nearly end...
it's only a week before my membership end. i will do the featured journal tomorrow since i'm too lazy to write short note (poem) right now. it'll be not just my membership nearly end, also i'll be officially graduated next week (the end of my six year study of Indonesian Literature...damn! i'm so stupid, it took six years for me to finish bachelor degree?! :D).
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Wonderful, dear