My Rendition of Guy Fawkes Commemoration

 

I thought it’s the very same gunpowder attack we plotted. The relentless dream about exploding the unseen barricades of reluctance, the only thing separated us from the plateau. I thought it was.

I thought we shared the same idea about bringing down The Houses of Parliament with all those filthy infidels inside. I remember the 18 hundredweight we smuggled and hid by the bank of Thames. I can barely forget how our leather robes covered by the smells of sulfur and phosphate.

…and now, here i am finding myself locked and beaten in The Tower of London.

“The act of treason,” the judges verdicted. Since I didn’t know anything about their definition of treason, I gave them no objection. It was an in absentia hearing court, the one they held without my presence. What could I do to defend meself? Noth’n

I don’t have to be reassured, it’s an olde-english style death penalty: hanged, drawn, and quartered. Am I objected? It seems that I don’t even have the right to object. I am always the monotonic third best, I don’t have any right at all.

As much as it bears resemblance with Wallace and The Bruces, I refuse to be hanged, drawn, and quartered. When I stand before the tormentors tomorrow morning, I will jump from the gallows and break my neck so I can have a glorious beautiful death.

You may start chanting the condemnation rhymes while building the bonfires and firecrackers.

Remember, remember the thirtieth of October,

The gunpowder treason and plot,

I know of no reason

Why the gunpowder treason

Should ever be forgot

 

Pangeran

Kredo Diri

Untuk dapat diteliti dan dizalimi

Untuk dapat dilihat dan didamprat

Untuk dapat dielus dan digerus

Untuk dapat dilempar dan ditampar

Untuk dapat dijarah dan diperah

Untuk dapat disangrai dan dibantai

Untuk dapat dikawan dan ditawan

Untuk dapat dihujam dan dirajam

Untuk dapat ditindas dan dipelas

Untuk dapat dibaca seperti Calzoum merapal mantera

Aku harus dibebaskan dari belenggu makna yang mengkungkungku.

A Personal Pan Pizza with Extra Cheese

Cheesy, you are. Always. And that’s a compliment. Because you always add flavor when everything is plain and tasteless. Your yellow mellow saltiness is oftenly overlooked, like it’s a most common thing beneath every living heart. Let me tell you, it is not.

As you acknowledge, late-night pizza is always the best. Any topping will be enlarged by the spine-chilling ambiance. Pepperonis are redder, sausages are juicier, pineapples are sweeter, the crust is crispier, and the cheese is way deeper than you think it is.

Twice in 3 days.

Now that’s a record.

Jam Malam

Bulan tidak bersinar malam ini

Jalanan lengang

Sunyi sekali

Ada yang memberlakukan jam malam

Sudah pasti

Dan aku melihat puluhan serdadu berpatroli

Hilir mudik

Kesana kemari

Lampu tembak yang memancar ke sudut tergelap

Blokade di ujung jalan

Barikade kawat berduri

Tumpukan karung pasir

Panser berkarat yang parkir di belakang

Siaga satu semua

Siaga satu

Konon ada yang mati malam ini

Satu jam

Dua jam

Tiga jam

Empat jam

Lima jam

Sirene meraung-raung

Langkah kaki berderap

Bedil menyalak

Pelor tersentak

Itu dia

Dia tertangkap

Sementara dalam bunker

Dengan baget yang mengeras

Keju yang memalu

Dan susu yang membeku

Aku terpaksa menghisap sari pati kehidupan

Ini sudah pukul dua

Ayo katakan aku harus apa

Menjual Sensasi ala TV One

Oke, saya tidak tahan lagi. Persetan TV One dan jurnalisme sensasi yang menjadi ciri khas mereka.

Siaran langsung detik-detik terakhir Amrozi dkk yang menyebabkan mereka dibingkai sebagai pahlawan, pengulangan terus menerus siaran bom Marriott II yang jelas-jelas menimbulkan keresahan, dan sekarang, siaran langsung prosesi ijab kabul putri Mbah Surip di hadapan jenazah ayahnya.

Apa-apaan?

Apa yang terjadi dengan nilai etika dan kemanusiaan? Apa yang terjadi dengan moral? Apa yang terjadi dengan nurani? Dengan alasan apa pun, termasuk nilai berita (news value), kejadian seperti prosesi nikah putri Mbah Surip di atas tidak, sekali lagi, tidak seharusnya disiarkan langsung.

Taruhlah saudara Karni Ilyas memiliki putri yang belum menikah. Jikalau saudara meninggal nanti dan putri anda hendak menikah di hadapan jenazah ayahnya, apakah elok jika upacara tersebut diliput langsung oleh TV nasional?

Pada kasus ini, motif utama sudah pasti rating yang berujung kerukan Rupiah. Etika dikesampingkan, profit dikedepankan, dan seperti yang sudah-sudah sensasi dijadikan jualan.

Kotak hitam laknat.

Saya sudah berikrar tidak akan menyentuh dunia televisi.

Camp Now Para La Orenoja

This is the year of 2009, but I feel like I’m standing in Camp Nou. My own Camp Nou. Because it’s in the present, should I call it Camp Now? The Catalans wouldn’t be too upset, I think.

As I gaze around the joint, there are the Lancastrians on one side and zee Germans on the other. Eww, grey and burgundy is never a good combo. It looks like you spilled some Cabernet Sauvignon on a French knicker which hasn’t been washed for 3 years.

I just can’t get my eyes off La Orejona. The best damned thing in the universe. With all the colorful ribbons tied to the both ears, it’s simply amazing, irresistable, and, oh, Pier Savalas has blown the whistle. Gotta pay attention to this.

I can see with my bare eyes the ghost of Clive Tyldesley roaming around the colliseum. I know him from the showdown 10 years ago. He’s aging, I can tell by his appearance but it doesn’t weaken his verbal skills. His commentary are still brilliant and tonight he will do what he does the best for me.

For the next hour and half, I already know the outcome. Suppressed by the marauding Germans. Zee Germans. I have no desire to explain the details, so I fast-forward it to the dying minutes.

The Lancastrians are praying to the sky. A real nail-biting moment for them. Just after The Big Great Dane comes upfront, my mate Clive delivers his famous remark, only this time he dedicate it to me.

“Can Il Principe score? He always scores.”

The next second, Camp Now erupts.

It’s not Teddy, it’s Timey.

Clive continues his verbal rally by declaring, “Name on the trophy!”

I feel a goosebump behind my neck like I didn’t know any shit about what would happen.

Clive Tyldesley embraces me and ask, “What must Lothar Matthaus be thinking?”

I stand in silence. He latter adds, “Well, with the greatest respect, who cares?”

And I say, “Name on the trophy”.

Friday Bloody Friday – sinistro

Dua hari sebelum kedatangan Manchester United ke Jakarta, 2 bom meledak di JW Marriott dan Ritz-Carlton, Kuningan. Hanya dua hari sebelum. Great.

Kesampingkan Manchester United. Pada titik ini, saya tidak peduli lagi.

Apa yang bisa kalian bapak-bapak bersafari yang terhormat lakukan selain menculik mahasiswa, aktivis buruh, dan tani?

Friday Bloody Friday – dextro

Tadi sore (18/7) saya melihat ribuan lembar tiket MU vs Indonesia All Stars yang sedianya dibagikan kepada para pembeli via United Indonesia pada hari Sabtu ini.

Kecewa.

Tentu saja.

Apa yang bisa saya lakukan?

Tertawa.

Tentu saja.

Photo by: Muh. Septiansyah of United Indonesia

Konklusi Delapan Juli

Isu neoliberal. Gagal.

Isu privatisasi. Gagal.

Kisruh BLT. Gagal.

Jawa-Jawa. Gagal.

Boediono antek IMF & World Bank. Gagal.

Boediono bukan kader partai. Gagal.

Carut marut DPT. Gagal.

Menganulir amandemen UUD 1945. Gagal

Fitnah istri Boediono. Gagal.

Eksploitasi Ruhut Sitompul. Gagal.

Eksploitasi Andi Malarangeng. Gagal.

Bahkan…..

Eksploitasi sihir pun…..gagal.

Sudah kubilang, tak usah capek-capek kau perkarakan itu neoliberalisme atau akidah kebarat-baratan. Mereka tak mengerti. Mereka tak peduli.

Konklusi Delapan Juli:

Megawati & Prabowo menang iklan.

JK menang debat.

SBY menang pemilu.

Mengibakan karena dengan performa luar biasa sang saudagar di arena debat, ia pantas mendapatkan lebih dari 9 atau 10 % suara.

Sekarang, Partai Demokrat dan barisan partai koalisi di belakangnya bisa tersenyum simpul seperti praktisi dunia sihir di bawah ini.

A Colonel Named Sanders

“What does God look like, and what does He do?”
“Don’t ask me. God’s God. He’s everywhere, watchng what we do, judging whether it’s good or bad.”
“Sounds like a soccer referee.”
“Sort of, i guess.”

“So God wears shorts, has a whistle sticking out of His mouth, and keeps an eye on the clock?”
“You know that’s not what i mean,” Hoshino said.

“Are the Japanese God and the foreign God relatives, or maybe enemies?”
“How should i know?”

“Listen – God only exists in people’s minds. Especially in Japan, God’s always been kind of a flexible concept. Look at what happened after the war. Douglas MacArthur ordered the divine emperor to quit being God, and he did, making a speech saying he was just an ordinary person. So after 1946 he wasn’t God anymore. That’s what Japanese Gods are like – they can be tweaked and adjusted. Some American chomping on a cheap pipe gives the order and presto change-o – God’s no longer God. A very postmodern kind of thing. If you think God’s there, He is. If you dont, He isn’t. And if that’s what God’s like, i wouldn’t worry about it.”

Stunned in amazement, i was. Here’s my quick resolution: I will try converse with cats.