the mad napper

i post my poems, snaps, rants, opinions, fanfics, and a piece of myself

[amortentiaaltin]

My Dearest Calendula,

In the hollows of a Cimmerian December, as I was taken captive by soulless apparitions, Apollo breathed a prophecy into my benumbed conscience, “A bloom of my divine hue shall come to your salvation. It shall grow on the soil of trampled mildew, embarking your foretold era of recuperation.”

Calendula, I took an oath on the Styx to elude Eros’ arrows with all my might. Yet you permeated into my veins, invigorating the sole essence of humanity I left to wither as though it never quivered. I wished to curse your vines for breaching into my innermost lairs, pumping more than blood to color ivory shells, thus reawakening the pulsating aria I thought I had buried for milleniums to come.

As I first entered your gardens, I was Icarus all over again, Calendula. But this time he soared so low he willingly drowned himself, all for his fear of being touched by the sun. He would rather die a speculated death than elevate so high he wouldn’t know when his wings would falter and fail him.

Yet I witnessed your wonders, thus chose to breathe into the misty spring that came with your buds, knowing full well pollen will nestle in my fauces. You were all shades of Apollo’s sun, but my orbs perceived you first as tangerine and merigold. Luminous and brilliant; soothing and benevolent. Your petals possess aeons of enigmatic contemplation. You are beauty and sincerity, one I wished to put in a porcelain vase beside my bed, but knew better than to imprison you dead.

And all I knew, he was right; your bloom declared the restoration of my last decay.

[January 21, 2021]

[amortentiaaltin]

Her mother once said, “I know you. You feel things deeper than most people. You always give your best in everything you do. When you love, you love hard. But right now you can’t do that. Right now you have to protect yourself.”

She nodded. And she promised to keep her walls up until she can be sure of everything. Cause that’s what a poet does; when they love, they love harder than everyone else.

[amortentiaaltin]

[8 september 2018]

apparently her senses had overseen everything, thus prepared her for the worst.

—amortentiaaltin, an excerpt of her old poems written in distress.

[amortentiaaltin]

Nanti

Nantinya kamu akan keluar. Duniamu takkan lagi sebatas melahap buku pelajaran dan pencapaian terbesarmu bukan lagi sebatas peringkat kelas. Kau akan belajar bahwa metamorfosis—yang puluhan kali kau baca dalam buku pengetahuan—bukan hanya diperuntukkan bagi kaum lepidoptera. Manusia juga, dan kau takkan pernah menyangka metamorfosismu sendiri. Kau takkan pernah percaya jika kukata inilah dirimu enam tahun mendatang.

Pencapaian dan kegagalanmu akan jadi begitu rancu, hingga di suatu titik, kebanggaan terbesarmu bukan lagi sesuatu yang bisa diukur pemeringkatan.

Pencapaian terbesarmu nanti adalah kemampuanmu untuk pulih, kembali memantik api dalam dirimu setelah jatuh begitu dalam. Pencapaian terbesarmu juga kemampuanmu untuk menjaga diri; raga dan rasa. Kau yang masih begitu bahagia dan optimis justru dipandang sebagai kelemahan oleh dirimu enam tahun mendatang. Kau takkan suka bagian ini. Kau berhenti terlalu berharap, menggebu-gebu, dan mendambakan takdir. Mimpi digantikan ambisi. Harap digantikan usaha. Ceria berkepanjangan digantikan waswas, siap sedia menyongsong badai berikutnya.

Tapi kau akan suka bagian ini; kau jadi tangguh. Melihat dunia dari jutaan sisi, menempatkan diri di posisi terbaik, memanfaatkan segala kesempatan. Enam tahun, kau seakan orang yang berbeda, tapi juga sama. Dan kau pasti menikmatinya.

—catatan untuk diriku usia dua belas tahun.

[amortentiaaltin]

I was Orpheus—when you still had me—delving through the lips of Tartarus to save his beloved Eurydice; you.

Orpheus sang and wrote of his lost love to his deathbed, but fool did not bestow upon me. As today and millenniums to come, I shall not lift one sole finger upon your havoc.

[April 26, 2020]

[amortentiaaltin]

i had fun editing this

[amortentiaaltin]

To Oliver,

As we grow older, you have not ceased to haunt my innermost fortress I built of ruins and ashes of that summer in 1987. Here I made you a playlist, as letters and phone calls are too much a remainder of our little clandestine. A favorable calamity I shall save for another reminiscence. Assuming your taste in music never altered much, I know you’ll be fond of this. A three-hour worth of songs to bring you back to Bordighera and perhaps, Monet’s Berm? I hope you think of me.

Yours faithfully,

Elio Perlman.

[amortentiaaltin]

Puisi lama waktu aku masih muda. Sudah lupa ini berkonsep apa. Kalau menulis aku kan mabuk. Baiklah kutitip sini.

Biar lembayung yang jadi saksi

akan kisah tak terujar perihal

sang pujangga dan sang pelantun,

lidah mereka berucap

dua bahasa berbeda.

Mulanya mengamini koneksi,

kini terpaut dimensi

tak kasat netra namun mematri

jarak antar melodi dan puisi.

[amortentiaaltin]

Renung

Aku secinta itu merenung dan berpikir. Sampai aku bisa frustasi jika waktu merenungku dikurangi. Seakan candu, berkontemplasi perihal seberapa banyak yang telah aku kecap, sekaligus seberapa luas yang masih belum kujajaki dalam tujuhbelas tahun pengabdianku pada bentala ini.

buku: Call Me by Your Name, yang mana kujumpa terlalu banyak kesamaan diriku dengan Elio

[amortentiaaltin]

A Reflection

This truly hits my realization. During childhood and early teens, when it comes to choosing, we are most often provided with apparent guidance.

“If you don’t take a nap, you’re not allowed to play outside. If you don’t study, you’ll fail.”

As simple as that.

But the lines get fainter by the years. Life will confuse the hell out of you. Both choices will almost be as equally painful. You can always try harder, chase further, and believing that it is right to fight for the things you deem important.

“I’m a fighter, I won’t give up on this,” you might one day say. That, despite hurting furiously. Your judgement will get even worse when clouded with emotions. But is it the wisest to continue fighting? How can you tell?

Or you can let go. You can stop pursuing an unprospective career you’ve always dreamt of ever since you were in diapers. You can cut ties with families and friends that no longer contribute to your well-being—mentally and physically. You can end that toxic relationship that you hold onto for dear life—thinking you’d never live through without them by your side.

No one can truly help you decide now. Each turn has its own perks and pains. How do you know you’re choosing right before you stumble into your despair?

[amortentiaaltin]

A biography of a character I made for a school play. It’s oddly exciting. Probably will make stuff like this again.

Name: Drusilla Angelova

Origin: Bulgarian-French

Born: Massachusetts , 29 February 1686

Age: 47

Personality: Very intellectual (would definitely be a Ravenclaw), book-smart but low EQ and SQ (that’s why Abadon could manipulate her), suffered from PTSD-anxiety-depression as a child (no longer shows now), extremely devoted, a kind soul with the worst luck and all the wrong paths.

Early Life: The daughter of a very eccentric woman who was raped in her early 20s. Her mother was mentally troubled, suffering from Dissociative Identity Disorder. Young Drusilla couldn’t understand the concept of DID, often confused why sometimes her mother is very doting and caring, yet other times extremely violent to her. But she was a good mother to Drusilla in her better days and Drusilla’s innocent soul loved her so much. DID hadn’t been studied yet at that time and when the Salem Witch Trial occured in February 1692, before Drusilla even turned 6, the villagers took her mother away in assumption of witchcraft. After witnessing her mother burnt alive, young Drusilla suffered from severe PTSD and wandered from foster houses to another. None of her foster parents could keep her for too long due to her constant night terror-attacks and severe behavior problems. Until one day her last foster parents sent her to St. Peter’s school in hope of fixing her condition.

At St. Peter’s: Her PTSD didn’t get much better but she soon developed interest in subjects that are a bit more bizzare such as arithmancy and alchemy. Those two subjects were often associated with witchcraft and despite being traumatized, she was determined to prove that her mother had nothing to do with witchcraft. Her exceptional excellence and gloomy demeanor soon caught the interest of Priest Damian (Abadon—Lord of the Underworld— in disguise). Aside from selecting future mates and hosts, Abadon was also fond of discovering talented people who could become his loyal servant. He then started to enchant her, taking advantage of her grudge and her curious nature, promising to reveal everything she wanted to know about her mother. After she finally came into terms that devils existed and who Abadon really was, he ‘summoned’ her mother’s spirit, tricking her into believing that her mother had secretly been serving Abadon her whole life and wanted her daughter to succeed her as Abadon’s loyal servant. Blinded by her love for her mother, she complied. After graduating from St. Peter, having nowhere else to go and nothing else to live but for Abadon’s sake, she gratefully became a nurse there and began her life as the ritual master.

[4 Jan, 2020]

[amortentiaaltin]

Sembilan Nyawa

Sedari awal, yang terpikir bagiku adalah, aku harus punya sebanyak-banyaknya hidup di luar kau. Bisik janggal perihal sinyal merah untukmu sudah membisingi benak dari hari satu. Seolah berkata, “Awas, yang ini fana.”

Kuputuskan kau tidak boleh jadi duniaku. Kau harus sekedar unsur komplemen, yang ada tidaknya dapat ditambal komplemen lain. Utuhnya aku, ya hanya aku.

Maka kukoleksi lah sembilan nyawa.

Satu; sang hamba dari Yang Mutlak, yang mana embuskan segala napas.

Dua; sang penulis berangan angkasa, yang torehan katanya mumpuni bangun dunianya sendiri.

Tiga; sang peneguk ilmu yang bersorak pada gemersik buku.

Empat; sang kawan bermandi gelak, di tengah riuh kerumun khalayak.

Lima; sang pendebat telak, bermain gertak dan makna tanpa koyak.

Enam; sang putri rumahnya sendiri, atas afeksi yang terkucur dalam nadi.

Tujuh; sang pemikir setajam karang, menenggak konspirasi dan segala di atas ranah akal manusia.

Delapan; diriku yang utuh telanjang, yang mana hanya aku sendiri kenal, tak terambah manusia manapun.

Dan sembilan; secuil yang kusisihkan untukmu. Untuk cinta yang humanisnya mudah sirna. Terlebih kau. Insani sampai ke akar. Eros murni, nihil agape.

Dan benar, seperti tubuh berdenyut lainnya, kau pun tidak konstan. Berubah mengiring hidup. Maaf tidak terdengar altruistis, tapi aku sudah persiapkan segalanya.

Perginya kau tak koyakkan apapun.

[March 31, 2020]

[amortentiaaltin]

Lacrimalis

Sistem kelenjar manusia itu hebat ya? Rasanya aku tak minum sebanyak itu, tapi kelenjar air mataku sanggup berproduksi tiada batas tahun ini. Semoga tahun depan ia istirahat, sayang kalau rusak tidak ada donornya.

[31 Desember 2018]

[amortentiaaltin]

Kiwi

Aku masih tersenyum tiap kali menyantap buah kiwi. Sebab aku ingat rasanya; pada hari itu aku menangis sampai tangan kaki terkulai kaku dan lidahku kebas. Sore itu aku berjuang menyuap potongan kiwi yang sejak dulu kugilai dengan kepayahan. Tanganku gemetar hebat, penciumanku tersumpal, dan indera pengecapku mati total.

Setidaknya hari itu aku belajar bahwa menangis dengan sangat dahsyat mampu melumpuhkan fungsi indera. Tubuh manusia memang menakjubkan, bisa sesinkron itu dengan jiwa yang sedang rusak. Aku pun ingat bagaimana—pada hari itu—buah kiwi yang hambar tetap kujejal ke dalam mulut. Berharap suatu hari lidahku akan berhenti kebas dan kembali kecap rasa asamnya yang khas.

—Sepotong kisah ‘suatu hari’ yang takzimnya menjelma hari ini.

[24 Sep, 2019]

[amortentiaaltin]

Pendar lampu temaram, sambil menulis aku menyesap senja. Melambungkan angan setinggi angkasa, sayang ia berhenti dan binasa.

Bukan perihal hati redam, tapi soal ketukan palu realita. Kutanya pada angin barat, masihkah aku yang ia damba?

Hendak kutunggu satu milenia, barangkali jawab bersemayam dalam kelam. Sebab tuan yang kucerita, masih hadir dalam butanya mimpi malam.

Racikan aneh yang diseduh benak, meski telah kucoba lupakan. Bayangnya, tak kunjung kandas.

[Maret, 2018]

Begini, ini tulisanku dua tahun lalu, waktu masih punya hati. Sekarang geli sendiri membacanya lagi. Tapi kupikir lucu juga. Baiklah kita titipkan sini saja.

[amortentiaaltin]

Aku Paling Hidup Saat Mati Rasa

Sore itu, aku yang jauh diluluh lirik

ketimbang nada tersontak girang.

Sebab kujumpa juga larik

perihal konsep yang

telah lama beranak-pinak dalam benak.

“Mengapa takut pada lara?

Sementara semua rasa bisa kita cipta.”

Membuang sedikit manusia dariku,

aku merasa terkuat saat mati rasa.

Aku ini merpati bebas!

Tak rela dibelenggu asa,

dijangkar lara,

dipasung renjana.

Aku setengah berharap

tak akan pernah jatuh cinta.

Setengah,

setengahnya lagi hidup di pelataran awan.

Mendamba Andromeda sedang

baik suasana hatinya.

Barangkali sudi turunkan

pujangga berakal emas berjiwa mawas.

[Jan 7, 2020]

[amortentiaaltin]

Lagi-Lagi Paradoks

Bukankah hidup sungguh separadoks itu? Bagaimana mungkin pengalaman yang paling torehkan luka bisa sekaligus jadi alasanmu bersujud syukur hari ini? Alih-alih mengutuk takdir seperti dulu, yang kau dengungkan kini seribu terima kasih karena telah dibiarkan alami begitu. Sungguh hidup yang paradoksal; akupun yang terlalu sibuk mengagumi kompleksitas hidup manusia, terkadang lupa aku sendiri manusia.

[Oct 10, 2019]