The Crisis, ComrART

Shall never resolve.

This has got to be awful. Anger in no place has ever really worked, at least never for you. Never did it occur to you in the confines of you four walls, nor will it ever when it is provoked within you.

Hell NO, not at all when you are sedated, half happy, half awake or slowly groggy close to midnight. People are fucking selfish, leave them alone in their own goddamn loneliness.

You’re extremely important. You matter. You are 100% as selfish as the bastard who can’t differentiate what he sees and what he felt.

This is awful, so incredibly awful. Now you are left again, in this pithole of creative crisis. Writer’s block. The circle of nothingness, all of us talk about.

Around the fire we start. What a bitch!

Lucky for me, I have started a new project, but that’s only lucky for me. You are terribly important for me, you are everything why I do what I have been doing. You are my spirit, fluttering on the edges of anger, because there’s something Lacan wrote about ego…which I was suppose to write about for my next post.

But now I can’t. On the day after my birthday this year, I woke up with a severe infection that felt explosive all over my neck. It was reddened like I had swollen an apple that choked my airways. I am thankful for this, in retrospect.

I started coughing continually, I had taken pain resistance before sleep and yet on my birthday, I enjoyed my favourite Javanese meal. Damn right, I fed the cat in me!

Because you are the reason I do this. I could cry while this words come out, I could cry the pain of being suddenly disabled, and good friends will say, that’s impossible. ‘Look, look, you’re doing it right now. Just keep going’

I hear you. You don’t get it. You can’t let them win. The writer will always question her pride. Her pride, especially, when she lack a whole sack of it, like grains of rice pouring out a hole she completely realise.

I’d like to believe everybody has a favourite here. After publishing Anna. O I had planned to write reaction papers because it became encouragingly evident to me that an open-sharing platform is necessary and beneficial. But after having fallen sick this past few days, and in my attempt to recover, I find myself slightly disorientated. The last prescription I’d need is motivation and criticism, because this is purely a garden. A playground. You take what you like, a bit of a tabloid if that’s how you deem fit.

Thankfully, I was sedated. I had a minor dental surgery performed earlier this week and I am resuming work (unwillingly) later today, although I secretly wish I am married off to a wealthy family where my deceased husband is a crazy rich aristocrat who does not give two hoots about saving the planet. All I have to do is take care of my skin, the size of my hips and live in the misery that no man will taste it against his…(I really have nothing to write anymore) Lol!

I apologise, and that comes off a bit half-hearted because I really am, feeling disorientated a little. The year did not start well, but everything else been alright. Large portions of (crazy) work is done, so that’s a bit of a fair news to share I suppose. Many moons has eased.

It is very true that sometimes, we have to lock ourselves up for 15 days and do the same monotonous job because some idiot, somewhere. I mean, if you ask me.

Since for a woman like me, even that idiot matters. I will just kill the next person who describes me a ‘Lady’

Guys. Come on.

So you kids take care now, and feel free to follow me on my IG handle: @merci_buku where I write all about books. No pressure. Just fun. Lots of it! (while you forgive me for being really slow with content over there)

You’re kind. You’re a magnificent being, on the verge of becoming an asshole, and then you’re awesome again! You enjoy your meals, you eat it like it is your last every day, because after this you’re meeting your friends. You’re constantly doing all the things you love, you’re a lucky person. You are living it! You love macabre, a bit of romance, a bit investigative, magic realism and you’re feeling alive, in full form. As a child out of its womb. And then, emptied again.