Another Matter

Real/Unreal : Nothing in particular

It’s always be nice, you know. Lying yourself on the warm and puffy coach pretending there’s nothing to do, or at least not now. Nor I know what I’m exactly doing here. Read some pages of Borges, listening to new tracks from KT Tunstall. In short, nothing in particular, yet it never matter. What’s matter after all?

The line between past, present, and future is so thin even to see. How my ‘now’ intoxicated by the future anxiety as well as the past unfinished discovery. Everything’s entangled to one another till I barely know who I am and what I’m doing now. Is it even matter? What a fool question!

But there always be something in the essence of question. Like a quest wishing to be found through the shovel of yours, digging to the buried fact of ours, waiting to shock you with something or even nothing. To find an answer, whatever it is, is always been pleasing. Like it’s an end and no need to search another one.

They say beginning is staggering and ending disappointing. Not really understand what it does mean, I just keep on drinking the ice tea on my table. For it is the only real thing beside the discourses between ‘now’ and ‘utter-now’. Good God, what’s the matter with all of you? What is real is real though people say it is unreal. If we are the fool, then why don’t we become a happy fool? As ‘happiness’ is also real, just like the ‘fool’.

I’m still in the corner of this place and watching, silently to everyone. A romantic couple seems so happy talking to each other. Another four people beside me divided into two groups. I am alone, you might say that for in number I am just one. You could say that I am single as I have no one accompanying me in this warm place. Say it all, the things you want to say, but whatever you say about me is not me. Even ‘me’ can not consist the whole ‘me’. But I am not whatever you, we, they, I, she, he, and everybody say. I am out of everything for I am real.