Daunn Hijau, Benang Merah

Me: I just experienced the point of marijuana influenced sense enhancement.



I was watching this scene, its still on first glimpse then a psychotic spastic movement catches your eye and you notice all the tiny million little details, subtle wind, gravity, flower ripples on water. Everything else. Like people, and the whole frame just saturated in front of me.


Me: I am a pothead.

You: Have there been very many successful potheads?

M: I cant seem to get my head in order.

Y: Something productive?

M: no, I think I’ll just sit here, watch it all pass by.


Here! Here are my quips and quirks! My quips and quirks silenced by the sight of an orange and black hummingbird.


M: Nooow I get it.

Y: Get what?

M: Henry millers stand still like the hummingbird.

Y: What about it?


Wait I jumped the gun, I got the two ends without finding the string between them first.


M: Everything is still until you glimpse the hummingbird.

Y: What the fuck does that have to do with the book?


We are a new generation of aimless wanderers, we cant find this invisible guide, the pocketbook to life, we fuck around, we deconstruct our features and it all just becomes one big blurry fleshy mess, our cultures cross and clash, we swing back and forth between extremities, we are the carnival, we wanna hang on, we get so dizzy, vomit and say; it was the best goddamn adrenalin rush of our lives.

I would love to orchestrate conversations. I would have fun with puns and go wild with rhymes. Wild with fever, wild like the phantom cat, alliteration and how certain characters look good when grouped together, NKLM, XR. Random orchestrated conversations. So there’s no point to it all, but the words look good, sound good. The beats, the timing, playing god.


S: If you had to fuck one guy, throughout all time. who would you do.

X: ……

X: Jesus

S: wtf.

X: well, if there ever was a guy who could make me cum, it’d be Jesus…right??

X: i’d be like…aaaaAAAHHHAAALLLELLULAHHH.

S: that is so sacriligious.

X: yeah. sorry.

(beat)

S: he’d taste of beard.

S: or bread.

X: beard. bread. wine and fish.





What is the point to any conversation under the influence of drugs? You talk and talk and you’re both like, what the fuck? What the fuck is going on? Hey, what were we talking about again? You tell a story, udah panjang lebar, going off on tangents, then you lull, circle back to, what was I saying again? the point is laughter. Conclusion in all it’s simplicity. It’s the zenith. It’s the point to what you’re saying. It’s the euphoria of connecting with someone else who’s equally fucked.