The Meson

He was never an average little boy.

His eyes shining fiercely, pupils gleaming of being so excited in watching the world around. It was just 10 AM that he sneaked already inside the Great Library of The City, no one but he himself and God know how on Earth could he sneaked in, with such limp, and crippled body.

Yes he was a crippled young boy with a heart full of tons of desire to learn.

He read everything.

Mathematics, geography, old newspapers, new newspaper, Les Miserables, The Illiad, Mathematical Physics, Physics, biology, evolution, econometry, philosophy, history, advertisement...

And he could see beautiful patterns.

He could see things he could not share with anybody else nor could anybody understand. He could see the star, twinkling up high in the sky, signaled him that the dual and and its dual of one of their forms had met somewhere in the Western continent.

The Inventor was playing his game on them.

Far outside the window, right at the place where the boy sat...

People could see such an eye of a mesonic blizzard was drifting around the boy.

It was the year of 1947, a night that gave everyone who accidentally stared at the window of the library where the boy sat, such a mystical goosebump.

Wine Toasting at Gare de Lyon

Some say that even the sweetness of such cake could not erase the bitterness in a memory one once had.

Some could not believe the fact that The Cook who created such feminine cake was a fine, masculine man.

But anyone could not be less agree that the cake should have been made by love.

In his spare times, Prince Brilliant Bedlizst from The Land of Opylus loved to visit the Real World, The Earth.

It might seem to be not much of a coincidence that his feet were landed upon The Land of Paris.

He was always happened to love the Race of Homo Sapiens. Particularly in Paris, where he could see many beautiful faces, both of masculine and feminine genres, hurried here, hurried there amidst the business of The City that Never Sleeps, where a job such as professional waitress could earn ones piles of money.

But what captured his eyes the most was an old, wary, but friendly-looking building around the corner.

It said Rogue Cafe de Paris on the hanging above its front door.

And the Prince saw some most beautiful cakes, gateauxes, mille feuille, profiteroles-layered banana flambe,and numerous cookies he had never tasted before, displayed appealingly at its window.

The Prince, with such a gentle, sharp black eyes, auburn hair, and porcelain skin as such magnificent Roman Gods wearing a long robe it looked as though he just stepped out of Armanni, was of course let go inside even by the Cafe's fiercest guard.

The Prince,of whom by any ordinary Earth men and women would have been thought to be around 20 years old instead of his true age-58 years old-which was relatively young in term of his world-was thought to be some rich young man who came around the cafe's kitchen to observe how they prepare everything. And it was hoped that he might shall be interested in investing in the future,there thought the cafe's manager who always had such thought everytime the cafe was visited by some fine-looking man; signaling the guard to let The Prince entered the Cafe's kitchen.

Who made those cakes?The Prince pointed at the display window.

The Chef is him, Sir, the Guard answered, referring to a black-haired tall, slender guy behind the pantries.

The guy turned over.

The Prince stared back at him.

Ordinary Earth men and women couldn't tell their similarity.

But for each two young men now eye to eye, they saw themselves looking at their own shadows as if they looked inside the mirror.

The Girl in The Greenhouse

Anthony Markovya Brownsimova. Eyes were blue as the bright noon sky, hair was shining goldly beneath the sunlight. Once wanting to become a ballerina, it turned out that indeed, paintings and planting were her true passion. Having obtained her degree in neuroscience and culinary, what remained during her days waiting for her graduate study enrollment were whole days long in the spacious greenhouse her father deliberately designed for her.

There were her favourite herbs inside: San Marzano tomatoes, rose bushes, floribundas, petunias, and on top of all crowns existed in the greenhouse... the grandifloras.

The Queen of all roses.

Anthony loved to do almost everything with them once the grandifloras blossomed each year. She could spend hours to paint, photograph, smell and string them up, make parfumes and essence out of them.

And she spoke to them, as though they were her little sisters.

She spoke to them since she was little since she first got acquaintance to them.

Of how she admired her brothers , Jo and Dave, so much.

Of how Jo was the one who sat at her back the first time she tried her legs on horseback riding.

Of how Dave always loved her so much he would ask her to skip their piano lesson with Miss Kirschenmeier some Wednesday afternoons, sneaked down the pantry took some cookies and savoured them up high the rare sycamore tree in the backyard down the family villa in Nantucket...

Of how miserable she felt once Dave had his first lover and Jo had his she was afraid she would not be their favourite girl anymore.

The greenhouse was a perfect shelter to escape the bad days.

Thus the lavenders were the ones comforting her with their fragrance; the dandelions amused her once their cloves flew the air filled with their smell of roots...

And as she took much out of them, she gave back her love, her passion, and her concerns, to nurture them with all joy and gratefulness, that she was given chance of doing such privilege. Particularly, to have her own greenhouse.

Joshev

Deep in the realm of the Golden Concretes, eyes barely could see what beyond the gloomy dusk was.It was a foggy twilight.

Joshev Rabin Brownsimov was of the second generation of the blood he inherited down from his grandfather, Ricardovich. His cold brown eyes gazed upon the crowded city landmark, his body felt so tired of today's three hours negotiation meeting. As what other white-collar bachelor usually did every tiresome night, he preferred to sip a glass of capuccino near the subway on his way home to his small albeit cozy enough apartment in the suburb area, sometimes along with his tablet when he thought he caught an idea to write. An idea soon being communicated to his supervisor, deliberately wasn't being talked to that he was really the First Hand upon where the company would fall to.

So there it went; being tested as an apprentice to his father, no matter how he already held a frozen 30 million dollars share he would be managing for the first quarter after he finishes his first six months apprentice, Joshev was undoubtedly underestimated and bullied by his seniors. All facility should he have as the Silver Spoon holder was taken away; all that left were a couch,a standard, middle-class old kitchen, and a small shower up in his apartment.

There were two options his father actually offered: the Right One, where he was supposed to be placed straight up the Director Board, where he would be treated as a Japanese Emperor in the era of Douglas Macarthur; visible but no power, all he would do be nodding to every decision they make. And maybe so do England and German kings.

The Left One, where he would scratch from the very grass root, with all the dramas within.

Having obtained his doctoral degree in Economics and Business, and his rich mathematic culture from Phillips Exeter Academy, nothing would stop Joshev to take the Left Option.

The Brief Synopsis of The Life of Arthur's

The knight with a horse's name was Arthur Levan Brownsimov. Grandson of Ricardovich and Brendamilikan from the Land of Russia.

Arthur had his father's smile. He had his mother's eyes. He was one of the reasons why The Brownsimov clan be called 'The Russian Sky Blue.' He inherited the sky blue, brilliant cast of eyes gene as sharply innocent as a Siberian Cat. With such golden hair and fine manner, he was the Man of The Dream for every woman saw him either in the news or occasional passing by.

Born as such already noble blood, so was his appetite. He would always born an equestrian.

His best friend since five years old was almost always been a horse. The first one was named Alexandra, a white Arabian dam. He straight fell in love with her the time he saw her shining mane, her slender legs, her fair fur and shady eyes. He asked his grandfather, Rodin, whom the mother of the horse belonged to. To own Alexandra.

Twelve years after their friendship together, Alexandra died and came Alexandra II.

He also owned Blizzard(a dark stallion), Rajesh(an Arab pure breed), Startroop... total 21 horses.

And his hobby bought him his life.

By the time his son, Charles, turned twelve... the same amount of year Alexandra left him...

He died, fallen down from the back of his horse, during a Fox Hunt.

On Captain Hook

What oh what the world would do without me...

As I see the transition between black and white

The clock stops tickling

The time remains so little

The hook and his smiling becomes astonishingly sweet

...That's when dreams become dreams within a dream takes shape as

r e a l i t y

The Broken Lazuardi

Is, is not, is, there said The Euclidean, guiding the stone geometers measured one of the side of a pentagon, a pentagon from a sapphire blue as the deepest ocean.

A lazuardi the geometer was making for The Queen. The Queen of the fairest in the Land of Opylus, skin as pale as the fairest candle, lips as red as San Marzano tomatoes, eyes as blue as the sapphire in his fist. Of whoever else he would not be willing to, nor able to, imagine of wearing such noble sapphire so fit she would . Those deep blue eyes were the most of the suite to become vicinal by what soon to become one sapphire lazuardi collar her eyes' blue.

Just one final touch, and in due course the following noon, shall the Land of Opylus witness a living painting of The Blue-Eyed Queen with her Blue-Eyed Collar.

Whilst men would stare at the Queen for his fairness and physical beauty; whilst ladies around her would glare, admire, and be jealous of her jewellery, the geometer could not but stare at what he always thought to see towards the Queen...anything but the inner soul of the lady inside.

The geometer could not help to finish the final touch of what always made his carving stunningly perfect. His joy. He could not gave his joy. Not this time.

For the lazuardi collar was a gift he shall present as her wedding jewel. With the man of her league, by her own choice, a man who not a single chance,in this world, would be him.

As much as he did not want to give a touch of grief for this present he should have carved with all his heart,as what he swore he would always do to all of his customers, however hard he tried, he could only pour in his lament.

... So there carved The Broken Lazuardi.

A sapphire twinkling tenderly, however fragile it might seem, which stayed The Most Beautiful Lazuardi ever made in the Land of Opylus,long,long time ago, shining brightly in the crowd beyond the Queen's dress, as a mark of how hard the geometer tried to let her go.

Pursue and caught what had to be her happiness in her own palm.

The Blind Man and The Jealous Hag

Once upon a time, the time somehow slowened since a rainbow shaped.

A blind man he was born, all he could see was all darkness and myths.

You are blind because you are sinner, hissed a hag full of jealousy of him for his ignorance in living life.

No, I am not. My pupils were only not shaping enough as my mother lacked of protein the time she bore me, the who so called ignorant man calmly explained. And drift away along with his crux, felt like he needed sometime to walk his legs.

You are already cursed before you were born! still the hag tried to intimidate him, behaving as worst than ever by the calamity of the man, of how he really didn't care about any annoyance towards him.

The man just never really thought about why he was born blind.

Anyhow, as he couldn't really explained it, somehow he could see colors. In his mind.

Gradual transition of how we perceive elementary particles. Quarks, as he read about them. And their clowder, now that's what he called it... The Rainbow.

He threw away a smile he couldn't see at the hag, wherever she was, pointing at arbitrary direction,

Just enjoy the Rainbow, Madame, said he humbly.

The Hag startled.

At the direction he pointed, there shaped gradually.

A real Rainbow.

Tale of Brilliant Bedliszt

Brilliant Bedliszt was once a boy who never grew up, too.

His eyes were shining, his jet black hair could sometimes turned brown and summer-hay-golden.

He met his Princess long, long time ago before they were even being introduced

by his personal assistant,

Zaberry,

who didn't realize

how cruel he might be.

The Prince once gone mad.

The Princess saved him.

Risking her life.

And being reciprocally saved

by the Prince

himself.

Soon they maintained their equivalence relation

in a bond composited by all of any means possible.

Eurozone

Hello Latvia

Would someone please share with me a slice of bambovka from Poland? Certainly anybody from Latvia knows a little bit about bambovka or Nutcracker right?

(smiling slightly)

Hello Deutschland

Sprichst du Liebe? For I see a little girl, her sparkling of eyes died, her teddy bear hanging limply to the right hand, her body... helplessly tortured above the Whomping Willow also took her dreams away... of becoming a ballerina.

A ballerina fell in love with a future football player. It was unfortunate for them to be born by fate in Aruland. The love shall not be fed. The hunger screams louder than thunder. The man bid her and his dreams a cowardly goodbye, fetching his bitter,too-soon, misjudged destiny of becoming illiterate miner.

Born with nothing, idly studying, barely even want to learn anything, thus will not I chase the dreams, so the man whispered every night he went through in silence,hours by hours, bitterly counting time before Ezrael greets him. He died in his time of cholera, a glass of rotten vodka in his palm, debt piling around his neck.

Holla Russia

I salute my Anthony, my Joshev, my Davich, and all of the other Brownsimova clan a warm welcome. Welcome home, comrades.

And as for the ballerina...

desperate as she was for the man, she needed sometime to recover from the fainting heart.

The fainting heart... unbelievably, has dazzling wings. As bright as Aurora Borealis in the winter nights. As splendid as the last flash in Serbian forest.

The wings grew even faster than the speed of light as she danced and danced....

The ballerina girl transformed into a white swan. And flew away straight to Vaganova.

Every midnight, she would transform back into a swan. Nobody knew but her manager, who discovered her maiden shape while she was about to slaughter her for Christmas dinner.

In the daylight, she danced the most beautiful amongst all greatest ballerina ever spoken.

You may have seen her dancing several nights in Bolshoi.

The most beautiful ballerina.

Sound of The Past

The sound of the past seemed to be as genial as ever. She greeted them, some old friends from old memory, the ones she found out later to be buried far beyond her subconscious mind. Never did they see each other truly in reality.

And yet, here they finally met.

It was a silent night. Under the rooftop of heavenly bodies. Yes, you can still hear the nightingale whispered. Or the sweep of the robe of the wizard lived nearby. The surrounding neighborhood may looked deserted. But it was, on the contrary, quite crowded back home.

The first acquaintance came was Mr.Mercury. His gift was this special menu he named 'Bohemian Rhapsody'.

Bohemian Rhapsody was a cruel rainbow. Never can we decided whether to call it a Mr. or a Madame, thus came the idea to just be-it it. It delivers an awkwardly wail of... a hag. Beautiful, beautiful hag. And you will learn to savour a rare, scrumptious goosebumps just by its melodies.

The second long-lost fellow came was Madame Brighton. A voice of an angelic gesture, it seemed to be a perfect night to hear her humming softly the farewell song to bid Mr. 2010 a sweet goodbye.

The maiden host wondered as when her next acquaintance of the past will occur again.

The songs and voice she would be listening for the first time in her life, albeit no matter how intimate, how close they have been felt like to her. As she thanked her guests and walked them out the front door, waving a temporary good bye.

For the upcoming teas and serene nights accompanied by them awaits in the future, ocassions she could arrange over and over again.

The sound of the past...lessened the loneliness.

The Solvay

In Solvay Conference of 1927, Einstein and Bohr were arguing as whether we should view our world quantum way or deterministically.

Mrs. Curie, Max Planck, and Langevin were present, too, while maybe they could understand it half-asleep.

While here in Indonesia, in 6 November 2010, a girl named Love can only blankly listen to what they say about branes and quantum chromodynamics, something she should have already been familiar with...since she once ever tried to propose to Italy to accept her in school of moduli spaces.

So she just shut her mouth up and tried to understand what Lang taught her.

And she wishes, one day she at least could cope up Landau in the same pace.

This October

This October happens once in 823 years... five Sundays turns out to be a moment to celebrate.

And automatically we bought a turkey. A Thanksgiving served way before the supposed time.

Shrimp brooth steaming over the stove; twilight twinkling outside brought over a nice, somehow chill end of the day...

My mind flew away towards our dreams

Einstein Drive, Boston, New England...

let us take the maximum advantage of the cosmic power of the universe, enjoy the tingling sensation it delivers in the spirit of lively, lovely wind...

the same wind America blows...

the Mighty Strength who answers and makes our wish come true

Dear Almighty Strength, hereby I beg You...

Make our wish come true.

Amin.

Once Upon a Time in Bricktown

Underneath the sky of Oklahoma City, there I stood, watching the bright blue, cloudless sky.

An imaginary dwarf, always following me side by side, seemed to be tired already by the 5,6 miles walking we took so far that day. Nevertheless, she had never been happy whatsoever, therefore I didn't pay her too much of any notice.

"I'm hungry. Can't walk anymore. Need some cozy stuffs for my mouth," she grumbled for the fifth time in two last hours.

"Anything you like," I shrugged. "But I want to eat in that house," while pointing at an Oklahoman spaghetti house.

We strolled along the small, red brick bridge separating us from the restaurant.

The name of this district was The Bricktown, such a leisure spot in Oklahoma City where you could find restaurants, city's basketball stadium and centre, cannals and recreational boats, artistic statues... I enjoyed the scenery of mighty equestrian cowboys all along the river banks; they said they were built by some rich men of Oklahoma a hundred years ago.

The hottest part of Bricktown, is, of course, the photoshoot spot-which is like, EVERYWHERE. One of my favorite shot was the hanging police marking.

So the spaghetti was good, the waiter looked like Cadbury from Richie Rich the Movie, although I didn't really enjoy the cheesy dressing.

Ballad of The Slave

I miss you, Dear holy Azza wa Jalla

Although my body is not in Texas, but how can I somehow feel as if my heart belongs there?

Texas, the Lonestar State...

I miss him, my one piece of mind puzzle that I believe(well... sort of) can complete me more once I be together with. And I look throughout the window, the galaxy of Milky Way the constellation of Andromeda, widely spread before my eyes, the mighty strength of the Black Hole swallow my conscience away.

And I feel flat, yet so empty. Took a deep breath and eventually, bit by bit, I force myself to hear the sound. The breeze of the wind blow my hair wipe my skin and I can feel its vitality. No, you're not cold enough for me. You're just... breezing. I listen to the song of the singing frogs; the quackling of the careless duckling from the pond. No, you're not noisy, honey....You're just happy.

Threw my perspective ahead, I witness the tragic epic of Romeo. Right after he drank the mighty poison, and thus it was just bump...

and thus I see love

Je ne veux que parler avec toi

He was, and is until now, a beautiful man in a suit and a case of golf stick in the corner of a room. She made a mannequin after him, that stood still under

a shade of a cherry tree...somewhere inside Parc du Sceau. She wished she really could. 

She just wanted to talk to him, to share what she felt towards the face of the world. The universe, Papa, is so big... the little version of she, while holding her komodo-shaped stuffed animal, trying to play-spoilt on his knee, as she that time, has but still a small figure.

Get off me you little piece of shit! 

It was his comment, I am having a fight with your mother here, and I am hitting her hard, slap slap slap inside her mind!

... Not a very good start for a morning for such a little girl with big curiosity, but alas, what else could she do?

About twenty years later, finally she could grip it together and held her chin up high, and serenely, asked the beautiful man,

What is your most beautiful thing in the entire world?

And he said that she was, and would always is.

But he also said that he felt sad as she seems to not really care about it.

... Not a very happy start for a morning for the grown up girl.. a morning should be vitality and all energy!

Well Pap, the universe has excited me even more, said our girl, whose stuffed animal has turned into an alienware. 

Et quelle beau, que j'en pourrais parler avec toi, ce matin :)

Dancing with Sergey

                  From The Wise Man and A Little Girl, we will move towards the further future of the Little Girl. Everywhere, there would always be something peculiar when one examines in more detail and be curious about anything. Maybe somewhere in the Land of Antara Nusa, the people--- they will find their own style of studying maths and living it. The Little Girl would be wishful about that. And she will try, with her might, to contribute to the change.

                   She woke up in the morning, a glass of coffee that she hasn't finished the day before would still be beside her, unwashed.

                    She wakes up every morning onwards, fresh air, fruits and vegetables has been there as she prepared it already the night before. Change is good. Change positively, better.

                   And she examines the surroundings of her works thoroughly, carefully, and the most important thing, passionately. And there it starts, streaming out just beautifully from the pages between her fingers, la musique de la raison...
                   And she is dancing with Sergey.
                   The most gorgeous creatures on Earth, with whom she has been long married to even before to Zean, her present husband.
                   Little Girl chuckles as her feet trottling between the peebles as the drum and the beat sang. Sergey, on the other hand, bow and pirouetting beside her, as playful as boys will always be boys, as strong and charming as a man would and should be...
                   'Sergey... do you know something?' she whispers, but it echoes down the alley of the olive trees.
                   Sergey turns his head a little. A unicorn peeps wistfully among the rows of the ginkgo biloba trees on the farside of the mountain, hopping forward and voila.. he tucks in Sergey until he drops down to the ground, slightly fall on his knee. The tin whistle ringing...
                   Sergey, who is sweating already, for they have been dancing for nearly half an hour, lays his back on the bushes of lavender and dandelions, starring at the Little Girl, demanding a continuing phrase.
                   'I'm happy that we're together... that I marry Zean, that I marry you before I marry him... that he's married to Mary before he marries me.'

                   And Sergey, for the first time since they met, looks at her sincerely with a pair of those big, emerald eyes... and kissed her gently on the lips.

I love you too,
said the gentle voice of the gorgeous creature...

Bandung, 28 October 2014

(To my Sergey with love ~<3 )

-Je ne peux pas trouver le mot l'autre que 'Mischung'-

Comme je pense à cette année, c'est pas si necessairement que j'y pense toujours aux ses échecs. Il y avait aussi, on ne refuse pas, dans certain mesure, joyeaux, et quand même des succès. 

Ich möchte nach Himmel, bei der höchsten fliegen, und alles ... ich meine, ALLES erinnere. 

Ich lese Leben und Tode des Hans Fallada. Es fühlt sich taub aber es etwas ist, was ich immer über der auf Deutsch  geschrieben Büchern empfinde.  

Es ist deskriptive, es ist systematik, und es gibt nicht die zu viel Klappersinn, die ich auf den anderen Sprache spüre. Nur ich auf das Kapitel 2 erreiche. Es ist geschrieben, dass Hans ein Junge ein bischen scheue und auch nervos sei.

Mercredi, 21 marz 2012

         

            -Anthony-

       
          Ma vue est volée au papier rose qui sentait trop fragrant , la couleur fut bleu, il reste juste en face de moi. A l'académie de Phillips Exeter, à tous les gens, tous les choses quand meme, ses odeurs. A ma chambre, sa fragrance...à sa table,aux ses boises, et jusqu'au petit clignotement dans la fenetre, ses couleurs...  je pouvais sentir l'odeur de la fleur de lis  d'eux, tout en florissant.

C'etait ma premiere tache d'écrire une essai. Cette après-midi, immediatement après deux annees que j'était au Rosey, naturallement, ensemble avec cousine Therryana, c'etait finalement... Dave était là nous ramenait. Il était là, son manteau à la vague, la vue de l'Alpine et la neige derriere lui, avec une main vers moi, m'a demandé de lui suivre, doucement, tout à fait pas beaucoup comme habitude. Dave, mon frère cherrie, quel change as tu en deux ans!... je sourirais au coeur.
Cependant je n'avais pas qu'une seul ombre d'Al.

Cette tache d'essai fut le formulation de mon engagement vers l'avenir.

(Image is courtesy to http://www.templates.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2010/04/A-Cloud-Day-on-the-Alps-by-Grinder.jpg)

            

Die Leute, deren Arbeit lauern auf die Erde sind

C'est le Samedi 26 juillet

das Mädchen war in Trance.   Wie geht's?
... sagte es, die Stimme aus dem so fernen Land.

Ich mache die Tür zu.  Es gibt keinen weiterer ein aufgemacht

Die Leute, deren Kinder schmerzlich inmitten der Freude kreischend

Qu'est-ce qu'on peut faire alors?

Sie hatte mir gesagt..sie hatte mir das gibt es keine Ewigkeit gesagt

Damit lächeln Sie bitte!

...denn es gibt nicht so etwas wie die Ewigkeit

Eine Freundin kam, ein Schatz der Freude.


*Na gut, als es gibt keine Dinge sehr interessant, worüber ich am Besten sprechen kann,
erraten, was... ich habe einfach das aufgeschreibt.*