tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1370624081651370592024-03-13T11:41:57.912+07:00Where Soul Meets Bodypriska febriniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10017256324724510809noreply@blogger.comBlogger27125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-137062408165137059.post-57995237648768970012015-04-08T23:54:00.000+07:002015-09-03T00:03:00.629+07:00the late-night roof philosophyI love the fact that i love sitting here in the dark, at the roof. The quiet and the dark give me peace. The feeling of warm ceramics on my heels. I love the way i can hear the crickets and a hint of the television downstairs. It makes me feel home and at the same time faraway for adventure with my own thoughts. The sky now is amazing. I can see the clouds on navy sky. And some stars. I love seeing the shadow of the leaves from the garden lights on the wall. I am able to just observe my mind wander, and see the stars. Ive always loved the night sky. And moon. And clouds. And stars.<br />
<br />
The stars; i know why poets and storytellers write about them. It is when you are alone and staring at the sky from your roof, and feel everything else dissapear. If you tilt your head a little, it's as if your neighbors' roofs dissapear. And suddenly it's only you and the sky. And you get this strange feeling as if you look into a whole future, or the whole past; it's like staring at a whole eternity.priska febriniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10017256324724510809noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-137062408165137059.post-65609815329582023132015-03-03T23:51:00.000+07:002015-03-16T21:59:40.304+07:00words out of raini remember on one rainy day, under a dim window light and the smell of wet soil there were words that i conscientiously wrote for you with the hell and heaven from my veins. i remember how i hoped and closed my eyes at the end of each sentence and my eyelashes fell onto the paper and i secretly made wishes on them. i remember how each word tasted like home and how the spaces between words felt like a place to stay.<br />
<br />
but then all of sudden the rain stopped and the smell of wet soil was gone and i spent quite some aching time wondering why and where they'd gone or whether they were even really there because i have always felt like they were watching me like a trusted friend when i was writing words about you.<br />
<br />
it was only when i stopped questioning i suddenly heard there was a strange music in melody i oddly felt familiar with it seemed like calling me from places that are close to my soul.<br />
<br />
so i tossed those words to a passing boat that was sailing to the ocean. they said it went to one of those floating old libraries at sea and would never come back.priska febriniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10017256324724510809noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-137062408165137059.post-3107776701800606412012-12-11T12:00:00.000+07:002013-05-06T23:34:45.768+07:00sungkansaya tidak suka mengunci hujan di luar jendela. rasanya seperti menelantarkan kawan yang baik hati.priska febriniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10017256324724510809noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-137062408165137059.post-38154665918992201952012-06-07T22:54:00.001+07:002012-06-07T22:54:41.327+07:00tentang luka dan sepi.dalam sedih manusia akan melarutkan diri dalam bising. karena bising akan memberi ilusi bahwa engkau masih memegang ujung tali kontrol. semua tampak ramai dan cepat dengan kilasan lampu-lampu dan cahaya; bisa saja ujung tali itu sudah lepas dari genggamanmu, tanpa engkau menyadarinya.<br />
<br />
namun mereka yang sedikit lebih berani akan memilih sunyi. sunyi itu jujur: ia menggemakan bunyi kesedihan di dalammu sehingga engkau akan merasakan kehadirannya, begitu panjang dan nyata, seperti bunyi angin yang menyentuh daun-daun di jalan. ia menggoyangkanmu agar kau sesadar-sadarnya menyadari kesedihanmu. menerimanya, merengkuhnya, membiarkan ia mengikis dan membentuk keberadaanmu.<br />
<br />
lalu pada suatu titik, engkau akan merasa tenang.<br />
<br />
sedih itu tidak pergi, melainkan entah bagaimana telah menjadi bagian dari dirimu.<br />
<br />
kesedihan yang kau rasakan dengan sunyi telah membentuk jiwamu; ia merobek-robek dan menatanya kembali. dan kau akan menjadi satu lagi. namun selamanya engkau akan membawa garis dan bentukan yang disebabkannya.priska febriniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10017256324724510809noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-137062408165137059.post-33312517620188916442012-06-06T23:26:00.000+07:002012-06-06T23:54:49.670+07:00teras rumahkau mulai mencintai kembali kegelapan halaman rumahmu, mencium aroma malam dan daun menguap dari keramik terasmu. dengan lagu yang kau senandungkan di pikiranmu, engkau perlahan berdansa dengan pagar rumahmu, berjingkat di atas bayangannya. kau tidak ingat menghitung berapa langkah dan satuan waktu yang berlalu semenjak kau berada di situ.priska febriniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10017256324724510809noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-137062408165137059.post-30593822065996929092012-03-26T23:29:00.003+07:002012-03-29T11:24:46.551+07:00before you sleep.there are memories that are crystalized, kept somewhere in the corner of our mind. those memories are like a warm drink, eternal in the part of your heart.<br />
sometimes you cannot help it but, in a gap between time, take that memory, pour it into your cup, and seep it into your soul. you need warmth; and it warms your soul.<br />
<br />
for me, those memories are when i really looked into your eyes for the first time. when you kissed my lips, gently, for the first time.<br />
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</div>priska febriniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10017256324724510809noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-137062408165137059.post-77441657235292459792011-05-30T22:29:00.026+07:002011-06-02T00:00:06.805+07:00sont les mots qui vont tres bien ensamblesomeday you will find happiness just by laying on the grass and breathing. and you do care for a yellowing leaf falling on your head: you notice how sometimes sad and fragile and beautiful things are. and you silently admire the sun light on your hair. and you learn that daydreaming is the time in life when your mind is bigger than your body. bigger than your world.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">like you see treetops and skies through the eyes of a child on the back of a bike</span>.<br /><br />Have you ever daydreamed about the world, the era you will never see and feel and know; the world of past; the world of future? Have you ever daydreamed about the people who never see the world you live in, the world you wake up to? Doesn't it make you want to grasp every tiny moment in your life?<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">and to be honest, you are my favorite thing to daydream about</span>.<span style="font-style: italic;"></span><br /><br />of every tiny blood vessel. of skins. of night promises. of a raindrop on your cheeks. of silent moment before you get out of bed. of a tiny ship sailing through the sea in a bottle made up of glass. of your lover's whispering in your ear.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">and your voice. your voice is like a cup of latte on sunday mornings.<br /><br /></span>and you see<span style="font-style: italic;"> </span>through the window<span style="font-style: italic;">. </span>you see your tiny ship in a bottle<span style="font-style: italic;">, </span>with your messages on a piece of paper, filled up with questions you seek. what do you want? how to be happy? why did it happen? but now you let go those questions; you still watch the tiny ship going slowly to the sea, but you dont expect it to come back with answers like you used to. you just watch how peaceful the bottle sailing to the place that your mind cant reach. and your lips murmur a tiny prayer.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">let it go, let it go. sometimes your own mind is a trap door</span>.<br /><br />lets sleep tonight in our rooms, with hundreds of pictures of tiny ships in bottles on the wall: we are grateful for questioning. we let the answers to be owned by the sea. so now lets cry, lets laugh, lets shout, lets run. uncontrollably.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">and i hope you find your tree.</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><br />00:57</span><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">through my window i can see a half-lit cloud<br />Sydney</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></div><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span><br /><br /></span>priska febriniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10017256324724510809noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-137062408165137059.post-50005970966626258422011-04-12T21:12:00.008+07:002011-04-20T10:54:20.086+07:00dia, bintang, dan kata-kata yang tak perlu diucapkan.pada satu waktu ia berkata tanpa bersuara,<br />"aku ingin sekali berkuasa atas langit malam. melayang kepadanya. menjadi pimpinan atas formasi keindahannya. merangkai senyumku dalam bintang. lalu tanganku menghentak dan bintang-bintang itu bersinar. untukmu. mungkin malam ini."<br /><br />dan aku hanya terdiam; mungkin diam mengungkapkan bahasa yang tidak terangkum dalam kata-kata. mungkin bintang-bintang juga diam karena tanpa berkata mereka sudah menyuarakan keindahan. maka aku melihat keatas: melihat langit malam. <span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br /></span><span>dan melihat bintang<span>.</span></span><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"> <span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br /><br />dan kamu adalah konstalasi pribadiku.</span><br /><br /></span></span>priska febriniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10017256324724510809noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-137062408165137059.post-82714290125571286082011-03-17T01:24:00.000+07:002012-06-04T01:27:45.608+07:00earplugs and street.she realizes there is something about listening the music from her earplugs and watching the people passing by. she thinks of home faraway. she feels strange. she feels familiar. she feels lonely among these crowd on the street. she finds some kind of peace.<br />
<br />
then she notices a vague rainbow on the sky. in its perfect form. and it's still drizzling. and the dusky sky has a hint of grey and pink. it is so beautiful and she starts to look around, planning to share with anyone in the street. <span style="font-style: italic;">what can be more magical than a rainbow on a pinkish sky on a one warm summer drizzling evening?</span> but people are walking and rushing, their eyes are on the street, not on the sky.<br />
she forgets people usually do not care for little things. so she keeps this little secret to herself.<br />
<br />
<br />priska febriniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10017256324724510809noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-137062408165137059.post-83638019542037364402011-02-01T15:27:00.003+07:002011-02-18T16:08:18.484+07:00hujan.ada sesuatu tentang<br />baju-baju cucian yang tidak<br />sempat diangkat waktu<br />hujan datang.<br /><br />ada sesuatu tentang<br />cara titik hujan<br />jatuh diatas sandal tua<br />yang lelah.<br /><br />jarakku memandang hanya sebatas pagar di halaman belakang<br />jarakku membayangkan melewati padang terentang.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/elvellon/"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-o6oE8Kc91bI/TV4v4pFYb2I/AAAAAAAAASA/gZ0-A7W5Ifs/s400/2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5574946038878859106" border="0" /></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/elvellon/"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tAoDoJSTm8M/TV4wtvzfvnI/AAAAAAAAASI/uy2STcSZcV8/s400/4.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5574946951215955570" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-size:85%;">november, 6/2010.<br />sydney.<br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><br />all images are ©priska febrinia. <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]--> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> </div></div>priska febriniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10017256324724510809noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-137062408165137059.post-84599891042666302002010-11-08T02:38:00.003+07:002011-02-18T19:19:31.978+07:00midnight packagesa mug of warmth and<br />a piece of longing heart.<br /><br />and all those colds are gone.priska febriniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10017256324724510809noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-137062408165137059.post-89858379127095569292010-10-15T22:23:00.014+07:002011-02-18T15:12:36.150+07:00i want to live in a library<span style="font-style: italic;">sleeping with a book-blanket out at sea.<br />-</span><span>seabear, <span style="font-style: italic;">library</span>.<br /><br />i love libraries, especially the dim-lit, quiet and somehow messy libraries. not the bright, happy libraries, glistening with new colorful books. i love the kind of libraries that are a bit dusty, that reminds you of simple beautiful things which are probably forgotten while you are living in your busy world; the kind of libraries which make your heart beats a little bit faster when you walk along its quiet isle because you feel like you are entering a secretly magical, strange but somehow familiar place. you can't not love the feeling when you can hear your own shoes on the floor and sense the smell of old books. </span>the quietness, the feeling that you're surrounded by some kind of unrevealed mysteries, the feeling when you move your fingers through dusty old books from faraway places.<br /><span> </span>and you know, you are having your own little adventure.<br /><br />more photos <a href="http://the-owl-child.blogspot.com/2010/10/books.html">here</a><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Ez21Yiwc6_E/TM5ceGP1BrI/AAAAAAAAALg/LviH0kOpEF4/s1600/lib1.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Ez21Yiwc6_E/TM5ceGP1BrI/AAAAAAAAALg/LviH0kOpEF4/s400/lib1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534462664227751602" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Ez21Yiwc6_E/TM5cpmN9iZI/AAAAAAAAALw/5YPUcvvXALk/s1600/lib4.jpg"><br /></a><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Ez21Yiwc6_E/TM5ck_W8o1I/AAAAAAAAALo/_jM4Htxfifc/s1600/lib2.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Ez21Yiwc6_E/TM5ck_W8o1I/AAAAAAAAALo/_jM4Htxfifc/s400/lib2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534462782637646674" border="0" /></a><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Ez21Yiwc6_E/TM5cpmN9iZI/AAAAAAAAALw/5YPUcvvXALk/s1600/lib4.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 269px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Ez21Yiwc6_E/TM5cpmN9iZI/AAAAAAAAALw/5YPUcvvXALk/s400/lib4.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534462861788416402" border="0" /></a>priska febriniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10017256324724510809noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-137062408165137059.post-63059597312385983672010-08-26T20:35:00.016+07:002010-08-31T23:36:14.055+07:00perjalanan pulanglampu kota mengabur. di antara banyak langkah kaki dan suara aku pelan-pelan membisikkan namamu ke udara, mengucapkannya tanpa bersuara, melepaskannya dengan hati-hati, berharap ia sampai dengan selamat ke atmosfer dimana semua berbaur antara mimpi dan harapan dan doa dan kenyataan.<br /><br />dan aku mengucap syukur dengan sunyi: mengetahui bahwa engkau ada di dunia ini memberikan kelegaan yang tidak bisa aku jelaskan.priska febriniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10017256324724510809noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-137062408165137059.post-47165056789295544132010-08-16T18:25:00.003+07:002010-08-16T18:36:40.680+07:00for the memory under the cotton tree<p>I remember,</p> <p>it was breezy and warm, in the first day of summer,</p> <p>the wind carried the sweetness of meadow flowers,</p> <p>and the freshness of green grasses.</p> <p>That time I saw you,</p> <p>smiled, staring at the clouds.</p> <p>Quiet. Wise. Bothered not by the outside world.</p> <p><br /></p> <p>In the moment you caught my eyes,</p> <p>I remember,</p> <p>tons of silence,</p> <p>but your eyes spoke tenderly,</p> <p>the words hided under your wings. </p> <p><br /></p> <p>Smiling,</p> <p>you asked me to follow,</p> <p>barefeet, stepped on the dewy grasses,</p> <p>greeted the sun and the trees,</p> <p>listened to the river and the wind.</p> <p>You said, "I want to live like them;</p> <blockquote><p>free, but in harmony,</p> <p>careless, but in compassion",</p> </blockquote> <p>and I was amazed. I could not say a word.</p> <p><br /></p> <p>It is breezy and warm, in the first day of summer,</p> <p>I’m standing in the middle of meadow-flowers.</p> <p>I remember,</p> <p>and I smile.</p> <p><br /></p> <p>It was my first love.</p> <p align="right">March 3rd 2007</p><p align="right"><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:78%;" >for introduction to literature class</span><br /></p>priska febriniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10017256324724510809noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-137062408165137059.post-74368087285678059322010-07-26T21:01:00.008+07:002010-08-05T22:53:14.577+07:00let's go somewhere stupidmeet me in the same daylight sky<br />sit beside me and<br />take out your wooden spoon and lets<br />take a spoonful of sunbeams<br />and a mouthful of clouds<br />and laugh at our own silliness<br /><br />meet me in the same night sky<br />lay beside me and<br />bring your kaleidoscope<br />take a look at the stars and<br />call them by their names, and lets watch<br />the wind passing by,<br />wondering where it goes<br />wondering where our life goes.<br /><br />you know, sometimes<br />i just want to wash my face in the sky.priska febriniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10017256324724510809noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-137062408165137059.post-4670354559109135252010-05-14T21:32:00.003+07:002010-05-14T21:43:44.026+07:00drivingonly the thought of you gives me the ability to smile at<br />the billboards. at the traffic lights. at the faces of the<br />strangers. at the raindrops on<br />the window.priska febriniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10017256324724510809noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-137062408165137059.post-49722627719597720502010-05-10T21:58:00.002+07:002010-05-14T21:32:14.381+07:00about dawn.do you know the time when you feel like you are sleepwalking between the dream and reality? everything that are used to being very familiar to you in the day: trees, windows and curtains, coffee cups, holes on your pavement, your feet on the grass, sound of the door swinging, clouds, sunlight, feel magical, and new? And you start looking in every direction, trying to grasp every color, every shape and every move, like you see it all through the eyes of a child in the back of a bike. you discover yourself. you remember what it's like to be yourself. then the sun comes and they are back into the things you knew, but you have this kind of peace in your heart and that's enough.<br />that's why i love dawn.priska febriniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10017256324724510809noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-137062408165137059.post-57966763406888973092010-05-09T22:42:00.007+07:002010-05-20T22:38:50.844+07:00dawn and teaa cup of tea early in the morning<br />pouring a steamy cup into<br />the shade of daydreams.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Ez21Yiwc6_E/S_VXJ2pnblI/AAAAAAAAAH8/avl5VPd3p54/s1600/IMG_8474.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 133px; height: 200px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Ez21Yiwc6_E/S_VXJ2pnblI/AAAAAAAAAH8/avl5VPd3p54/s200/IMG_8474.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5473376748939210322" border="0" /></a>priska febriniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10017256324724510809noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-137062408165137059.post-14301027129448160002010-02-12T23:12:00.011+07:002010-02-16T22:35:28.024+07:00i used to be an owl.i used to be an owl<br />who sat in your tree<br />watching your dream-catcher caught<br />your nightmares<br /><br />i used to be an owl<br />and you used to be my serene dream<br />you know<br />the kind of dream that makes you smile on your sleep<br />because it feels real?<br />but as i'm half-awake<br />i try to recall<br />those reveries but<br />it's as if<br />i'm trying to hold on to<br />the water<br />in cupped wings.<br /><br />i used to be an owl<br />and we used to sit shoulder to shoulder<br />whistling to the sky<br />and talking about the planets, your wooden rocking chair beside the fire, our hazy dreams, and my messy little garden.<br /><br />i guess i am not an owl<br />anymore<br />but i'm growing weary for<br />not being one.priska febriniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10017256324724510809noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-137062408165137059.post-2246574067264722292010-01-09T23:31:00.010+07:002010-02-12T23:51:38.865+07:00pour laisser place aux rêves de douceur.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Ez21Yiwc6_E/S0iwwac_NqI/AAAAAAAAAF0/vTXSml-MxFc/s1600-h/upload.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Ez21Yiwc6_E/S0iwwac_NqI/AAAAAAAAAF0/vTXSml-MxFc/s200/upload.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5424780096948876962" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />hey it's just me. and my worn out shoes.<br />but maybe together, you and i, we can find something beautiful on the horizon.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span>priska febriniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10017256324724510809noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-137062408165137059.post-3161860754334643682010-01-07T15:17:00.031+07:002010-01-08T17:26:06.582+07:00memoriesdear owlheart,<br /><br />i've always imagined human's memories are tiny stuffs kept in a carved wooden chest stored in an insignificant corner somewhere in the chambers of mind. i don't know if it's just me or you do too, but every now and then i add dry flowers and a little bit of vanilla scent inside. at times i tint them with shades of rose color, and a little bit of purples and yellows. no, if you ask, i'm not lying to myself. i guess it's just me being me.<br /><br />and it's sort of funny, isnt it? how a single sight of someone or something opens that chest, and the pieces of memories you thought you'd left behind are flooding your thought like the sight from a train window and make you happy and sad at the same time and make you want to remember and forget at the same time?<br /><br />there are also black and white memories which are nearly untouchable. you know, the kind of memory that makes you feel like you're half asleep squinting your eyes at your car window during the storm? you're not sure if it's real, but you know that it is there, hidden, burried in the back of your mind. you know it somehow has become a part of who you are.<br /><br />and blurry hazy memories. as if you're looking with an unfocused camera. as if you come into contact with that fragments of your life rollercoastering. you only remember a glance of technicolor movements and resonating sounds and elusive scents and splash of passions. but it's enough to make you happy at the end of the day.<br /><br />and there is a place, in the deeper side of the chest, where unpredicted memories are kept. it's like when you take it out with care and open the case and suddenly you're looking at some parts of you that you left behind; the more youthful you. like you've left your younger reflections on the lake and finally after you traveled to faraway places and see the world has changed, and <span style="font-style: italic;">you</span> have changed, then you come back to see your old, younger reflection preserved. it makes you feel strange and familiar.<br /><br />and dear owlheart, don't be upset. i made a part of the chest airy so it can fuse with the memory when i daydream. or halfsleep-driving.<br /><br />how thin the crust between dreaming and memories inside my head.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/elvellon/2730996483/in/set-72157605176836418/"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 222px; height: 148px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Ez21Yiwc6_E/S0YFEpjKePI/AAAAAAAAAFk/48sKo2UTwzE/s320/upload.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5424028378645297394" border="0" /></a>priska febriniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10017256324724510809noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-137062408165137059.post-28671791461089570172009-12-30T23:35:00.012+07:002010-01-07T00:32:26.277+07:00hey can i tell you secrets?i repeat the same words before i sleep. constellation, owl, gossamer. constellation, owl, gossamer. they kind of remind me of you.<br /><br />do you notice that i look at the sky seven minutes longer than everybody else? last night the sky was so starry, and words oozed out of my skin and evaporated in the quiet space and turned into some foreign melody i don't understand: i could not help feeling uncomplicated. i'm really sorry for that.<br /><br />i poisoned my tea with your summer philosophy. and i have to confess, i've never tasted anything so magical.<br /><br />and i dream when i'm not sleeping. i dream of a dream when i'm sleeping. i hope you understand.priska febriniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10017256324724510809noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-137062408165137059.post-56971379550320547612009-12-23T22:25:00.009+07:002009-12-27T08:17:27.140+07:00strange,<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Ez21Yiwc6_E/SzI9BgkBvuI/AAAAAAAAAB8/gvElSSAckM8/s1600-h/strange1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Ez21Yiwc6_E/SzI9BgkBvuI/AAAAAAAAAB8/gvElSSAckM8/s400/strange1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5418460397810335458" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:78%;">image copyright by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/elvellon/">priska febrinia</a></span><br /></div><br />you are stranger and i am stranger and we are strangers<br />we look different but, quite the same, in a certain lights.<br />could you hear the forest inside my head, stranger?<br />strange;<br />i live in a thoughts anchorage<br />ready to sail, sail, sail.<br />lets see, if you are strange enough<br />i let you dive in my room walls with fairy lights and mist and clouds<br />and i wont feel so strange anymore.<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:78%;"><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/elvellon/"></a></span></div>priska febriniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10017256324724510809noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-137062408165137059.post-24378493988127011472009-12-21T22:49:00.021+07:002009-12-23T23:07:49.133+07:00death cab for cutie<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Ez21Yiwc6_E/SzED6tsOfyI/AAAAAAAAABk/wXteAY-T-n8/s1600-h/dcfc.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 261px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Ez21Yiwc6_E/SzED6tsOfyI/AAAAAAAAABk/wXteAY-T-n8/s320/dcfc.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5418116133935808290" border="0" /></a><br />I think this is the right time to blog death cab for cutie, since i have made part of their lyrics as the name of my blog.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span>Death cab for cutie is one of the greatest, if not the best, lyrical bands out there, one of few which can easily get me high on words. I've never seen words combined in that unique, beautiful way; in such a way that the words seem to catch the echo of human hazy and blurry emotions that are only able to be felt, not to be said. Most of their lyrics are sad, but the words are so poetic and beautiful that being unhappy seems like a richer better way to live (i sound more freaky than i intended to).<br /><span style="font-style: italic;"></span><span style="font-style: italic;"></span><blockquote><span style="font-style: italic;">and it is true what you said that i live like a hermit in my own head. but when the sun shines again i'll pull the curtains and blinds to let the lights</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">in.<br />sorrow drips into your heart through a pinhole just like a faucet that leaks and there is comfort in the sound. </span></blockquote>Listening to death cab's songs makes me crave for sky, fields, trees, winds and sun where I can sit alone, being in touch the vague part of human feelings. I can listen to one song over and over again and dwell in its words.<br /><br />There are images of technicolor shape and haziness of beautiful and sad things in mind if you let the words leak into your soul. At nights when you're in bed and the world is calmer or when you're looking at the road moving fast by your window, death cab's song would be the second best to fill in the atmoshere after, well, silence.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;"></span><blockquote><span style="font-style: italic;">a melody softly soaring through my atmosphere where the soul meets body</span></blockquote><span style="font-style: italic;"></span><blockquote style="font-style: italic;"></blockquote>and i have no more words to describe death cab. maybe it's preeminent to just feel their songs.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">photo by Andrew Paynter from <a href="http://www.deathcabforcutie.com/photos/album/72157602052354858/#">here</a></span><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div></div>priska febriniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10017256324724510809noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-137062408165137059.post-13793278949348860762009-12-21T10:34:00.008+07:002009-12-23T23:01:01.667+07:00secrets<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Ez21Yiwc6_E/Sy7u-12UMrI/AAAAAAAAABU/WsyeN1X905Y/s1600-h/band.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 177px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Ez21Yiwc6_E/Sy7u-12UMrI/AAAAAAAAABU/WsyeN1X905Y/s320/band.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5417530165147480754" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="http://postsecret.blogspot.com/">everyone has secrets.</a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span>priska febriniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10017256324724510809noreply@blogger.com