Punctuation(s) in Lunar Conversations

for DJC

Laughter and tears are both responses to frustration and exhaustion. I myself prefer to laugh, since there is less cleaning up to do afterward.

-Kurt Vonnegut

Whenever i hear sobs soft melody mingling in our conversation, i know that somewhere a funeral is being celebrated. Somewhere somebody is chasing somebody for no reason at all, somewhere somebody is drinking coffee, smoking in a salon, and realized that he or she is alone, most of the time. Somewhere a passing goes on unnoticed. Somewhere a funeral is a hole in the wall, as if it’s a hard to find delicacy restaurant.  Loss is like finding a new love, without reasons.

I haven’t seen how suddenly you grew your hairs long and thick, the neighbours said it happened one night, when the sea defeated the rivers and pushed it back to the mountains, you grew them long intentionally to lure the murkiness of the river to your bosoms, to shelter them from the onslaught of high tides. The people around spew stories that you command gravity with the pull of your slender hands, and that you can even open the earth when you wink, you are selfish they say, with all those treasures you knead with your feet.

The mountain today is silent

It’s mournful serenades are muted

That went with the stories in the flood

They took houses crops and dreaming

Of mud people



A couple of weeks ago a train took me straight from the place all the winged roosts to where you bi-locate, eating in gusto mussels in butter and fried faces of murdered pigs, i joined you and devour each other in conversation. After counting the empty bottles we shared, you stretched your arms and reveal a device for time travelling, and told me – in a few hours, in a different world, in a place where clouds resides on your feet, where trees go out to dine,  where short hairs are taboo, you will go, because in that world meeting is timed with hunger, and you said you want more. In a hallowed and metallic voice, you quoted a void.


You always have this excuse, that you’re not just going there for some existential means, you’re going there for professional reasons. Sorry, What was the question again?

–Gaspar Noe



You should know, i also came from a different planet altogether, it is found beside your red shoes outside of this store.  In my place stories are abundant, moons fall like ripened fruit rolling on the ground, breaking as if they are eggs that reveals the sun, we have all sorts of stories, and all mundane is grand, nameless, naked and honest.  That’s how i am.


I can open new universes at whim, for example, the umbrella that you are holding is also my umbrella with an emblem of my world, when you open it up to direct the rain far from your nape close to my hands, you’ll soon notice that the umbrella is different world, quickly.  It insulates us from the beeping and honking buses before us, our breathing will become measured, in slow motion, as if it’s listening to each other. Our voices as if they are dolphins summersaults out of your mouth, mingles in the air and dive back as if they are eagles in between our lips. In delight, we break the barriers of our umbrella, laughing out louder than the thunderstorms above us. Together we are typhoon, that most people doesn’t expect to make a landfall in their imaginations.


You held me back and told me – let’s not go there, memory will just inundate me in that specific corner.


Today in the savagery of your nakedness

The crevices where all those forcibly lost

Are found, tagged, and renamed, are lost again



It was the same month as this in the same gustiness of the wind, the same amount of rainfall, the same coldness, the same familiarity, the same silence, the same grandeur that i found myself sitting across a wooden table, the same memory, the same thing repeated over and over caught in time-space anomaly that i found you, with hairs shorter than now, looking at you in reverse telescope made you more distant, your voice as if they are light that travels from the space, reached me together with the morning.  We burned the night with our names in different adjectives, and then that device on your wrist bleep and carried you away, as if it’s a dream, then your hair grew too long suddenly, and took me in it’s bosom the way you lure the rivers away from the ocean. i know.

I know it’s surreal.


I Felt them again

Like how it was back then

When wilting and greening

Is felt not seen.



Maturity is a bitter disappointment for which no remedy exists, unless laughter could be said to remedy anything.
-Kurt Vonnegut


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