construct
CN O T S
theconstructdocuments.blogspot.com
T RUT S C
N
Poems and prose are written by Future Collective
Writers Bayu Galang Cassius Song Jalang Mode Palpitone Paskadiksi Poetra Slamet Seorang Kalajengking
We publish strictly digitally every two months. Access all our past and current issues at theconstructdocuments. blogspot.com and contact us at [email protected]
Designed in Singapore
All images are properly credited to their respective owners, we do not claim any form of ownership.
Masthead photo: Self-Portrait by Felix Vallotton, 1897
CONSTRUCT 2017 The views expressed in CONSTRUCT are shared by the publication as a whole.
I HAD A DOOR EDITOR’S NOTE Fixed 7 C10H12N2O ON HER OWN Contents TERMS 9 13 17 FOR LOVERS 21 editor’s note
We live in a society that’s pushing us further and further into ourselves.
A cornered rat can bite a cat…they say but they also say a lot of other things about rats that are left to die and rot we’ve been pushed and shoved by bullies masquerading as friends and devoted lovers Fuck fakers! Fuck fakers! we chant in our little bubbles and there’s definitely a whole lot of fuckin’ and a lot of fakin’ and just because we chant doesn’t mean we don’t do it too that’s all it takes for us to stay in our caves we hoard the darkness of our times while hoping that the light from a little rectangle is going to illuminate our minds the little rectangle that tells us to love and tells us to like and tells us to type shit we don’t mean just so people will love us and like us in return even if they don’t mean it either
We live in a society that’s pushing us further and further into ourselves.
We are confused and we don’t want to admit it.
We are lab rats lost in a maze
because we forgot what cheese smells like.
We are exhausted and exhausting ourselves even further
by turning to short-term remedies that work for a while
but then what? But then what?
Then we wait. Then we find others who are also waiting.
Then we talk about what to do about this whole situation
and we wriggle out of denial together.
We crawl out of our caves.
We invent new expressions in which
there’s no reason for a rat to bite a cat
because there won’t be any corners to be backed into.
construct 13 editor’s note dibakar ikan akhir pekan, esoknya dicengkiwing estetika steril, personal-impersonal, bos nyamar jadi sejawat, dispenser turun bero, hujan deras cemilan warung, pabrik di balik sepasang bola mata,
beak baraha? kopi atau soda? biru, pink, built-up, ubi, panadol?
sek, sek
jadi yang kemarin itu apa? kibul-kibul metropolitan~
kabur dari iklan, adware, spyware, malware, internetpositif dot uzone dot id
lebih omnipresent dari si Doi
ngacak hard disk urunan, klak-klik fragment pojokan
SSD
cari yang bukan Geledek Anak Presiden, omong kosong dansa-dansi, daur ulang Harvey Malaihollo, throwback terus sampe mampus, endorsan babang rokok, wahai pemuda mengapa wajahmu penyok?
apakahakuadadikuburan atau merekamengundangjenazah?
eits nanti dulu ternyata yang baru lebih baik!
(ceunah mereun)
barengan sama Pakde, sowing paddy di ujung sanaaah! babat sini babat situ, gebuk anu sikat ini, JJS paling ena’ festival RPJMN kartel kancah, asoy geboy semuaaahhh!
tukang kuras listrik teriak-teriak:
أنا الحق//أنا الحق//أنا الحق//أنا الحق
sampe bengong diciduk basian awkward influencer
ketiban pulung infiltrasi 0.02 liter
life starter/dream killer
they are a pack of predators acting like preys,
throwing pity party to lure their victims;
daun muda, kimcil, dede-dede,
or whatever derogatory names they come up with next
I CAN’T STAND THEIR DEAFENING PERSUASIONS, LOUD WAILING MIDDLEBROW/ HIGH THEORY, NEWSPEAK, WILTING SOULS WAITING FOR A RESPONSE, LIKE, RIGHT NOW MOTHERFUCKER?!
“Jadi gimana bro? Sabi lah ya line-up-nya? Yaaa kita sih pengennya kayak job fair lah buat band lokal.”
dari basian ke basian
lu lagi, lu lagi
ON HER OWN TERMS
There she stood with a mop in her hand an attentive look on her face
The reflection in the mirror was not hers but that of a woman painting her lips
A woman knows that beauty is taught created, destroyed, reconstructed
And she, more than anyone, knows that beauty doesn’t exist in the word beautiful
But sometimes she forgets sometimes she doesn’t care most of the time her choices are
Limited by expectations and there are too many expectations most of which are hardly ever fair
Eyes still fixed on the reflection fingers still curled around the mop she tried to think of an adjective other than
beautiful
Red is a beautiful color but it is also mad proud bold
How much beauty does a red lipstick promise? How often does it disappoint?
A smile with any other name would look as sweet
Sealed lips red or not would still create silence
And silence can be both beautiful and frightening
And it can conceal as much as it reveals like the silence that lingers
Between women who know nothing about each other Other
than the fact that
They are women.
Which is all they need to know to hear what isn’t being said to understand what isn’t being said
A mop, a lipstick, one expectation after another simple tools, hard consequences
Expectation Oppression Expectation Oppression
She stood there and she knew she pressed her lips together and she knew those two words are more or less the same
For women who want to be women on their own terms.
The door that has been infested with termites has finally broken down. It has not been one year but apparently it is made out of hopes and dreams instead of concrete materials such as bricks and semen which are more grounded in nature.
Passersby who drop by to visit would declare how cold it is to live without a door especially in the rainy season but eh it never protected me from the chilling breeze from the nearby beach anyway; not unless I cling onto its bronze handles.
For the amount of comfort it provided me I would sometimes knock on it as a sign of dissatisfaction but it does not have a phone to tell me that some people from the city would steal its warmth before I have the chance to.
In a way I am grateful to be conditioned as someone who can stand the cold (which those city folks could never fathom as they can easily purchase heat packs from their neighbourhood’s massage parlour.) at least I have no fear of dying to suspended animation.
As it was made out of metaphysical materials the door left no carcass for me to bury or cremate. It merely left a gaping hole in the front porch which exposed me to the warm sunlight. Maybe next time I will make the door myself instead of relying on the help of a digital carpenter.
what stems shallower than my regrets is less shallow than what permeates from this bountiful scene
so to this page deeper than any books I surrender; for affection is as subjective as lovers connecting on the shore
and this feeling runs deeper than a grudge which is much deeper than what is absorbed from Light in this solitude
from this book shallower than any pages I escape; for love is as objective as aesthetics are for a whore