a very very spontaneous short story.
It was him. Working. In the midst of the afternoon. He wears militant colored cap, those of only Che Guevara or maybe Mao Tze Dong would wear. He is alone. Alone but lost in the aftermath of schedule and organized and dated desk job.
He is a comic artist by day and maybe a visionary by night. We will never know for sure.
Only a few stayed back. Those who dared. Friends who believed that staying back is the only solitude and freedom space to be left alone without any disturbances. Without any obstruction. Without any impediment being barged by unwanted intruders of privacy.
“My only refuge”, I quote him.
Today, he draws unlike any other days.
He is depicting illustration of graphical events only people from the outer world understood.
Theres no point now in finishing this --- this, this --- this yarning tale of someone who purchase things from eBays and having-living-being in a band and talk with non-sensical affair.
Lobak is a man of adamant words.
It is not his curse.
It is his blessing.
He somehow knew about the future of the world. Not the fate nor the destiny. Only about the future. He suddenly uttered a certain contraption called the TIME MACHINE .
" Does it exist? Should we ourselves be amused by it? Is it magic? Is it mystical? Finally who can victoriously, radically changed and alter time and history. Pro-claiming plans from the past, present and the future : non-relevant. They don’t understand this. Not yet "
" This isn't sincere. "
" You are possesing me and I still found this significantly connected anyways. Don't you dare change my mind. EVERYTHINGS IS BLOODY CONNECTED! Just like that man who went bonkers in issue #3 of that comic. "
" Everything's connected. Admit it! I am too lazy to act the way you wanted me to be! "
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p/s : " Kenapa penciller kena pencil dan kenapa writer kena write? Kalau aku pegang pencil aku tak boleh menulis ke? Aku nak jadi multipurpose! Bonus aku ni!!! "