Puja and Pujo

My name is Puja.

Oh, I know that name. Puja was once a superstar to all ladies in this discotheque. My name is Pujo, a very devoted guest here.

I heard about Puja from Puji – my girlfriend. She said Puja was extremely gorgeous. I perceive her words right now.

But ….. why has Puja come to me?

Tonight. In this discotheque. At this corner. His physic appears in front of my very eyes, when I have just pointed upward, after my figment of imagination. Glasses – empty and half-empty, scatter on my table. Long Island, crème de menthe, cola and ice cubes. Ashtray and water pitcher. Oh, these glass thingies stay in my sight they make Puja look see through like a clear crystal. I touch him and he feels supple.

My name is Puja.

So, this is Puja.

Come and sit, Puja. Why are you greeting me? I am with some friends. They’re there on the dance floor. They’re bopping like substances solving in water. They’re merging in the same music, as entities with assorted solving intensities. Some are sad, disappointed and bemused. Some are happy and gone too far. Why have you greeted me, Puja? Do you know me? Have you heard my heart? I’m on the edge of a fall. Puji is marrying someone else. In one week. Have you ever felt this? Be my new friend, Puja. I need one tonight.

Her name is Puji.

Oh, Pujo and Puji are not a matter of chance. And now here is a Puja.

What triangle can suit us, Puja? Do you know Puji – my girlfriend whom I am thinking of as a bitch?

Puja and Puji.

Everybody knows?

Then Puja appears distinct as human. Human is made of clay. So real next to me. He is not attached to anything. His feet are half an inch from the gravity. He is floating. But I feel all right. Maybe it’s my vision biased by the darkness of this discotheque. Whatever.

Puja and Puji made love.

Everybody knows?

Why not? They’re the most beautiful of all here. I wonder.

Oh, you’re Puji’s ex-boyfriend, aren’t you?

Puja and Pujo. Sitting side by side. Why isn’t there who wonders? Or at least surprised then smile. Isn’t it strange that Puja’s talking to me? Ah, maybe it is run of the mill that Puji is a play slut.

Puja, why did you break up with Puji?

His name was Pujo, said Puji.

Puja flow tears. Strange tears they’re not dropping down the chin. They stop at the lips level but keep flowing endlessly.

Oh, Puji deceived you, too? She was having an affair behind your back, Puja?

As now that she’s going to marry this Puje the Balinese.

Gosh, what happened to you then, Puja? Tell me! I really want to know! ….. Puja! Puja! Where are you going? You haven’t told me. What happened to you after the break-up? …… Don’t take too long in the toilet, please!

*

Oh, crème de menthe. Hi, long island. Keep me company. Where are my friends? Where is Puja? Should I look this down this long?

Damn Puji! The ecstasy of your body, Puji, can never compare the frenzy of you slicing my heart into pieces. My too pure heart. The heart, from a parish, that hangs a strong meat for your abyss. Puji, oh, Puji, should I call you a bitch when your face is an angel’s?

Ah, those hopes! Your body, in which I often thrust; why isn’t it gone? Why becomes a fire? Oh, long island. Hi, crème de menthe. Why are you like gasoline? Aaaaaakkkhhh! Ppppt!

*

Mmmh, this smell of floor cleaning agent; and my body is moving on a carriage. Oh, they’re doctor and nurses. Hospital. Dawn. The calling. Yes, the calling. Mmmh! P-p-p-p-t-t-t!

*

Wow, so bright!! But I don’t feel blocked. I am floating straight on a reality like a limitless universe with the brightest light ever. I am wrapped by an oval clear membrane that so softly tremors and has so many strains connected to the spots all over my body. Points where all the moral fibers originate.

I don’t know why, but I feel so worried every time a strain escapes from its spot, one by one. I feel so much pain each time.

God, the anger and the pain are the only ones that stay. Their spots are on my most upper part. I am hurt and furiously angry. Aaaaaakkkhhh! Pyaaarrr!

*

The fact is that the universe that I thought limitless, borders with where I am now. I am walking on a cloud. Everything is cloudy.

Hey, that’s Puja! Puja! Puja! Pujaaaaa!

"Where have you been?"
"Pujo, at last….." slowly the conversation fades away. The wind freshly blows it’s drowsy. Chimes ring: tring-tring---tring----repeatedly.

*

(Tangerang, 2 October 2006)