connection

I still struggle to find it, believing that if i survive, something will change for sure

but sometimes, one needs something to make sure that everything's okay

that the path I've take is perfectly fine, and not a waste of time

really,

Of Investment, GDP, inflation, exchange rate, interest rate, and Goverment Investment

Or so my macroeconomics paper say

It is an emphirical study...

well, here we expect some variable to be significantly affect investment in my country; Indonesia

and we are expecting to use ECM as the methodology, if there are no violation in the assumption

some of it was based on pure theory, some from news..

tomorrow might be the day of presentation,

wish me luck, my dear mute blog...

I'm just emofag, product of my past

I look up to her beautiful, sparkling world,

where she built from her sweat and tears and bloods,

.

..

then here I look upon my muddy things I called world,

where I crawling and struggling and shedding all my fallen dreams,

Kinda sad that now I even can't stand up here,

I even can't say proudly that this is my world

that even in this muddy world, i still in the rock bottom

I'm yearning for something I can't get yet

and still do nothing about it,

I wanna change

what move shall I make?

what move should I make?

for certain group~~

It really hurt me that I abandoned you guys, I'm so bad

try to fix it,

thanks for certain someone...

And then here they are...

huwang....

aku kepingin jadi profesional

tapi masih berkutat dengan kemalasan gini...

trus aku juga belom punya karakter..

gak seru nih...

anyway, I Love this quote, dan berharap bisa melakukannya:

“Because I don’t live in either my past or my future. I’m interested only in the present. If you can concentrate always on the present, you’ll be a happy man. You’ll see that there is life in the desert, that there are stars in the heavens, and that tribesmen fight because they are part of the human race. Life will be a party for you, a grand festival, because life is the moment we’re living right now”

—	The Alchemist, Paulo Coelho Hope for the very best for Disjas n ADK besok <3

~~sigh

terkadang aku lelah

atas penyesalan karena pilihan- pilihan

yang selama ini kubuat dalam hidupku

bahkan pada titik ini, yang masih belum tahu bagaimana cara

untuk memperbaiki penyesalan itu,

dan, seiring dengan penyesalan - penyesalan itu,

aku menghancurkan masa kiniku

bagaimana cara belajar dari kesalahan?

apa yang harus kulakukan untuk memperbaiki nasibku?

aku sadar, bagaimanapun adalah hal yang tidak mungkin

untuk mengulang kembali semuanya

dan tidak ada cara untukku

untuk bisa kabur dari posisiku yang sekarang

untuk berhenti menjadi aku

walaupun sebentar

Bagaimana?

Aku masih 20 tahun hidup di dunia,

tapi rasanya aku telah mengacaukannya

aku sudah 20 tahun hidup di masyarakat

tapi sepertinya hidupku masih seperti- seperti ini saja

aku tidak tahu caranya...

dan aku masih saja berdiam diri tidak melakukan apapun,

aku ingin kabur dari dunia yang serba pura- pura ini

rasanya tidak sanggup menghadapi manipulasi sehari- hari

meratapi masa lalu

atau meratapi ketidakmampuan

aku ingin bisa melakukan yang terbaik tanpa penyesalan

aku akan memilih yang paling sulit mulai sekarang

carpe diem

Fujoshi~~Sexist at It's Best

It's not like I am a fujoshi, I dislike yaoi though I do enjoy bishounen

.

..

...

but the things is,

really, fujoshi in japanese literally means 'rotten girl'

as if i'ts okay with men loving shoujo-ai and yuuri,

but it's such a shame for girl to love yaoi,

and women loving yaoi is said rotten, and abandoned from the real world

As the naturally accepted things that say men can be perv,

but women who is perv is indeed slut

but fujoshi is indeed human!

screw you, sexist!

Antara UTS dan Fangirling

Pengumuman: tanggal 19 mei 2011 UTS untuk tingkat III STIS dimulai

Pengumuman: tanggal 18 Mei 2011 Yana Toboso akan merelease Kuroshitsuji chapter 56 dan 57; dobel release akibat bulan kemarin beliau sakit.

..

...

...

....

dan aku online, menunggu,

dan slide admintorku ada di sebelahku, menunggu,

jadi ingat puisinya Sapardi Djoko Darmono, entah kenapa...

dalam kamar ini kami bertiga:
aku, pisau dan kata --
kalian tahu, pisau barulah pisau kalau ada darah di matanya
tak peduli darahku atau darah kata

Better late than never...

blog baru lagi... really

entah kenapa gw punya kecenderungan untuk mbikin blog dan unintentionally meninggalkannya...

..

...

....

bener- bener berharap bisa menekuni yang satu ini...

welcome everyone, yang secara tak sengaja ataupun sengaja mampir disini,

tempat ini akan dipenuhi dengan tulisan- tulisan yang random, pribadi atau nggak, yang berkaitan dengan seorang anak manusia yang disini namanya disingkat sebagai Irizella,

dan dengan bangga gw menyatakan bahwa blog ini R-13, karena kemungkinan bakalan ada kata2 kasar dan beberapa isi yang gak cocok buat anak anak, really, masa kecil itu harus dilindungi^0^ (tapi nggak sampai hardcore kok)

teruuus... seperti biasa... jarang diriku mempublikasikan nama blog ini,

, selamat melihat-lihat,

your comment are really apreciated, therefore I know there is someone who care to me at least a bit (*mellow mode: on)

Carpe diem

Tu ne quaesieris, scire nefas, quem mihi, quem tibi	Don't ask (it's forbidden to know) what end
finem di dederint, Leuconoe, nec Babylonios	the gods will grant to me or you, Leuconoe. Don't play with Babylonian
temptaris numeros. ut melius, quidquid erit, pati.	fortune-telling either. It is better to endure whatever will be.
seu pluris hiemes seu tribuit Iuppiter ultimam,	Whether Jupiter has allotted to you many more winters or this final one
quae nunc oppositis debilitat pumicibus mare	which even now wears out the Tyrrhenian sea on the rocks placed opposite
Tyrrhenum: sapias, vina liques et spatio brevi	— be wise, strain the wine, and scale back your long hopes
spem longam reseces. dum loquimur, fugerit invida	to a short period. While we speak, envious time will have {already} fled
aetas: carpe diem, quam minime credula postero.	Seize the day, trusting as little as possible in the future.

"Childe Roland to the Dark Tower came."

by Robert Browning

My first thought was, he lied in every word,
That hoary cripple, with malicious eye
Askance to watch the working of his lie
On mine, and mouth scarce able to afford
Suppression of the glee that pursed and scored
Its edge, at one more victim gained thereby.

What else should he be set for, with his staff?
What, save to waylay with his lies, ensnare
All travellers who might find him posted there,
And ask the road? I guessed what skull-like laugh
Would break, what crutch 'gin write my epitaph
For pastime in the dusty thoroughfare,

If at his counsel I should turn aside
Into that ominous tract which, all agree,
Hides the Dark Tower. Yet acquiescingly
I did turn as he pointed: neither pride
Nor hope rekindling at the end descried,
So much as gladness that some end might be.

For, what with my whole world-wide wandering,
What with my search drawn out thro' years, my hope
Dwindled into a ghost not fit to cope
With that obstreperous joy success would bring,
I hardly tried now to rebuke the spring
My heart made, finding failure in its scope.

As when a sick man very near to death
Seems dead indeed, and feels begin and end
The tears and takes the farewell of each friend,
And hears one bid the other go, draw breath
Freelier outside ("since all is o'er," he saith,
"And the blow fallen no grieving can amend;")

While some discuss if near the other graves
Be room enough for this, and when a day
Suits best for carrying the corpse away,
With care about the banners, scarves and staves:
And still the man hears all, and only craves
He may not shame such tender love and stay.

Thus, I had so long suffered in this quest,
Heard failure prophesied so oft, been writ
So many times among "The Band" - to wit,
The knights who to the Dark Tower's search addressed
Their steps - that just to fail as they, seemed best,
And all the doubt was now--should I be fit?

So, quiet as despair, I turned from him,
That hateful cripple, out of his highway
Into the path he pointed. All the day
Had been a dreary one at best, and dim
Was settling to its close, yet shot one grim
Red leer to see the plain catch its estray.

For mark! no sooner was I fairly found
Pledged to the plain, after a pace or two,
Than, pausing to throw backward a last view
O'er the safe road, 'twas gone; grey plain all round:
Nothing but plain to the horizon's bound.
I might go on; nought else remained to do.

So, on I went. I think I never saw
Such starved ignoble nature; nothing throve:
For flowers - as well expect a cedar grove!
But cockle, spurge, according to their law
Might propagate their kind, with none to awe,
You'd think; a burr had been a treasure trove.

No! penury, inertness and grimace,
In some strange sort, were the land's portion. "See
Or shut your eyes," said Nature peevishly,
"It nothing skills: I cannot help my case:
'Tis the Last Judgment's fire must cure this place,
Calcine its clods and set my prisoners free."

If there pushed any ragged thistle-stalk
Above its mates, the head was chopped; the bents
Were jealous else. What made those holes and rents
In the dock's harsh swarth leaves, bruised as to baulk
All hope of greenness? 'tis a brute must walk
Pashing their life out, with a brute's intents.

As for the grass, it grew as scant as hair
In leprosy; thin dry blades pricked the mud
Which underneath looked kneaded up with blood.
One stiff blind horse, his every bone a-stare,
Stood stupefied, however he came there:
Thrust out past service from the devil's stud!

Alive? he might be dead for aught I know,
With that red gaunt and colloped neck a-strain,
And shut eyes underneath the rusty mane;
Seldom went such grotesqueness with such woe;
I never saw a brute I hated so;
He must be wicked to deserve such pain.

I shut my eyes and turned them on my heart.
As a man calls for wine before he fights,
I asked one draught of earlier, happier sights,
Ere fitly I could hope to play my part.
Think first, fight afterwards - the soldier's art:
One taste of the old time sets all to rights.

Not it! I fancied Cuthbert's reddening face
Beneath its garniture of curly gold,
Dear fellow, till I almost felt him fold
An arm in mine to fix me to the place
That way he used. Alas, one night's disgrace!
Out went my heart's new fire and left it cold.

Giles then, the soul of honour - there he stands
Frank as ten years ago when knighted first.
What honest men should dare (he said) he durst.
Good - but the scene shifts - faugh! what hangman hands
Pin to his breast a parchment? His own bands
Read it. Poor traitor, spit upon and curst!

Better this present than a past like that;
Back therefore to my darkening path again!
No sound, no sight as far as eye could strain.
Will the night send a howlet or a bat?
I asked: when something on the dismal flat
Came to arrest my thoughts and change their train.

A sudden little river crossed my path
As unexpected as a serpent comes.
No sluggish tide congenial to the glooms;
This, as it frothed by, might have been a bath
For the fiend's glowing hoof - to see the wrath
Of its black eddy bespate with flakes and spumes.

So petty yet so spiteful! All along
Low scrubby alders kneeled down over it;
Drenched willows flung them headlong in a fit
Of mute despair, a suicidal throng:
The river which had done them all the wrong,
Whate'er that was, rolled by, deterred no whit.

Which, while I forded, - good saints, how I feared
To set my foot upon a dead man's cheek,
Each step, or feel the spear I thrust to seek
For hollows, tangled in his hair or beard!
--It may have been a water-rat I speared,
But, ugh! it sounded like a baby's shriek.

Glad was I when I reached the other bank.
Now for a better country. Vain presage!
Who were the strugglers, what war did they wage,
Whose savage trample thus could pad the dank
Soil to a plash? Toads in a poisoned tank,
Or wild cats in a red-hot iron cage--

The fight must so have seemed in that fell cirque.
What penned them there, with all the plain to choose?
No foot-print leading to that horrid mews,
None out of it. Mad brewage set to work
Their brains, no doubt, like galley-slaves the Turk
Pits for his pastime, Christians against Jews.

And more than that - a furlong on - why, there!
What bad use was that engine for, that wheel,
Or brake, not wheel - that harrow fit to reel
Men's bodies out like silk? with all the air
Of Tophet's tool, on earth left unaware,
Or brought to sharpen its rusty teeth of steel.

Then came a bit of stubbed ground, once a wood,
Next a marsh, it would seem, and now mere earth
Desperate and done with; (so a fool finds mirth,
Makes a thing and then mars it, till his mood
Changes and off he goes!) within a rood--
Bog, clay and rubble, sand and stark black dearth.

Now blotches rankling, coloured gay and grim,
Now patches where some leanness of the soil's
Broke into moss or substances like boils;
Then came some palsied oak, a cleft in him
Like a distorted mouth that splits its rim
Gaping at death, and dies while it recoils.

And just as far as ever from the end!
Nought in the distance but the evening, nought
To point my footstep further! At the thought,
A great black bird, Apollyon's bosom-friend,
Sailed past, nor beat his wide wing dragon-penned
That brushed my cap--perchance the guide I sought.

For, looking up, aware I somehow grew,
'Spite of the dusk, the plain had given place
All round to mountains - with such name to grace
Mere ugly heights and heaps now stolen in view.
How thus they had surprised me, - solve it, you!
How to get from them was no clearer case.

Yet half I seemed to recognise some trick
Of mischief happened to me, God knows when--
In a bad dream perhaps. Here ended, then,
Progress this way. When, in the very nick
Of giving up, one time more, came a click
As when a trap shuts - you're inside the den!

Burningly it came on me all at once,
This was the place! those two hills on the right,
Crouched like two bulls locked horn in horn in fight;
While to the left, a tall scalped mountain . . . Dunce,
Dotard, a-dozing at the very nonce,
After a life spent training for the sight!

What in the midst lay but the Tower itself?
The round squat turret, blind as the fool's heart
Built of brown stone, without a counterpart
In the whole world. The tempest's mocking elf
Points to the shipman thus the unseen shelf
He strikes on, only when the timbers start.

Not see? because of night perhaps? - why, day
Came back again for that! before it left,
The dying sunset kindled through a cleft:
The hills, like giants at a hunting, lay
Chin upon hand, to see the game at bay,--
"Now stab and end the creature - to the heft!"

Not hear? when noise was everywhere! it tolled
Increasing like a bell. Names in my ears
Of all the lost adventurers my peers,--
How such a one was strong, and such was bold,
And such was fortunate, yet each of old
Lost, lost! one moment knelled the woe of years.

There they stood, ranged along the hillsides, met
To view the last of me, a living frame
For one more picture! in a sheet of flame
I saw them and I knew them all. And yet
Dauntless the slug-horn to my lips I set,
And blew. "Childe Roland to the Dark Tower came."