"It is quite true that I have worshipped you with far more romance of feeling than a man usually gives to a friend … well from the moment I met you, your personality had the most extraordinary influence over me. I quite admit that I adored you madly, extravagantly, absurdly. I was jealous of every one to whom you spoke. I wanted to have you all to myself. I was only happy when I was with you. When I was away from you, you were still present in my art."
my working mood already slipped away, so i have work to do (even told to be urgent) but i just drowned to reading dorian gray again. that's the original text (and later was amended by wilde because it's just too explicit of ... what?) it's so beautifully written and gives me so much association and imagination.
i heard that there will be a film soon, another attempt to kill the novel.
What if I say no? What if I say fuck off? But you don't get it cos my weakness is, I was far too polite.
the more i read, the more i fall for him! but his books are always expensive, always put in my wishlist. to quote his verse for my present feeling,
"finally, starved and beaten, I had to go into the streets to be interviewed for low-paying and monotonous jobs by strange men behind desks men without eyes men without faces who would take away my hours break them piss on them."
Everyone seems very busy in the office, i doubt if they are just like me, looking perplexed, staring at the screen constantly, sometimes pressing the keyboard. Do they really have so many works to do, everyday and every hour? or it is just the usual survival kit in office life? i'm also busy, (actually i have real job to do, but i'm just procrastinating) i'm busy to surf around (so it proves that the policy of restricting access is correct?) and now even go to blogging .... no, actually, i don't have anything to update my blog, i'm just too idle.
I discovered that i have updated 4 times in June and the index shows June (4) on the left-hand side, humm....
surfing around is good, or else i won't be aware that there will be godard review in september. (wow, will the film shows really be so completed?)
I stand accused just like you For being born without a silver spoon Stood at the top of a hill Over my town I was found
I've been on the shelf too long Sitting at home in my bed too long Got my things and now I'm gone How's the world gonna take me?
Finding myself used to be hard But now I see the light If love is a drug Then I don't need it
I've been on the shelf too long Sitting at home in my bed too long Now it's time to hear my song How are you gonna take it?
I've been on the shelf too long Think the words without the song Never had a way to go Tell me now I'm taking it I've been on the shelf too long I've been on the shelf too long I've been on the shelf too long
We've got a lot of living to do There's a door in my mind that's open wide Come inside come inside
Jesus never saved me He'll never save you too, and you know! I've got a little sticker on the back of my boot This is music
I should have written it months ago but I was tired and blank at that time. I'm still tired and blank but I feel like writing something about it now.
Liverpool - Lisandro Alonso
It's a simple story (if it can be called a story). A taciturn mariner set his journey back home for his ailing mother. There were hardly any dialogues, some people were playing games, but not for the taciturn man, he was standoffish, he's just present, and observed (or did he?) Just like the audience, we're just present, and observed (or did we?) but we were never invited by the director to connect with the film. The journey was long and hard, cruel blizzards all the way. There was no welcome at home (if that is a place called home). His mother did not recognise him. His daughter was not enthusiastic of his return. His father only wanted him to leave quickly. God knows what's happened there before. The world has already forgotten the taciturn man. He did not feel sad about it or at least his face did not register any sadness or disappointment. He left but the film continued. We saw what sort of lives that he left behind. It was the tip of Argentina, a place unknown to the world or maybe even to Argentina. The place was so remote that people have to live with limited resources and animal instinct. The world has not only forgotten the taciturn man, but also his family. Or maybe it's the world forgotten by the audience as we tend to dismiss the thing non-existing if we do not aware of it.
This is a film of microscopic examination of everyday's trivialities, detailed shoot of dressing, packing, eating and living. Banal and ordinary. No sentiment involved, if we only see thing as it seems. He tried to put the blanket on his mother, played around those little thingies in the house, stole a picture of his family, his hands were actually kept caressing the past and memory, though emotion also constantly kept restrained. Or he has been silent for a long time that he already lost the mean of communication. He gave a keychain to his daughter, bearing the name of a port somewhere. It might mean nothing to her, as it was not something valuable, and she seemed not interested to know what the word was about. But that might be the only thing that her father left her. A souvenir in the journey, record of a disconnected man wandering in the world, somewhere sometime, he may bear a thought of someone.
I have received several souvenirs of journey from others, some I like very much, some I just said thank you and put them somewhere now cannot be found, just like I also have given several to others, some may be being cherished, some may be regarded as trash as well. The only souvenir i got from my father is a bag from Guangzhou, cheap and ordinary. I never get along well with him, we don't talk to each other much. It is well known in family that I’m his least favourite child though I was also said to be the one who bore his character, a flawed character. He spends his humble life without much enjoyment and travelling. and I like the bag.
My first impression of the sleeve cover was, "How she reminds me of Richey Edwards!" Confused and apprehended, bloodshed and morbid. Richey was of course never confused. He was strong-willed (stronger than Mensa, Miller and Mailer) and a firm believer (of nothing).
To say richey is the gist or the soul of the band is a bit unfair to the other members and also a mystification or even deification of the very person. I still love Manics after the AWOL of Richey Edwards and consider Lifeblood as one of their best albums. However, with the magic touch of Richey (so actually it's me who mystify him), Manic Street Preachers lives up to its name again, preaching the unfinished business of the holy bible, fervently, with vehemence and sympathy, sometimes with rare tenderness. Still captivated by failed heroes/villains (Marlon J.D.), sympathetic with victims (She Bathed Herself In A Bath Of Bleach), skeptical of banality (Me and Stephen Hawking, Facing Page: Top Left) and hatred to the reign and the dominant, whitewash and lies (Journal for Plague Lovers, Virginia State Epileptic Colony), it is the good old manics we know from the idealistic angry young man in Generation Terrorists and Gold Against The Soul to the misanthropist in The Holy Bible. In Journal For Plague Lovers, anger and pain is further internalized, but silence is not sacrifice. The misanthropist becomes weary and withdrawn, seeking for an untethered place for a tired soul (This Joke Sport Severed, William's Last Words). These are the rare tender moments for the manics, though these also are the heart-breaking moments for those who love the person or the band. I never have problem with the voice of Nicky Wire (and cannot understand why people feel so abhorrence). I even think it's better to have Nicky to sing William's Last Words, laid-back and playful, he mollifies the otherwise too sentimental song.
My favourites are All Is Vanity and Doors Closing Slowly. Manics becomes the manic supporter of the authoritarian in AIV, people are simply lacking intelligence to make the right choice or, it makes no difference if we have choices or not, they are all lies after all, that's very cynical and very err ... richey.
Besides your cynicism, what else have you got? Emptiness and nothingness growing since teenage years has never died away, sense of uselessness only grows stronger. Doors closing slowly, so are you trapped within or without? Maybe it's true that crucifixion is easier than the stale existence and decaying. "In the end we had pieces of the puzzle but no matter how we put them together gaps remained. Oddly-shaped emptiness mapped by what surrounded them like countries we couldn't name." The world is noisy (listen to the voice of the accomplishment). What's your yearning? What's your loathing? Distant guitar with military / funeral drumbeats, clock-ticking, humdrum and routine, but your days are numbered, and you are mute.
Whenever i listened to this song, i would think about that incident. That was a sad day, but they were the most beautiful people i have ever seen.
Here are the young men, a weight on their shoulders Here are the young men, well where have they been? We knocked on doors of Hell's darker chambers Pushed to the limits, we dragged ourselves in Watched from the wings as the scenes were replaying We saw ourselves now as we never had seen Portrayal of the traumas and degeneration The sorrows we suffered and never were free
Where have they been? Where have they been? Where have they been? Where have they been?
Weary inside, now our heart's lost forever Can't replace the fear or the thrill of the chase These rituals showed up the door for our wanderings Opened and shut, then slammed in our face
Where have they been? Where have they been? Where have they been? Where have they been?
Constant no-update, it means this garden will soon be (or is already) forgotten by my rare and if-they-have-ever-existed (my dear imaginary) readers, but then at least I may say something frank or really treat it as a diary. That's the schizophrenia of bloggers. So do i want other to read, or not? The button on the screen says, "Publish Post", so I must want others to read (?) A mindset of a mental exhibitionist. A few days ago one of my friends asked about my absence from this blog. She was sort of good friend of mine but I was still scared by her attention. There're some people you don't expect them to read, such as your family, your colleagues or those you know they never understand what you are talking about (but they are still your friends, or even considered as good friends, how queer...). Sometimes you prefer to confess to a stranger to a person you really know. Maybe I don't need to worry cos' most of the time I just talked nonsense here and most of my friends would look blank when it's me who asked if they had read anything here. I always think blogging is something like a mental masturbation, something you have to release or, it just serves to satisfy the blogger himself / herself, because actually the one and only feverish reader of a blog is the blogger himself/herself. To show off the place you have been, the food you have eaten, the people you're with, the feeling you have, to establish the alter ego, be it the usual "princess/prince syndrome", or those "with the same guilt" cultural melancholic narcissus. No, no. Don't be disturbed by my words. I'm cynical. Please still enjoy your own blogging.
Because of my friend's query, I decide to delete hundreds of words, just my usual whining, to avoid the fragility of openness.
still need to whine. Bad luck. what can i say. no escape. don't escape. like the murphy's law. or what carl jung said. why my journal for plague lovers doesn't have the hidden track? limited edition means with limited number of tracks? so i have to spend extra HK$99 to buy the normal version. the poorer you are, the more ghosts you see.
Hum hum… makes no sense Mermaids drown Birds fall We choke But still breathe He preaches in the street (not manic at all) Rest assure we are all listening (though we look in awe) Fly dies in the office no, it's tinkerbell
to make an entry here. I say it's a squeeze cos' when i am at home online, i just spend the time on pet society, it's so useless and boring! (but i can't stop the routine of feeding my pet). Sometimes i miss my blog terribly and want to put down something (without knowing what to put down).
Yes, I was looking for a job and then I found a job, and heaven knows … strangely I still survive, the simple trick is just to forsake my worthless dignity and liberty. The main theme of this blog is always my whining about jobs and I have more reasons to whine for the present one, but at this sour time I feel like my right of whining is simply not allowed, when the press keep updating the current unemployment rate, at least I got paid now. Maybe all I can do is to save a bit more (who knows I will still be employed tomorrow). I don't want to sound like too humble and lowly, but that's it.
Not everyone is as humble as me. I recently have a dinner with a few friends in college and they spent the whole evening discussing moving to a bigger flat or buying a bigger car (while I never dream of buying a small flat or car), alternated with if they should take up the hsbc's rights issue. I could not take part in any conversation. They must have attained to the level of "successful" if we can categorize the phase of life like an electronic game. I never have the status anxiety as suggested by de botton. Material gain is also not my (main) concern. I just think someday I may lose all my friends if I keep being the same person while all my friends keep "progressing".
It's like I was kept in a time capsule, with the same thoughts, same attitude and same interests (but sadly not the same look). It explains a lot why I was captivated by the Pains Of Being Pure At Heart. Cynical me first dismissed them by their name, "what, so pretentious!" I was wrong, of course. Sweet jaunty guitar immediately brought me back to the good old twee-pop days, the days of the early mbv, stone roses and the field mice, sixteen clumsy and shy. Years pass, it's a bit embarrassing to still hold on the teenage dream, by euphemism I may call myself evergreen and young at heart. So, turn up the volume, i want to be bombed by the sweet guitar noise.
"Both are convinced that a sudden surge of emotion bound them together. Beautiful is such a certainty, but uncertainty is more beautiful."
waiting for my roses, suffering from the depression of knowing that i actually cannot make any pilgrimage this year, anticipating the coming overwhelming worship of the gracelands, the fanatic is frenetic. almost breathless. though www.myspace.com/gracewastelands can surely ease a bit of pain.
"時機尚未成熟 成為他們命運的準備 緣分將他們推近，驅離 憋住笑聲 阻擋他們的去路 然後閃到一邊"
we love lovers, back to the square one. or it's the ending fitting for the start. like those pictures of m.c.escher. i feel dizzy. i need szymborska.
"Every beginning is but a continuation, and the book of events is never more than half open."
"I wouldn't want for you to come to any harm, and tell me, if the darkness comes I will sing you a song and I will love you forever or at least till the morning comes"
It's so sweet that I can feel a sour aftertaste
It's so sweet that I can weep for its beauty and delicacy
If you go on with this sweetest chant
I will really fall backwards to fall into your arms
I know your fierceness, anger, violence and, your tenderness, you were once an angel, of course it's no difficult for you to speak the gentle words and hum a sweet rhyme. You never fail to tempt me, sometimes I begged you to stop, for I was and will never as strong and intelligent as you, so let me be the meek and the humble, the innocence and the ignorance. You smiled and said what a hypocrite I was, as in fact it was me who asked you to stop me if I tried to stop you. You laughed at my quest for wisdom, saying that's the origin of sin, for human brain was too defective to think and understand. "Stop!" I begged again. A sense of fear struck into me suddenly, but what was I frightened for? Your evil, clairvoyance or, simply my own weaknesses? "mogwai fear satan" you sneered. I know you like riddles. When you said "happy songs for happy people", did you actually refer to your sad songs for sad people? But I couldn't really fathom that you refer me to one of your titles. You laughed, stating in a matter-of-fact tone that human beings got all the traits of devil except their retarded intelligence. "That is old cliche" I yawned, "yes, we can be cruel, jealous and greedy", that's so trite, you might not be as clever as you claimed. You didn't respond to my mockery, instead, you asked me out for a walk together. We went to a precipice, far above the banal world the cold wind cut me like a razorblade. Under the starry sky, you sang me those celestial songs, echoing the stories before your fall. Suddenly you grabbed my hand and plunged, I was dazzled by the strange rays of light - red, green and white, maddened by the howling of thousands faceless souls, scorched by the inferno fire, I was overwhelmed and possessed, strangled and suffocated, was it a punishment for my rude remark? "No" you said. Everything stopped, at once. You're gone. I returned back to my room. I now understand in addition to cruelty, jealousy and greed, I'm so ambiguous, hesitated, indifferent and numb, breathing but not living, this is so evil like a crime, you pushed me to the extremity, torn me apart, killed but also awaken my senses, meanwhile, I lost my peace of mind.
You are so fierce, angry, violent and tender. Of course I recognise you. I know you are but what am I?
Mogwai @ HITEC, Hong Kong 18.01.09 This is not a video clip actually, cos' i was behind a bunch of westerners, everything is shaky and out fo. this is a audio clip. Personally, it should be "sad songs, stay til the end. Old songs remind me of friends".
the end of the affair I really couldn't believe the news. This is the first venue which i came to know, for a long time melody maker/nme reader, i read about its name long before i really got a chance to step inside it.
My most unforgetable memories of it :
farewell to suede (the tickets must have been overbooked, there were actually too many people, i could see - nothing, but of course that was a great night, a sad night, a celebration night for a great band (which not many people agree), for what they have achieved, for the people there - who claimed themselve as "suede people", those self-centered, self-indulgent but as the same time glamourous people (oh but i'm not saying i am))
farewell to Gemma Clarke that's the notorious riotous night, the christmas party summoned by babyshambles, the ruined party, i felt bad for gemma (for her drumsets were literally decomposing) and i felt bad for myself (for i went there at 7 to queue and stayed until 2 am without any food and going toilet, tolerating to watch tower of london and forsaking moz for petah) The picture above of course is not the cute gemma, it's "scarborough" steve, one of the guests of that christmas party, the one that only those two boys in the band would think he's cool
this is a new year, a new start for me, a new start for you.
actually i don't have any idea for my future or which direction should i turn (directionless so plain to see, a loaded gun won't set you free...) oh, touch wood, yes, this is new year, any negative thought is not allowed. i remember someone who is so clever but not very wise once said that he did not get on with the future, so they just ignored each other. only up till now i understand his words, so he's indeed clever and wise.
before turning a new page in 2009, let me be a dog walking backwards for a few steps and express my deep gratitude for anyone who had showed kindness to me in taipei, singe initially the riddle but then the cute sweetie, ah nan and other suede persons at simple life who took care of me in the absolute choas (well, the choas was not because of brett anderson, it's for the act (soda6) afterwards), and of course (let's clap) the language-master (and multi-functional) ppp who gave me so much which i can hardly articulate, warmed the cold, brightened the grey, spent time with a lonely soul to wander aimlessly or purposefully, enroute or by mistake.
brett anderson, who got the blame and criticism (again) for singing the good old suede, if people who thought brett was just a fallen idol, why did they care to see? You don't need a reason to hate or love someone. i myself think brett was still brilliant, no matter when he sang his solo songs or those suede ones.
jarvis cocker, with english accent and, english humour, still the charming darling, a valentine kept receiving bunches of roses from the crowd, still danced with his unique poses, played dead or watered the roses on stage, his every note and every move was just right, thought the last song (space oddity) which was collaborated with miss yang was a bit weird.
I only got the white sport's album recently. While I enjoy much of the angelic voice of andrew aveling and the guitar of patrick walden, the photos inside are so interesting and cute ... those were the days.
Do you remember him? since that kate moss' photos malarkey, he gradually faded away from the scene (whisper: "circus", oh doherty fans don't hit me!), so did he or didn't he? anyway it's all gossip but James Mullord as a founder of High Society Records and later 1234 Records, i really think he did some sort of good job, at least we have that lovely Babyshambles single and all the wonderful music from the white sport, the bishops, whitey, objects, cazals (oh but i can't recognise the recent cazals, what the hell are they doing?) I seem to be a big fans of these two record labels.
Pin-up time:
oh i never saw such a young and healthy patty, sometimes your dear friends can be hazardous to you, lad!!! (again, doherty fans don't hit me!)
oh wasn't he cute? he named himself as "young adam" and he looked really young there, that's 2004 but why did he look 10 years younger? don't get me wrong, now adam is still looking good, just more gentleman-like, less laddish.
So, is Songs The Postman Can Whistle any good? Sure! but if a postman can whistle the songs of this album, he's surely not your ordinary postman, let's blow him a kiss.
How happiness runs fast! Yesterday my heart kept beating hard because of the excitement that I would see the manics again, seemed like i myself was manic again. It has been a long while i haven't seen their live and i really miss them badly. Dug out my long-hidden feather boa and wondered if I should also put a tiara on (but sadly still with that monotonous and hateful "office lady" outfit, monster!), i became an oddball again. of course things would be much normal if i was in the uk. Hey it was the manics gig and boa, tiara, eyeliner or army coat should be the official dress code for the entry, but no, this was the other side of the globe so i could hardly find another boa lover except the one on stage.
There was not really a big crowd, as the manics was never a darling in this place when they were in their prime, not to say when they all become the chubby middle-aged rockers now. Maybe I was loyal, subjective or blind, or maybe I was so clairvoyant to ignore one's outlook (oh really?) and see the essence of the soul, I still found them utterly cool and powerful (...oh passages of praise, i'm unstoppable and delirious again, my ususal symptoms after meeting those favourite persons of mine). The gig was opened by Motorcycle Emptiness, which got every "real" manics fans high from the start. New and old songs were quite well-balanced, 3 from the latest album (Send The Tiger Away, The Autumn Song, and Your Love Alone Is Not Enough [which i dislike most]), 1 from Lifeblood (1985, oh but i love this album very much), 1 from Know Your Enemy (Ocean Spray), several from their two most popular albums, 1 from Holy Bible (only Faster, not enough!) 1 from Gold Against Soul and 3 from Generation Terrorists. They even performed Motown Junk but since Richey went away, James no longer sang the line of "I laughed when Lennon got shot". I could still see the painful eyes from James whenever there was some reference to Richey between the lyrics (or was it my imagination?), maybe that's because a court order was just granted a few days ago to declare the death of the man (oh no!).
Here I can only jot down what I saw and what i heard, but not quite what I felt/feel. When i finish this entry, i feel my words are so plain and dry, they don't really reflect my feeling at all! and i feel so illiterate now. The more i write, the more uselessness i feel for words and language. Maybe i should simply write: THEY WERE PERFECT. That sums up my feeling and their performance (but Mr Wire no longer dressed himself as a doll, what a pity!)
It's a delayed train, delayed shock, delayed reaction, to live, to die, to escape. It still pains me a lot read the news, the formal declaration. 4Real.
The autumn sky is so calm, wide and high, even the dazzling sunshine becomes more gentle, i am speechless in this autumnal tenderness.
