男人

當我愛上了你
但你卻沒有

最大鑊的
不是不能跟你在一起
而是你給我一個錯覺
讓我以為自己什麼都不夠好。

在那個時候。


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差的男人是
他就是我的全世界

好的男人是
讓我知道天空有多闊　有多廣。


*

他或他把我敲碎了
破的破　丟的丟　散落一地

然後你來了
像拼拼圖般
緩慢地　溫柔地　把我湊合回來

這是我久別重逢的自己。

:)

媽咪生日快樂 :)

小時候老媽常用Beatles 灌我，
今日我就點返首Beatles 俾佢。

Desmond has his barrow in the market place
Molly is the singer in a band
Desmond says to Molly girl I like your face
And Molly says this as she takes him by the hand

Ob-la-di, ob-la-da, life goes on, brah!
Lala how the life goes on
Ob-la-di, ob-la-da, life goes on, brah!
Lala how the life goes on

Desmond takes a trolley to the jewelry store
Buys a twenty carat golden ring
Takes it back to Molly waiting at the door
And as he gives it to her she begins to sing

Ob-la-di, ob-la-da, life goes on, brah!
Lala how the life goes on
Ob-la-di, ob-la-da, life goes on, brah!
Lala how the life goes on

In a couple of years they have built a home sweet home
With a couple of kids running in the yard
Of Desmond and Molly Jones

Happy ever after in the market place
Desmond lets the children lend a hand
Molly stays at home and does her pretty face
And in the evening she still sings it with the band

Ob-la-di, ob-la-da, life goes on, brah!
Lala how the life goes on
Ob-la-di, ob-la-da, life goes on, brah!
Lala how the life goes on

In a couple of years they have built a home sweet home
With a couple of kids running in the yard
Of Desmond and Molly Jones
Happy ever after in the market place
Molly lets the children lend a hand
Desmond stays at home and does his pretty face
And in the evening she's a singer with the band

Ob-la-di, ob-la-da, life goes on, brah!
Lala how the life goes on
Ob-la-di, ob-la-da, life goes on, brah!
Lala how the life goes on

And if you want some fun, take Ob-la-di-bla-da

《喜愛畫圖》

At the end of today lesson, Amic said:

"Don't forget the presentation next week,
with your brand annual report, process book, 150 sketches also.
I think you better《喜愛畫圖》instead of《喜愛夜蒲》now.
So! Take your time, enjoy your Happy Friday, cheer :D (with a big smile) "



腦裡於是出現一個畫面：
poster 中這班只穿著內衣褲的慾海男女，
其實個個隻手都欲罷不能咁拿住支marker 筆……。　(T^ T )|||


*

做到喊，fuck yeah!

是誰殺死了冬天

以後－－


廁所廚房燈用時才亮著！

不太熱的日子不開冷氣！

睡前／出門前一定關電腦！

而且傍晚／晚上的課，
強迫同學們關機才准離開Mac Room！
剛剛我關掉所有Mac 才離開咧！


Till Late No May，
Till Late No Winter ar！　(T^ T )

那些我執迷不悔的

堅持很難，
放棄卻更難。

Signs

director: Patrick Hughes

Move, Learn, Eat

3 guys
44 days
11 countries
18 flights
38 thousand miles
an exploding volcano
2 cameras

all in 3 clips, less than 4 mins

by Rick Mereki

Eve Ensler: Suddenly, My Body

Last night my dear was having this video with me. It pounds me breaks me as many many pieces, totally.

The day after, I'm still thinking of this amazing woman, Eve Ensler, this powerful poet both writer. So I shared this clip with my friends, so I spent a little more time to read those comments, so I watched it again and again, in Chinese subtitle, then English.

But I still cannot express the strong feeling that she gave me, then I could only transcribed every single word of the speech, try to chew them, to digest them, those tragic words, those beautiful words.

Besides the meaningful contact, its attractiveness stems from the lack of charming speaker in this place, I think. Anyone who same age with me have ever experienced any stirring speech in this city? No matter what topic is it.

Now come watch it, read it, think about it, feel it.


*

For a long time, there was ME and MY BODY. Me was composed of stories, of cravings, of strivings, of desires of the future. Me was trying not to be an outcome of my violent past, but the separation that had already occurred between me and my body, was a pretty significant outcome. Me was always trying to become something, somebody. Me only existed in the trying. My body was often in the way. Me was a floasting head. For years, I actually only wore hats. It was a way of keeping my head attached. It was a way if locating myself. I worried that if I took my hat off I wouldn't be here anymore.

I actually had a therapist who once said to me, "Eve, you've been coming here for two years, and, to be honest, it never occurred to me that you had a body."

All this time I lived in the city, because, to be honest, I was afraid of trees. I never had babies, because heads cannot give birth. Babies actually don't come out of yor mouth. As I had no reference point for my body, I began to ask other about their bodies -- in particular, their vaginas, because I thought vaginas were kind of important. This led to me writing "The Vagina Monologues" which led to me obsessively and incessantly talking about vaginas everywhere I could. I did this in front of many strangers. One night on stage, I actually entered my vagina. It was an ecstatic experience. It scared me, it energized me, and then I became a driven person, a driven vagina.

I began to see my body like a thing, a thing that could move fast, like a thing that could accomplish other things, many things, all at once. I began to see my body like an iPad or a car. I would drive it and demand things from it. It had no limits. It was invincible. It was to be conquered and mastered like the Earth herself. I didn't heed it; no, I organized it and I directed it. I didn't have patience for my body; I snapped it into shape. I was greedy.

I took more than my body had to offer. If I was tired, I drank more espressos. If I was afraid, I went to more dangerous places. Oh sure, sure, I had moments of appreciation of my body, the way an abusive parent can sometimes have a moment of kindness. My father was really kind to me on my 16th birthday, for example.

I heard people murmur from time to time that I should love my body, so I learned how to do this. I was vegetarian, I was sober, I didn't smoke. But all that was just a more sophisticated way to manipulate my body -- a further disassociation, like planting a vegetable field on a freeway. As a result of me talking so much about my vagina, many women started to tell me about theirs -- their stories about their bodies.

Actually, these stories compelled me around the world, and I've been over 60 countries. I heard thousands of stories. And I have to tell you, there was always this moment where the women shared with me that particular moment when she separated from her body -- when she left home. I heard about women being molested in their beds, flogged in their burqas, left for dead in parking lots, acid burned in their kitchens. Some women became quiet and disappeared. Other women became mad, driven machines like me.

In the middle of my traveling, I turned 40 and I began hate my body, which was actually progress, because at least my body existed enough to hate it. Well my stomach -- it was my stomach I hated. It was proof that I had not measured up, that I was old and not fabulous and not perfect or able to fit into the predetermined corporate image in shape. My stomach was proof that I had failed, that it had failed me, that it was broken. My life became about getting rid of it and obsessing about getting rid of it.

In fact, it became so extreme I wrote a play about it. But the more I talked anout it, the more objectified and fragmented my body became. It became enterainment, it became a new kind of commodity, something I was selling. Then I went somewhere else.

I went outside what I thought I knew. I went the Democratic Republic of Congo. And I heard stories that shattered all the other stories. I heard stories that got inside my body. I heard about a little girl who couldn't stop peeing on herself because so many grown soldiers had shoved themselves inside her. I heard an 80 year-old woman whose leg were broken and pulled out of her sockets and twisted up on her head as the soldiers raped her like that. There are thousands of these stories.

And many of the women had holes in their bodies -- holes, fistula -- that were the violation of war -- holes in the fabric of their souls. These stories saturated my cells and nerves. And to be honest, I stopped sleeping for three years. All the stories began to bleed together. The raping of the Earth, the pillaging of minerals, the destruction of vaginas -- none of these were separate anymore from each other or me.

Militias were raping six-month-old babies, so that countries far away could get access to gold and coltan for their iPhones and computers. My body had not only become a driven machine, but it was responsible now for destroying other women's bodies in its mad quest to make more machines, to support the speed and efficiency of my machine.

Then I got cancer -- or I found out I had cancer. It arrived like a speeding bird smashing into a window pane. Suddenly, I had a body, a body that was pricked and poked and punctured, a body that was cut wide open, a body that had organs removed and transported and rearranged and reconstructed, a body that was scanned and had tubes shoved down it, a body that was burning from chemicals.

Cancer exploded the wall of my disconnection. I suddenly understood that the crisis in my body was the crisis in the world. and it wasn't happening later, it was happening now. Suddenly, my cancer was cancer that was everywhere, the cancer of cruelty, the cancer of greed, the cancer that gets inside people who live down the streets from chemical plants -- and they're usually poor -- the cancer inside the coal miner's lungs, the cancer of stress for not achieving enough, the cancer of buried trauma, the cancer in caged chickens and polluted fish, the cancer in women's uteruses from being raped, the cancer that is everywhere from our carelessness.

In his new and visionary book, "New Self, New World" the writer Philip Shephered says, "If you are divided from your body, you are also divided from the body of the world, which then appears to be other than you or separate from you, rather than the living continuum to which you belong."

Before cancer, the world was something other. It was as if I was living in a stagnant pool and cancer dynamited the boulder, that was separating me from the larger sea. Now I am swimming in it. Now I lay down in the grass and I rub my body in it, and I love the mud on my legs and feet. Now I make a daily pilgrimage to visit a particular weeping willow by the Seine, and I hunger ofr the green fields in the bush outside Bukavu. And when it rains hard rain, I scream and I run in circles. I know that everything is connected, and the scar that runs the length of my torso is the markings of the earthquake. And I am there with the three million in the streets of Port-au-Prince. And the fire that burns in me on day three through six of chemo is the fire that is burning in the forests of the world. I know that the abscess that grew around my wound after the operation, the 16 oz of puss, is the contaminated Gulf of Mexico, and there were oil-drenched peilcans inside me and dead flosting fish. And the catheters they shoved into me without proper medication made me scream out the way the Earth cries out from the drilling.

In my second chemo, my mother got very sick, and I went to see her. And in the name of connectedness, the only thing she wanted before she died was to be brought home by her beloved Gulf of Mexico. So we brought her home, and I prayed that the oil wouldn't wash up on her beach before she died. And greatfully, it didn't. And she died quietly in her favorite place.

And a few weeks later, I was in New Orieans, and this beautiful, spiritual friend told me she wanted to do a healing for me. And I was honored. And I went to her house, and it was morning, and the morning New Orieans sun was filtering through the curtains. And my friend was preparing this big bowl, and I said, "What is it?" And she said, "it's for you. The flowers make it beautiful, and the honey makes it sweet." And I said, "But what's the water part?" And in the name of connectedness, she said. "Oh, it's the Gulf of Mexico." And I said, "Of course it is." And the other women arrived and they sat in a circle, and Michaela bathed my head with sacred water. And she sang -- I mean her whole body sang. And the other women sang and they prayed for me and my mother. And as the warm Gulf washed over my naked head I realized that it held the best and the worst of us.

It was the greed and wrecklessness that led to the drilling explosion. It was all the lies that got told before and after. It was the honey in the water that made it sweet, it was the oil that made it sick, It was my head that was bald and comfortable now without a hat. It was my whole self melting into Michaela's lap. It was the tears that were indistinguishable from the Gulf that were falling down my cheek. It was finally being in my body. It was the sorrow that's taken so long. It was finding my place and the huge responsibility that comes with connection. It was the continuing devastating war in the Congo and the indifference world. It was the Congolese women who are now rising up. It was my mother leaving, just at the moment when I was being born. It was the realization that I had come very close to dying -- in the same way that the Earth, our mother, is barely holding on, in the same way that 75 percent of the planet are hardly scraping by, in the same way that there is a recipe for survival. What I learned is it to do with attention and resources that everybody deserves.It was advocating friends and a doting sister. It was wise doctors and advanced mechine and surgeons who knew what to do with their hands. It was underpaid and really loving nurses. It was magic healers and aromatic oils. It was people who came with spells and rituals. It was having a vision of the future and something to fight for, because I know this struggle isn't my own. It was a million prayers. It was a thousand hallelujahs and a million oms.It was a lot of anger, insane humor, a lot of attention, outrage. It was energy, love and and joy.

It was all these things. It was all these things. It was all these things in the water, in the world, in my body.

CocoRosie: Fairy Paradise

He draws me the periphery
And disbelieve on delivery
Came child from the deep inferno
Crusty head of dead volcano

Heartless coward bird of beak
When life's too short to speak
Lilac dust of a woman's hair
Wind cross the paper play

A strong will her body lay
A stack of feathers, a pile of hay
A mushroom for an eye ball
A moustache from the snow fall

Worms weave a ring, my fairy's square dance
Queens and kings fairy's weave words with eyelash
Trance music make the fairys dance

From the gaze of snail shells
Of course their mother made evil spells
Mistery flows through a wicked river
Adorned in the light and selfish liver

Bending around the clover fields
Their sapling stems don't break but heal
Her pain inflicts no arguments must
Learn to sway and unarrange

As earth, she makes her final passage
Of the humans long her ravaged

Vanished with all marks for motion
Ackward Angel's lost devotion
One by one escort us home
To leave the elementors free to round to

Bath in the last of oceans foam
To beach comb
The nuclear debris of plastic toys
And a meadow trees on the perfect day you'll find the breeze once

Blew the pollen, the feed the me's
Now cried the stars when upon the earth
Their gaze might rush, their nostalgia burst
Elements be heard through all the cosmos
For the dying planet with fallen foes

意識流

剛剛在看新詩，以及一些其他文體，
突然記起剛認識珏時的一段對話，記之。

數年前的事了，在「阿姐美食」路邊攤晚飯，
談及寫作，我說了句：「我不喜歡意識流。」
一時間他還以為我在說本地樂隊《意色樓》。
不，說罷，我用食指在空中不斷畫蛇：「這個『流』。」
這他就懂了。

不喜歡意識流，因為不喜歡猜謎。
即使我樂意花時間猜，作者那零碎斷續的心理狀態，畢竟太難閱讀。

或者我該先意識流試試看：

「我。
　海。
　電視。
　在一起。
　捲曲。
　濕潤。
　操你的。
　煙霧迷漫。」

其實，如果有人讀後走來分析我，說不定我會迷上意識流。
「代表佛洛伊德心理深層的一種後現代結構主義的潛意識幻覺」？
「投射了一類型的意志和表象世界的內在關係」？

據說二十世紀初有位女小說家維珍妮亞吳爾芙，
正是用當時流行的意識流方式來寫作，
所以，據說好多她的小說都很難讀。
也所以，知道就好，我不打算碰她。

又據說，這位吳爾芙後來患了抑鬱症，
原因是夫妻之間無法精神溝通，
加上二次大戰後的迷茫感，最後投河自盡。
這段故事，可在電影The Hours 《此時此刻》裡看得到。



至於常聽到的「Who's afraid of (someone/something)」，
原句乃：「誰害怕維珍妮亞吳爾芙？」（Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?）
人們把它解讀成「誰害怕活在幻覺的虛空之中」。
諷刺的是，這句子最初是出現在給人買醉的酒吧－－
是誰在酒吧的鏡子上寫下這句話後悄然離開？
及後，這句子被拍成舞台劇和電影，就成了名句。



噢，不知不覺就打了一大堆，
其實本來我只是想說「我不喜歡意識流」。
原來我都幾意識流。

整理的藝術

Ursus Wehrli 出書喇！
當初也是在TED 上得知這位瑞士藝術家的。

有說真正的藝術家都凌亂不堪，
Ursus Wehrli 卻將整理化作藝術，
叫我此等終日發藝術家夢卻又整理成癖的人，
振奮非常雀躍萬分…！

先前見他甚至將凡高的房間整理一番，
不禁拍案叫絕。
今次看他新一輪作品，實在哭笑不得。



















最尾兩輯有片為證，唔係photoshop 架！
影片可到其網頁KUNST AUFRÄUMEN 觀賞。

Life In A Day

2010 年7 月24 日那天，你怎樣地渡過了？

YouTube 在全球192 個國家收集超過80,000 個作品、
合共4,500 多小時的錄像，剪輯成這齣《一日人生》。

要處理如此龐大的畫像，實在不容易。
製片人列尼史葛（Ridley Scott）和奇雲麥當奴（Kevin Macdonald），
將所有片節分類，並注入設定問題以輔助觀眾思考，
配上動人樂曲，一道可口菜餚大功告成。

由每天例行動作開始：起床、梳洗、進餐…，
接續生活裡尋常的不一樣：第一次剃鬚、第一次表演、跳水跳降傘…，
繼而推進至生命的悲喜：尋找真愛、誕生、疾病、衰老…。

這130 分鐘，跨越了貧富、種族、文化、國度、性別、年齡，
而在7 月24 日快將完結之時，有個女孩在黑暗的車廂裡剖白：
她從來都渴望something happens、something special，卻從沒有。
可是在錄像的那一刻，她感到生活變得有丁點不一樣了。

那些尋常的喜悅，那些平凡的感動。
影片在說著一個歷久常新的課題，那就是人生。

開學日

謝謝所有祝福和禮物
很窩心　謝謝你們　:)


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在海洋公園
玩得很瘋狂
笑翻了
還虛脫的說

久違的海洋公園啊

重遇沙鰻　滿心歡喜
躺在地上看鎚頭鯊　莫名感動
海洋劇場裡表演的海豚　讓我淚流滿面
*（詳情請觀看記錄片The Cove）
而海獅啊　為什麼不管在野外或這裡　你都如此愛做sit-up ?

還有那些機動遊戲
實在太喜歡它們
頭髮亂了　脖子chok 傷了
我們都像可憐的倉鼠被鎖著發來發去
就圖那點點速度感與離心力
換來近乎沒意識的失控狂笑

除了慶祝生日
更是包租公謙的歡送會
臨別在即　我也只能模仿飛機上那親切的空姐說句
祝你有個愉快嘅旅程




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Life In A Day

個多星期前買票
當時只是想盡早看
28? 29? 30? 31? 都滿座了
剛巧最快要在這晚上才有位
也於是　在新一歲的晚上
看了這齣意味深長的片子


*



還有　親愛的　謝謝你
以及auntie 的愛心檸檬芝士蛋糕
I love you