Home...(9/7)

Encore le spirit...(30/9)

After ages, I tuned up this Spiritualised album again today, and then putting aside the biased perception of a post-'ladies and gentlemen' repetition of formula, the 2001 album did stay shiny after a almost decade...with the gloomy lost in the abnormal weather this week, it is just a perfect excuse to float in the space again...

Between the line...(12/8)

It is not consciously easy to accept some unexpected bad happenings in life. Life tends to be cycles of impulsive alerts from the stablising security zone. This is natural human behaviour and the present is always a self-protective mode of comfort zone searching and landing. Obviously, the consciousness avoids stepping into the unconscious state of uncertainty and sensitivity. Modern life inertia. Come and go, and memory becomes a rare rationalisation after self-fulfilled satisfaction. Somehow we need to learn to be our followers. The cycle keeps on repeating, and at one point, we are scared of the abrupt awareness of the imperfection, and we calm down, we try to accept the fact and manipulate the possible future memory of the past. Visualisation, conversion and simplification. We get off the trough and return to the path of cycle. It rolls. We acknowledge credits of experience, an extension of security status in parallel with the flowing time. We think we are special, and this reinforces our world of creation. At a point, the cycle breaks and we think of any unknown mystery and misfortune as a form of externality that alters the wave of cycle. We internalise the shock and transform the disappointment as yet another simplified memory stain. We move on…

Accommodation...(5/8)

It is not consciously easy to accept some unexpected bad happenings in life. Life tends to be cycles of impulsive alerts from the stablising security zone. This is natural human behaviour and the present is always a self-protective mode of comfort zone searching and landing. Obviously, the consciousness avoids stepping into the unconscious state of uncertainty and sensitivity. Modern life inertia. Come and go, and memory becomes a rare rationalisation after self-fulfilled satisfaction. Somehow we need to learn to be our followers. The cycle keeps on repeating, and at one point, we are scared of the abrupt awareness of the imperfection, and we calm down, we try to accept the fact and manipulate the possible future memory of the past. Visualisation, conversion and simplification. We get off the trough and return to the path of cycle. It rolls. We acknowledge credits of experience, an extension of security status in parallel with the flowing time. We think we are special, and this reinforces our world of creation. At a point, the cycle breaks and we think of any unknown mystery and misfortune as a form of externality that alters the wave of cycle. We internalise the shock and transform the disappointment as yet another simplified memory stain. We move on…

Long time no see...(1/7)

Laying on the lake bank, I saw the sky after long time. It did not look familiar to me, though we had been so close. Distinctly characterised by the bubbling clouds probably streamed from the rippling movement of the lake, I slowed down my heart to try catching a moment of resonance with the strange world. I have been more like accompanying the flow of the world than walking on my way to try construct my perceived world. This was a strange feeling from all senses but the consciousness appeared to be an innocent victim in this gradual transformation of age. The recognition of life became a stopping-watch-like feature eroding in the silence of state. Every moment was supposed to be memorable, but the luxurious treasure rapidly synthesised with the other uncounted possibilities. The date was no longer too significant in the calendar, and the courageous step came after every other motion of the world. I guess the best way to benchmark a reference point of existence is a navigational stare to the unfamiliar sky (again), as this proves right now at least to be an insulating action for the next-to-be.

UNESCO & Cantonese...(15/2)

The question is simple: why UNESCO does not recognise Cantonese as a language? An intuitive reflexion for me when going through the application page of the official website. An intuitive answer could be that Cantonese is not that important, or that UNESCO does not really count Cantonese as an asset of heritage. That may be too ironic. The Cantonese Opera has been recognised by UNESCO as the intangible cultural heritage of mankind last October...
Exposing myself in the international arena of globalisation and collective development, the identity as a person from Hong Kong denotes much contemplation. I still have not truly consolidated my thinking about this, but as a reflexion, the trait of Hong Kong is definitely a very interesting subject to be self-envisioned and self-promoted...

Spence's Way of Expense...(2/1)

It's been a while since I would like to express my fascination of Spence's work on signalling. The idea is great for education being a social waste. Of course, there bears a hypothesis of the value of education itself...
In an economic world, an enhancement of skill and technique to work force via education should count some credits, especially in the knowledge society. Self-fulfilling prophecy. The argument on signalling means to some, if not all, who like to take advantage of implying to the future about their presence in present. An arguable step to aspiration, if yet too calculative. A compromise to the capitalistic valuation of weight. During the signalling process, though, would be a harsh search of their existence in terms of the non-bridging to the frequency where a signal is truly needed. This is more than investment and saving, and so a wasting moment of signal proves our complex imperfect world. So truth...

Floating Decade...(28/12)

The decade is fading away in its rightful way, when people still pass by, days and nights...without locating a means to slow down and stare.
Probably a big zero, but never nothingness. The golden era of us the generation with no regret, or a negligence of regretful sorrow. The igniting second still seems far away, but so close - glaring out as long as it could be - the fireworks in its nature is short-life. A tilting perspective of attempt to reach the sky, and so the firework broke through the silent sky, as if it would last for eternity. Ten years of wandering, a merry-go-around, I am still at the centre of the world...and the only doubt rests with the universe as of the neglect able one would ever be here, or there...

Pieces of memoir, like the shuttling threads, try to link with each other, but vague and fake. The reality can be very unreal.
Like the rolling chariot on the long ride, a mute carnival of colourful reflection. The moving images are the afterlife of existence.
Trumping an egoistic journey of discovery, the more I bypass, the further away I could reach. Life is still a touch of the feathery world. Light weighted load.
So what was I? How could it be? An unimaginable ten years of salutation, I am waving to the yesterday of me.

The summary of it...a decade of post-modernism, a rapidly distracting punctuated equilibrium. Glory of speed-surfing, flooded with aging despair. It passes...

Expo, a stage of minimalism, connection, fading arts, Paris, deja-vu, tolerance and confession, a compromise, lack of a second chance, random signaling of boredom avoidance, a replacement of topographic map, in search of more, or less? A creation of non-repeating visage, changing face, is it a means to an end? Consciousness irrationalism, un gout du vin? Secession. Still, still drinking, still diving, deep sea illusion, expression, know-how, digitising a binary self, la vitrine de remembrance. A meditation of silence, can you hear?

A dream in theatre...(27/12)

It was my first trip to London in 1998. Accompanying me along the trip was a notebook with made of calfskin parchment. A loaded white papers full of dreams and fantasies. Youth was the ever-flowing ink that bound itself inside a silent of passion and glory. The trip was an inspiring and enlightening voyage of life, and framed with Warhol's quote of the "15-minute stardom", I thought of a devotion to theatre and performing arts...
The splendid theatre industry in London was fascinating. Filled with strokes of colours and relativity of brightness, the moving objects are shaping their shadows in a waltz. Lights in, and lights out, and a fame rested inside the deeper end of an unexplored land. A decade, slowly evolving in its set pattern, and actors act, as of they ever choose to play. Summers come and go, and quietly, the ink fades into the sepia butterfly wings...a reprise of waltz dance in the virtually cooling air. Tonight, the striking beams of contrasting lights brought me a flashing memory of the once-upon-a-time gorgeous moments of florescent glory. My pen writes in past tense...

Montage Saint Germain...(20/9)

Recording becomes more than a luxury for the occupied space of ideology and methodology. Inspiration-driven mission started at the crossroad of the last spot of deja-vu...Surrogate clones in the blurred and duplicated landscape of doppelganger magnify an unrealistic existence. Everything comes back to basic, and yet deviated from the normative path of convergence. The need of fulfillment is dragged by the undetermined currents of divergences. A pre-determined destiny of the mystery of U. Roll on, the montage is on the go.
Same level of rugged surface, without a nice impact of the global warming, and rock'on, the same rhythm turns on the new chapter in electric drive. The scattered moving arts intrude the core of the ideological evolution. Be a part in it, the organisational giant of clockwork furnace...salut.

Hey boy hey boy...(10/9)

So it's with a planned motion to truly transform myself in the middle of the life crisis. Stepping onto the milestone of a decade, my working mode is ceased from a more routine and anticipating manner, and instead I have committed myself to start something less conventional for my peers with a pursuit of another master degree in public administration. Back to Paris, after more than 800 days, I did sense a much different sensation floating in the air. The campus is located next to my previous apartment and the scattered school buildings fill up the dots in my mind map of the city of light. The student group is composed of peers from different walks of life, and the international mix of the class does provide me with a sort of possibilities and chemical reaction which I look forward to. Being out of the working pool doesn't mean that I have to be off for work, and the committed discipline would definitely be a significant component I would like to have to maximise my achievement in the two years. As I always believe, an environment change impulses my thought and sense of value, and the question of existence is now being projected onto a more globalised scope. The uncertainty of life is somewhat a beautiful and appreciable grafitti for me to work it out.

The Dark Age...(1/1)

Dark age can be a mediocre term when a period of time is defined as “untouchable” yet “undefined”...
...in a sense that nothing more should be looked into, but a generic terminology could have simply categorized a rational and clear-cut message to the recognition of “dèja passé”. So this is somewhat a symbol of the 2008, a year of dark age of nothingness.

When the time has passed, enlightenment would hopefully bring out a solution to the new born of element, conversion is the crux of evolution. I look for it.

Stronger through the year...(26/12)

Where would the undercover hours run? Is it the same marathon a life is rushing? The flesh is weak, yeah, without any fear, there is no longer tears, the sailor's ride just flows, and flows...
Wider than the river, when the thought is drowning. Who else is doing the manifesto? If there is an angel, enlighten the drunk. I look for a spacious sky, where a cloud has a real habitat to stay light. Freer, when will the end comes back to live? Shadows are moving, and moving, the lightning clash is just a quick steal of silver lips. You will be stronger through the years, whenever the race goes on...

The old man...(15/6)

the clogging wheelchair goes nowhere, i may have been too close,
and there is no need to approach any further, the heat is just remote...
pins and holes, in and out of the glamourous eden world,
i know the roses will fall one day,
can i pick them up again, when the light is yet dim.
passing, swinging, coming, it has always been there.
clotting red, why is there any fluid sound of urging?
when it falls, it would just be another way to fade away.
detaching the mode and mood,
can you see the moth staying on the moon?

10 ans...(8/6)

Where could the cloud flow, if not heading to the next precipitated moment of dissolution? A day can be as long as the unforgettable thickness, and now the senses start to succumb, from nowhere when the next flash implies its staging, the sky is still. Nobody can stop the time, even if memory counts down... I am reminded of the salutation of a stranger, who appears in the world before fading away again into the horizon. A shadow behind the scene shrinks, and whoever may wait for the next visit. Anything before the death worth a glance of heavenly recall. We have been riding that fast and the wind forgave, long winding sign, and another unknown symbol of destined puzzle. Yeah, on the shading light hides the conscious differentiation of beauty. Cooling down, again, and the visage is only yet another solar reflected joy. The candle light tastes of some burn-out ecstasy. I guess we are afraid of the next dusty storm. Sleep well.

Du riz...(2/6)

Over the decades, the demand for rice in Hong Kong has not been proportionally grown with the more populated distribution of consumers in the city. Definitely the demand for quality food products and the Westernised adoption of diet in Hong Kong have lessened the optimistic speculation of higher import of rice in the last decades...
Quality of life, style and chic, conceptual change of the functionality of rice itself all alter the import figures of rice from different supplying countries in Asia including the Chinese mainland and Thailand. At present, Thailand-originated rice products dominate the rice import market in Hong Kong exceeding 90% of the importing tons. Twenty years ago, we ate mainly China-grown rice. Facing the challenges and new horizon of trading environment, the traditional rice importers in Hong Kong after the 2003 Government policy to open the market and enable traders to compete in the rice market have forced to adopt and revise their very tactful handling of demand-supply portfolio. Stocking or selling their imported rice is the game to play, and this is also through the development of market-appraised rice products and varieties to maintain their market share in the profit pie. Today there is a chance that I visited one of these rice trading houses which has existed since the metropolitan cradle commenced to roll. And then the daily consumable goods once again is arousing the interest of the economists and investors.

Take care...(18/5)

The month was covered with a moody mist and again incidents prove a fragility of human who though dominates the habitat on earth. Age is a direct connection to the ultimate philosophical puzzle of life...
With a degree of doubt as to how and where to pass though, the consciousness sublimes the sensible decision or judgment. From the post-industrialism or post-colonisation, the once-utopia globalisation is now at the crossroad of polarisation and a dip of patriotism or nationalism seems to overrule the ideal continuation of unity. But taking the short history of human into account, there is nothing new. Food and resource demand is popped up finally as an aftermath of the hysteric since the baby-boom growth. Is the western capitalism running to a draught of development? I hear one saying, "take care...". Yes, we need to.

Can Pringles Long Life...(18/5)

Upright on the mono-grid shelf are the pillars of consumerism, colourful columns of glory for the modern people, and the artificial flavour adds a trait of differentiation, choices, preferences, style and materialistic assertion to taste chasers. These are the display of Pringles chip collection...
The architect of the Pringles palace is Dr. Fredric J. Baur, a life-long chemist and food product developer. He died 2 weeks ago and has his after life be devoted into his labyrinth of the Pringles column perspective. When the land on earth is mostly discovered, modern people look up at the sky and sublime their life spatially to the hanging garden. The systematic alignment of chips in the Pringles column may be another simulation of people's mind set to uphold their existence in sequences. At the time of invention for the long can packaging for Pringles, it was the rocket-high era of love and peace, and space odyssey must be some of the inspirations for Dr Baur's sense of being, I think.

Feed the House...(24/4)

At the exhibition for houseware products, variety determines the specialty of suppliers' profile and categories of exhibits. Whenever applicable to the House, technically it can be defined as appliance or tool where we categorise as houseware. When buyers attend the exhibition, their eyes are on everything that can be purchased and installed for the houses, if not necessarily viewed as the home. Counting the number of lights that never go out from the facade, the city cubicle actually defines the scope of house, home or possession. Capitalism is sometimes a matter of reckoning. The exhibition features the supply of pets' utility, and because of it, I am able to recognise the feeding supply for pets of all kinds like horses. This recalls me about the horse breeding auction activity in France. The business world has no impossibility.

April Hymn...(19/4)

The April rests as its functional existence to be a transitional ambiguity of state...
Between the deviated measurements of the coldness of sensation, the month remains a short and insignificant state of nothingness. Displacement among Hong Kong, Swiss and France, the dislocation maintains its restless state of self-consciousness. It's a struggling moment of forgetting and hoping. In a paralysed motion to go forward, the functional mind forgets the remembrance.