壬戌之秋，七月既望，蘇子與客泛舟遊於赤壁之下。清風徐來，水波不興。舉酒屬客 ，誦明月之詩，歌窈窕之章。少焉，月出於東山之上，徘徊於斗牛之間。白露橫江， 水光接天。縱一葦之所如，凌萬頃之茫然。浩浩乎如馮虛御風，而不知其所止；飄飄 乎如遺世獨立，羽化而登仙。
於是飲酒樂甚，扣舷而歌之。歌曰︰「桂棹兮蘭槳，擊空明兮泝流光。渺渺兮於懷， 望美人兮天一方。」客有吹洞蕭者，倚歌而和之，其聲嗚嗚然，如怨如慕，如泣如訴 ；餘音裊裊，不絕如縷；舞幽壑之潛蛟，泣孤舟之嫠婦。
蘇子愀然，正襟危坐，而問客曰︰「何為其然也？」客曰︰「月明星稀，烏鵲南飛， 此非曹孟德之詩乎？西望夏口，東望武昌。山川相繆，鬱乎蒼蒼；此非孟德之困於周 郎者乎？方其破荊州，下江陵，順流而東也，舳艫千裡，旌旗蔽空，釃酒臨江，橫槊 賦詩；固一世之雄也，而今安在哉？況吾與子，漁樵於江渚之上，侶魚蝦而友糜鹿， 駕一葉之扁舟，舉匏樽以相屬；寄蜉蝣與天地，渺滄海之一粟。哀吾生之須臾，羨長 江之無窮；挾飛仙以遨遊，抱明月而長終；知不可乎驟得，托遺響於悲風。」
蘇子曰︰「客亦知夫水與月乎？逝者如斯，而未嘗往也；盈虛者如彼，而卒莫消長也 。蓋將自其變者而觀之，而天地曾不能一瞬；自其不變者而觀之，則物於我皆無盡也 。而又何羨乎？且夫天地之間，物各有主。苟非吾之所有，雖一毫而莫取。惟江上之 清風，與山間之明月，耳得之而為聲，目遇之而成色。取之無禁，用之不竭。是造物 者之無盡藏也，而吾與子之所共適。」
客喜而笑，洗盞更酌，肴核既盡，杯盤狼藉。相與枕藉乎舟中，不知東方之既白。
*** *** ****
我到好久好久以後才明白當中的意思。
經歷了那麼多,才明白更難。
2008年2月24日 星期日
我以何種方式忠於自己,被身體的或心靈的主宰?我不停在自言自語。
如我自己所說,我有很多很多的拍子薄。我不說,你可能以為我是瘋的。有那麼多的,無道理的多的拍子薄。最厲害的是,很多都是買了兩本。或三本。這是我的沉迷。
下課的時候,心情很重。哭了一次,在上課途中。哭了更多更多次,當由旺角東火車站走回家。我哭,是因為我何時可以重訪那生命的輕。生命的重把我肩都累壞了。
我於何時純如白紙,於何時進入其他人的生命。
那些白,如我的繪畫老師說,那些黑,永沒有純粹的。顏色,必如生命,反映著別人的光。
我懶惰的時候,就騙自己只有幾個色調。可是不。不過是我們太過自私。
或者太過保護自己,不說,你其實也有紅,他我看見了灰。
我經歷死亡, 而且忽然失去。我就明白我的身體於我最為重要,到最後所有我能夠反抗、或捍衛,都走不出我的身體。
於是我便很迷失。我在使用我的身體,但為了什麼?為了反抗什麼。
白紙是回憶
白紙是遺憾
白紙是日出
白紙是濫藥
白紙是
白紙,打開了什麼?
這年多我不停讀書,為的又是什麼?
我有那麼多的白紙,想了一晚還是沒法用筆寫下什麼,因為我沒有對日記的坦白。
我害怕,如果有那麼一天,你會看到真正的我是如此的無知,自私,任性。(當然你仍然會記起我的溫柔。)
所以我忠於自己,卻有時,感到無力再書寫。我以書寫為我生命的出口。
面對生命的選擇,到底是太多了,把我打敗。或是因為沒有出口所以我拒絕。
生命的重把我肩都累壞了。我如果笑,都不過是為了掩飾身體的不安。
我願以直覺,過我的生活。
我不過,想生活。
i m the shrinking smoke
visible only under the brightest sunlight, reflecting your face
you're with griefs. my pity
who has hurt your heart, once they have been hurted before
the myth of logos
the torture of life
the torture of life
where shall you lean yourself to?
2008年2月22日 星期五
五分鐘
我在你身上的五分鐘。花了,像愛情。
經血流到你身上,染了白色的床舖。水彩渲染。
到底源於母體的結合,或是情慾的?
那五分鐘我想的都是你。
黃金的光透入眼簾,我底下頭看你。
那五分鐘,才知道身體最需要的是你。
我在上,而頃刻間我生命走不出你。如此純粹的肉體接觸,令人懷疑真愛的存在(到底如何存在?以何種方式存在?)。
我真的可以忠於身體,不停的需要你的。
此時的我,面對正在進入的你,是溫柔。我將給你的是一世的溫暖。
何時何地我想的都是你。我坐下時,想你進入。我看見你在下面,仰望著我。
我既是女性又是母體,你從我而出從我而入。
第一分鐘,我的陰道靠近你的陽具。我渴求著你。
第二分鐘,你的最前端已抵住我的陰核。我摩擦著你。
第三分鐘,我說,回來吧。低聲呻吟著。
直至你真正進入。(如你沒進入過我,你如何了解我生命。)你的進入,我畢生不能忘卻。
真的很熱很熱,如火。明明你可能進入其他的女子,我為何還不能忘掉你。
我希望可以和你作一生的愛。如果一刻鐘就可以代表我的生命,我願是你第一次進入的那兒停下。
我的身體如此愛你,你應該知道。可。你。不。
你很快在我內裡射精。大約是五分鐘。你在內就好。我包含了你。
直到子宮流出你的精液,混和了我的血。你依然不能愛我(無法愛我)。
經血流到你身上,染了白色的床舖。水彩渲染。
到底源於母體的結合,或是情慾的?
那五分鐘我想的都是你。
黃金的光透入眼簾,我底下頭看你。
那五分鐘,才知道身體最需要的是你。
我在上,而頃刻間我生命走不出你。如此純粹的肉體接觸,令人懷疑真愛的存在(到底如何存在?以何種方式存在?)。
我真的可以忠於身體,不停的需要你的。
此時的我,面對正在進入的你,是溫柔。我將給你的是一世的溫暖。
何時何地我想的都是你。我坐下時,想你進入。我看見你在下面,仰望著我。
我既是女性又是母體,你從我而出從我而入。
第一分鐘,我的陰道靠近你的陽具。我渴求著你。
第二分鐘,你的最前端已抵住我的陰核。我摩擦著你。
第三分鐘,我說,回來吧。低聲呻吟著。
直至你真正進入。(如你沒進入過我,你如何了解我生命。)你的進入,我畢生不能忘卻。
真的很熱很熱,如火。明明你可能進入其他的女子,我為何還不能忘掉你。
我希望可以和你作一生的愛。如果一刻鐘就可以代表我的生命,我願是你第一次進入的那兒停下。
我的身體如此愛你,你應該知道。可。你。不。
你很快在我內裡射精。大約是五分鐘。你在內就好。我包含了你。
直到子宮流出你的精液,混和了我的血。你依然不能愛我(無法愛我)。
2008年2月19日 星期二
i need your BLACK cock. huge. hard. hot.
such a beautiful coincidence, i am learnng robert mapplethorpe now.
my Q: who has the ticket to photograph the nudes of black?
lecturer's answer: depending on the mutual-acceptance between the photographer and the subject.
we know there is power everywhere, it is crucial we could be critical to stand behind and look into the hierarchy. of course his works have aesthetic value, however why most of them are ideal type of body representation in the black. is that a stereotyping of the black. how a WHITE guy like him exploring the beauty of the nudes?
the controversial part of his work, perhaps apart from the deviant sexual perference, is his OWN sexual desire toward the object/subject.
personally i like his works on portraits and SM more than the book of black. of coz it is just very personal.
those portraits have their aura, there are spaces behind and in front of the subject. the spatial time is somehow very surreal to me. the emotion and energy just like phosporescence, it's freezing. it is 4-dimentional.
*** *** ***
well, honestly tell me, do u want hugh cock like a baby arm?
or like a baby being feed by plump tits?
our life begins with sex, and always being with it. it is colorless. and transparent.
my Q: who has the ticket to photograph the nudes of black?
lecturer's answer: depending on the mutual-acceptance between the photographer and the subject.
we know there is power everywhere, it is crucial we could be critical to stand behind and look into the hierarchy. of course his works have aesthetic value, however why most of them are ideal type of body representation in the black. is that a stereotyping of the black. how a WHITE guy like him exploring the beauty of the nudes?
the controversial part of his work, perhaps apart from the deviant sexual perference, is his OWN sexual desire toward the object/subject.
personally i like his works on portraits and SM more than the book of black. of coz it is just very personal.
those portraits have their aura, there are spaces behind and in front of the subject. the spatial time is somehow very surreal to me. the emotion and energy just like phosporescence, it's freezing. it is 4-dimentional.
*** *** ***
well, honestly tell me, do u want hugh cock like a baby arm?
or like a baby being feed by plump tits?
our life begins with sex, and always being with it. it is colorless. and transparent.
2008年2月16日 星期六
2008年2月14日 星期四
2008年2月11日 星期一
andres serrano, frozen sperm ii, 1990
sperm competition?
smell of sperm: like the un-used soap , mixed with flour.
the owner of the sperm, is that you?
is K's? is L's? is T's? is M's?is J's? is Y's? is Z's?
how important is your initial, L.
your sperm spill over my belly, my navel is all yours.
full of warmth.
i put your meatus into my mouth, i slowly adding lubricant by saliva.
your erection, the hardest thing in the world.
i sense it, i feel it, i swallow it.
how fragile you are, my dear phallus.
my tougue works over your testis, holding the lifes of others.
who becomes the one, whom sperm merges with me.
my deepest soul, your hottest sperm.
stickiness, holding the gravity between you and me.
i love you
2008年2月5日 星期二
2008年2月4日 星期一
我還是想把自己的文字放回這裡
應該是，當我看到世界的時候。不過說一世，也未免太遠了。我不說一世的。
有一次，在文化中心，看見了一片血紅色。那是二戰之後的一幅作品，畫家是Mark Rothko，名字叫《無題》吧。就那麼血紅血紅，如我生之血，我死之血，比我人還高。你永遠不會思考顏色，如永沒放慢腳步看天空。這是第一次我被一種情景淹沒。那種溫柔的暴烈……如火。曾聽過，經歷戰爭的人，不懂亦不能再表現美好的事物。我生之年，太平盛世，我城彷似沒有任何悲傷。可是，我永遠懷疑自己是戰爭之魂，處於不是自己的時代，無所作為，只能輕輕撫摸生命本身。
生命何其悲涼。
有一次，在文化中心，看見了一片血紅色。那是二戰之後的一幅作品，畫家是Mark Rothko，名字叫《無題》吧。就那麼血紅血紅，如我生之血，我死之血，比我人還高。你永遠不會思考顏色，如永沒放慢腳步看天空。這是第一次我被一種情景淹沒。那種溫柔的暴烈……如火。曾聽過，經歷戰爭的人，不懂亦不能再表現美好的事物。我生之年，太平盛世，我城彷似沒有任何悲傷。可是，我永遠懷疑自己是戰爭之魂，處於不是自己的時代，無所作為，只能輕輕撫摸生命本身。
生命何其悲涼。
2008年2月3日 星期日
mark rothko
Mark Rothko, Untitled,1968, Private Collection"I am not an abstract painter. I am not interested in the relationship between form and color. The only thing I care about is the expression of man's basic emotions: tragedy, ecstasy, destiny."
mark rothko
mark rothko
*** *** ****
There is only one word to describe me today- depressed.
I have an emotional breakdown even I was completely satisfied with my journey of my beginning of the 30th HKIFF.
For the Fallen, as you might see its style is very Hungarian Style (although the theme is seemingly different). No surprise afterall.
It was 2:48, I was sitting in the cafe outside the Museum of Art to have my lunch alone. I think I should be satisfied, at least for a peaceful moment in my life. After 24 mins, I planned to go to the seminar in the Science Museum. I was in front of Mark Rothko's Canvas however 10 mins later. I get lost. Like you are in the mist with unpredictable obstacles around your body. I am wounded without notice.
I once believed under the biggest format of art presentation, your soul will be healed. Quoted from Rothko, you could only appreciate a piece of art , or the form could only be communicated to their audiences with similar level. I wonder if I truly understand what it means. To me, any form of representation should be very personal, I appreciate the creature with personal touch.
Stepping to the untitled works. I felt like towards his death. I smell blood with violence. Emotion, tragedy, I smell the blood. He killed himself in 1970. His last painting is around my height. I then know that I am in deep depression. I tried very hard to be positive and strong person in the past few weeks, unfortunately all ruin in a second. Uncertainty is everywhere. I am fucking losing myself in front of his work. It's nobody's fault. The moment you feel there is hopeless and cold and couldn't yell.
There is a monster. Eaten my soul. Except these stupid words, I nearly can't express myself in a more accurate and precise way.
Repeated tonight, towards to the end of the 30th HKIFF Marcel Duchamp's Anemic Cinema. With me.
How to ease my sadness?
There is only one word to describe me today- depressed.
I have an emotional breakdown even I was completely satisfied with my journey of my beginning of the 30th HKIFF.
For the Fallen, as you might see its style is very Hungarian Style (although the theme is seemingly different). No surprise afterall.
It was 2:48, I was sitting in the cafe outside the Museum of Art to have my lunch alone. I think I should be satisfied, at least for a peaceful moment in my life. After 24 mins, I planned to go to the seminar in the Science Museum. I was in front of Mark Rothko's Canvas however 10 mins later. I get lost. Like you are in the mist with unpredictable obstacles around your body. I am wounded without notice.
I once believed under the biggest format of art presentation, your soul will be healed. Quoted from Rothko, you could only appreciate a piece of art , or the form could only be communicated to their audiences with similar level. I wonder if I truly understand what it means. To me, any form of representation should be very personal, I appreciate the creature with personal touch.
Stepping to the untitled works. I felt like towards his death. I smell blood with violence. Emotion, tragedy, I smell the blood. He killed himself in 1970. His last painting is around my height. I then know that I am in deep depression. I tried very hard to be positive and strong person in the past few weeks, unfortunately all ruin in a second. Uncertainty is everywhere. I am fucking losing myself in front of his work. It's nobody's fault. The moment you feel there is hopeless and cold and couldn't yell.
There is a monster. Eaten my soul. Except these stupid words, I nearly can't express myself in a more accurate and precise way.
Repeated tonight, towards to the end of the 30th HKIFF Marcel Duchamp's Anemic Cinema. With me.
How to ease my sadness?
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