Dialogues with J

sometimes you don't have to do anything at all to forget...

http://www.photoblog.com/PhotoJ/

regularly updating...

I always wondered if breaking plates actually changed anything when one felt that nothing else could help...


well, now I know it does. 
a bit. 
to a certain point.
 

just choose a good plate. 
better, a whole set of plates.
and a place with decent acoustics.

it makes you feel better for a few seconds.
then you stand there with your bare feet, and come back to reality.
pieces of glass all around your feet. 
gingle in your ears.
heart starting to calm down.

and then comes realisation of necessity to collect it all.
broom is in the other end of kitchen.
shoes are by the entrance door.

I don't know what's more terapeutic - actual process of breaking the plates - throwing it with all your anger and passion, or simple, inch-by-inch brooming the floor. 
Or, maybe, even vacuum-cleaning at 2 in the morning, waking up the few who are still asleep.

whatever.






 

 

the place of smiling faces...
(well, all - for the coins you might give them, but still...)








The place where children grow up too early...

2 similar places, but such a different atmosphere!


Lei Yu Mun:





Good old Tai O:

нереально, 
люди - странные существа...



я, конечно, не могу похвастаться самым большим в мире запасом терпения - но иногда просто не хватает слов.

представь себе человека, которому 27 лет.
всю жизнь он прожил в Англии, т.е. не в стране 3-го мира...

все ниже перечисленное говорилось с серьезным лицом и абсолютной уверенностью.

1) ситуация в суши баре: приносят тарелку сашими. креветки - с головами. я слышу вопрос: "что это??? вот это..." (и я понимаю, что это не шутка. она НЕ ЗНАЕТ, как выглядят креветки с головами). через 2 дня, при поедании блюда из лотоса, овощей и креветок (соответственно, без голов), человек не может сопоставить "креветки" и "креветки с головами"...

2) салат из водорослей, в силу своей свежести, выглядел несколько ярче, чем в Суши-ресторане в г. Шеффилд (Англия), поэтому наша удивительная подруга предположила, что это мясо..... ЗМЕИ !!! бляха муха. похоже, вкусовые рецепторы отсутствуют как таковые...

3) "телятина" - это, как выясняется, мясо молодых оленей...

4) а морские гребешки - это вид приготовления картошки - зажаристые котлетки.... аааа.... помогите!

 5) апельсины - зло, [должна процитировать] "они пытаются править миром"... к сожалению, причин выяснить не удалось... объяснение отсутствует...

6) утку есть нельзя, потому что утки - слишком милые...

7) история Китая и Японии - одно и то же


нужно все остальное вспомнить, потому как девушка - просто кладезь!
да, приехав в Гонг Конг и купить одежду в Заре и H&M - это тоже круто!!!!

Какое же счастье, что это закончилось....

I've had enough.

I'm on the edge, waiting for wind to blow - one or the other side, whatever!!!!!!!!!!

I don't care

I want to shout - on the top of my lungs
to jump in fury  - and break everything around me
run far - and never look back
 


anything

instead i wisper and stay still
play dead

God help me

Sai Kung!

what a place!

just loved everything, especially, the old lady - capitain. She took us on a boat around the harbour, was laughing with her short-on-teeth-mouth when we nearly fell off the front of the boat while rocking on huge waves (well, comparing to the boat, they were HUGE), she steered the wheel with her leg - as she did it, probably, from the age of 1,5...

wonderful!

and all this pleasure - for 10 euros per hour...

what a life! 




....

 with my birthday coming soon, starting to feel old. 

so trying to do as many things that young people do, as possible.
like wake-boarding, getting lost in weid places, 
seeing new amazing things and feeling excited.
helps, but not much.  

still f*cking old... )))
 

...

First thing I did in the morning was buying South China Morning Post newspaper to find out what happened last night in my neighbourhood.


well, I couldn't have made up a better story than the truth.

A couple has been fighting for quite a long tme already - the husband was buying prostitutes, which really upset his wife to say the least.
She finally decided to get divorced and apparently, it made the man furious and mad. or was he always mad?

so, one evening (yesterday) he cuts her throat open, leaves her lying in the bed of blood, and jumps off 14th floor.
unfortunately, he lands on a small hut, and gets delivered to a hospital where his condition quickly improves.

he is soon going to face charges for murder of his wife. 
but also (and this part of story was given a good paragraph of the article), an old 86-year old lady, who lived in the hut, which he landed on, has undergone great stress and physical damage, which will also be one of the charges.

what a thriller! and  just down the road from where I live...

any movie makers here who are willing to buy the scenario? )))

Walking down the street earlier this evening. 
First, noticed a few people standing with 2 antennas, looking like the ones you put on your window for satellite TV - just in the middle of street.

a bit further - a few police cars, and a crowd with video- and photo- cameras.

stopped to have a look. they all seemed to be waiting in anticipation...
as if Naomi Campbel would walk out of that shabby door...

just HAD to ask what was going on.

"excuse me, what is happening here?"  
2 policemen looked suspiciously at me and asked: "do you live here?"
"no, I just wanted to know what's going on"
1 policeman hesitated and looked like he'd tell me everything in a second, but the other one was quicker: "A big case, but can't tell"
"a big case?  but is it a BAD or a GOOD big case?"

"a very BAD BIG case" they said making accent on BAD...

so now I have to wait for tomorrow's newspapers to find out that we had a drug-dealer living nextdoor...

closing my eyes - that's what I hear...

• deafening loudness of road-works and bamboo scaffolding builders,
• monotonous murmur of people, covered with umbrellas – no matter, rain or sun, in the bombastic ant-hill streets stopping to the traffic-lights’ drumbeat,
• humble small feet shuffle in the clean above-ground corridors between modern posh glass-marble-shiny-metal buildings, 
• patient rain drops’ tapping on windowsills,
• typhoons’ aggressive attempts to break inside,  
• deep and somehow thoughtful hum of fans, moving fragrant air and dropping ashes of burning incense spirals in temples,
• sharp, cold and distant echo of the over-conditioned marble-and-glass shopping malls,
• rhythmic and tired junk boat puffing on the way to a fishing village,
• strong hands clapping for a thousand’s time on soles in a tiny hidden foot massage salon,
• quick and guilty giggles of thai masseuses and the relieving bone crackles,
• time-honoured but still energetic squeak of the double-decker trams, fidgeting around the city, always full and busy,
• thousands of quiet and hopeless, pretending to be cheerful, voices of live-in “pilipino” maids taking their official Sunday off time at the colonial Statue Square
• unbelievably sharp birds’ chirp at 5 in the morning while sun is rising over the harbour, reflecting in windows of Kowloon and the cruisers arriving to piers,
• drunk and jolly laughter and shouting, resounding clatter of pint glasses and high-heels both from corner shops and Chanel, thai feet following expats’ wallets, singing and dancing to a hundred different tones in Lan Quai Fong’s hundreds of bars,
• amazed sighs and cameras’ busy chattering on a Star Ferry to Central pier while sunset is tanning the glass and polished metal of heated skyscrapers of the island,
• chaotic voices, splashing fish, chopping, cutting, packing, loud voice choosing frogs for dinner, sum choi, lily bulbs, buddism melon – no time to spare – the sound of hustling Chek Tok Tsui market,
• discontent whisper of “dancing models” in Wan Chai on seeing a foreign female walking on their territory of men-pleasing,
• golden fish calmly moving in a feng-shui pond to respectful and calm purl of water in a clay pot while the tea is being brewed,
• sound of shuffling drying seafood in a flat straw basket, as if washing gold, on the side of a busy road, and the heavy breathing in the suffocating mixture of smells,
• humming fans trying to fight the sound of house music, high-heeled Gucci sandals tapping and smacking shiny lips kisses, rustling of funky décor and seemingly funny jokes of fashion guys in trendy clubs, 
• Crunching sound of jellyfish on your teeth with accompaniment of chopsticks,  ceramic spoons and a quick sharp knife of the roasted duck chopper in a small Dai Pai Dong café,
• Measured steps of the manager showing you to the table inside the original paintings’ covered walls of China Club and attentive explanations of waiters, interrupted by tapping of hand-made shoes walking past,
• The short “ding” and the longest lift journey to the sole apartment on the 27^th floor of the Bowie Court building, to the quiet air-conditioners’ puffing and the view over the sounds of Hong Kong…

 

thinking of who am i writing it for
and why

maybe because I think no one will read it
or
because someone will

so many things on my mind and nothing to start with  


so just for myself, with myself and about myself - dialogues with J...