| samedi, janvier 27 |
| Pattern...(27/1) |
 
The pattern, the mode of flow. In vain, it is the invisible state of current stability. The harbour is a narrowing spike that hides away the metabolic rate of the city. These days the city is calm under the northwesterly wind. Blurred images, stunned by the tilted natural light, the boats are floating in the middle of the dead end of the banks. Flowing pattern, passing through the transparent glass. Recording the flow of the water on the surface, it is a web of the innocence. Transmission, I feel in touch with the reflective surface of the same flow in a metamorphic sight of distance. Life in Hong Kong is still on, but it keeps a distance away from the inner me.
See the classic boat of Hong Kong. It is there, but nobody is starring at it.Libellés : hk, nature, self, victoria |
posted by zirhc @ 05:44   |
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| mercredi, janvier 24 |
| Landed...(24/1) |
Undo, redo, depart, arrive, a sequence of actions, perhaps in the relationship of reason and consequence, and then it paves its way to an affirmed flow of confirmation... Human reasoning. I am back, or at the same time, I am expelled. It is a matter of understanding. Hong Kong appears not to have changed a lot. The only change is my perception, or my recognition, perhaps my belief, or simply a short-term dislocation. I go from the same way out in. It is a feeling of into it. Pas vias rectas, or else it may worth a long way wandering before a settlement. The sky is not as worse as I have thought of. Pollution is always slow-motion diffusion. Is my consciousness lost? Or am I no more sensitive. The roads become shorter. The manhole covers are made in Hong Kong. Blue sky, slightly foggy, a colorisation of memory with images, true or false, a totalism. Collective sharing manifests on narrow streets in busy districts. People walk straight and people are good followers. It is a consequence of managed expectation, and there is a very different feeling when compared with my last shocking stay in 2006. It is still a city of the egoistic centre of it all. Culture, subculture, waves, hypes, identity, reality. I act more like an observer, I recognise...it is not just an act, but it is a very logical genetic metamorphosis of a sense of value. People are usually experience-driven. Good and bad, but this is a simply trait in history. Being an observer, it is regarded more human than the Camus status of étranger. I am into it, but my eyes keep a distance from the motions taken place in front of me. I am flattered. This is a very natural way to start a day 1 of the post-Ulysses-like journey, in terms of mental development.Libellés : hk, return, self |
| posted by zirhc @ 23:16 |
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