呢喃

  • 21 Mar, 2016

    十大最憎之八

    一介直男,半夜三更累壞半個人,被講英文的東亞男人搭訕,然後被跟上巴士,支支吾吾暗示想跟你返家,直男雙手交叉說不,甚至連開口說自己不是基,也怕會冒犯對方,言語間催促他落車不要跟過海,他知難而退,落車也沒回頭看一眼,才鬆一口氣。
    這種算有禮貌還好,有的哥仔在茶樓、餐廳,隔住兩三張檯,一整晚用猴擒的雙眼死盯著你,慌死你留意不到他;其他,光天化日街上搏矇摸你,跟蹤你那些,費事講了。
    這些都不算生氣,最氣頂的是拿這些鳥事來揶揄嘲弄的朋友,他們她們根本不知道甚麼叫性騷擾和非禮。我要改變自己的形象嗎?就像那些為免被色狼騷擾的女人一樣不再穿背心短裙嗎?去吃屎吧!
  • 21 Mar, 2016

    畫畫筆記(四十三):翻譯中文

    令人頗為氣餒的是,藝術圈裡沒有人寫得一手好字,
    特別是把中文寫到好像翻譯中文,不堪入目,
    又或是加鹽加醋,投入太多理論或表錯情,而視覺審美欠奉。
  • 17 Feb, 2016

    往事

    大概九歲吧,我們在屯門八百伴的唱片部,央媽媽買來達明一派Cassette帶,《石頭記》?還是《我等著你回來》?
    吃完晚飯七點半到八點十五分,爸還未回家,是我每天最後能夠自娛的時光,因我對他頗畏懼。
    拿來智良的愛華Cassette機,慎重打開一點刮痕都沒有的Cassette膠盒,插入Cassette帶,戴上會夾到頭髮的耳筒聽歌。
    一邊聽一邊細看歌詞,聽得入迷,忽然智良喝止我說:「不要那麼用力拿歌紙啦!」

    (完)
  • 27 Jan, 2016

    畫畫筆記(四十二):壓力襪

    畫畫不一定是很有型的事,
    整天站著畫,穿上壓力襪,
    整天趴著畫,恐怕要買腰封了。
  • 24 Jan, 2016

    仇恨

    有種仇恨,大過階級仇恨
    我不會因為你是工人受壓逼,而原諒你的惡與罪行
  • 09 Jan, 2016

    畫畫筆記(四十一):指甲

    當揸筆唔順,就知道指甲太長要剪了。
  • 26 Dec, 2015

    畫畫筆記(四十):一年前

    我想畫一幅關於去年這時日的感覺的畫,
    但一年來都沒有畫出來,也沒任何頭緒可以怎樣畫,
    好像拍了照片但底片一直沒有沖出來,
    後來我畫了別的東西交稿。
  • 12 Aug, 2015

    食屎

    要好好記住,每想到香港問題就有種每天在食屎食屎到底還要食到幾時的感覺。
    就像仍清楚記得,
    連一個百幾蚊小焗爐都無錢買的學生時代,
    每天早上從雪櫃拿出來,吃那塊又冷又濕的雞尾包那貧窮的滋味。
    牢記直到植入基因。

  • 19 Jul, 2015

    畫畫筆記(卅九):筆記本

    筆記本買很多,很多用到半路就停了,證明不好用。
    大小、紙質、厚薄、輕重、軟硬、顏色、格線、裝釘......
    直到遇到那款筆記本,寫寫畫畫很快用完,證明好用,
    就很專一只買它。
  • 22 May, 2015

    Munch

    NOTHING IS SMALL

    Nothing is small, nothing is large.
    We carry worlds inside us.
    A drop of blood is an entire world with
    its own sun and planets.
    The sea is a drop of water -
    a tiny part of the body.
    The primeval light is everywhere.
    Crystals are born and formed.
    The fire of life burns
    even in the hardest stone.
    We do not die.
    It is the world that dies.
    Death is the love-making of life.
    Pain is the friend of joy.


    THE SEPARATION

    I give her the light summer night's soft beauty.
    On her I pour the splendor of the fading sun.
    On her hair, on her face, on her white dress -
    shining gold.
    I place her in front of the pounding blue sea -
    with the seashore's sinuous, snakelike lines.
    Thus does she go from him, who still cannot fathom it,
    but who in dreams feels her departing.
    Amidst blood-red flowers he stands
    in the deep blue evening shadows.
    How it came about he cannot grasp.
    Yet even when she has vanished across the sea he feels
    fine threads embedded in his heart -
    which bleeds and aches like an ever-open wound.


    GRAVESTONE

    It had been cold for a long time.
    Then suddenly it turned very mild and spring-like.
    I went up to the top of the hill
    and enjoyed the soft air and the sun.
    The sun warmed, yet now and again
    a cool breath of wind blew -
    like the air from a burial chamber.
    The damp earth steamed.
    It smelt of rotten leaves -
    and how quiet it was around me.
    Then I seemed to feel how the damp earth with those rotting leaves
    fermented and was filled with life -
    even the naked branches.
    Soon they would sprout and come alive,
    and the sun would shine upon the green leaves and the flowers,
    and the wind would bend them in the sultry summer.
    I felt a thrill in knowing that I
    would return to this earth - this always fermenting earth.
    Always to be shone upon by this loving sun - alive, alive.
    I would be at one with it.
    And out of my rotting corpse would grow plants and trees
    and grass and plants and flowers.
    And the sun would warm them,
    and I would be a part of them.
    And nothing would perish.
    That is eternity.

    -- Edvard Munch
    (translated by Shari Gerber Nilsen)