First, I was planning to have this piece to introduce a book I was reading (and not yet end, I’ve been telling you many times I read very slow). “We were Eight Years in Power" by Ta-Nehisi Coates. But I knew right from start I had to fold my plan. Same old problem of mine: I was ambitious, but my knowledge, my capability, always couldn’t support my ambition of any respect. When one writes an article about a book, he supposedly writes what he knows about what the book told, before what he feels about what the book told. That’s what we expect an essay/review about a book should be. But I am not able, as always, to tell what I know about the book. I can only feel the rage the author emanated through his every word and phrase. In a very restrained, to an extent like choking himself from ‘splosion, way. Because of the oppression and toil his race has endured, and been enduring. Because of the utmost frustration he feels against the White America, and the not-so-subtle White Supremacy in that same America.
However I felt, and still feeling, about him as an author, as a human being, I could not write even a word about what I knew about what he wrote. Because I simply didn’t know. And still don’t know. I could highlight the best sentences in the book, as I really did. I could quote the Black Americans quoted by him– E.L. Doctorow, Fredrick Douglass, Ida B. Well, Malcolm X, but such and such would not do me favour to show off how much I know about the book; about Black America; about Obama; about American slavery and its long shadow. On the contrary, doing so would plainly spotlight my emptiness and shallowness in this subject. I feel a lot of jealousy and misgiving when I see on Twitter and other similar Social Media platform somebody able to write very good book review to showcase how well they know the book, the author, the subject matter, or all of them. I feel the same when I see them writing very good pieces to show off how great their knowledge are. I am honest I feel so jealous every time I see them, read them. I am equally honest I am equally eager to show off if I could, if not more so. But I know I simply can’t. So the best thing I can do is writing here thousands of words that are bullshit. Meaningless bullshit. Just as I do here.
Or, I shouldn’t have been so harsh on myself. As author did demonstrate through this book Black is never an easy subject matter to grapple with. Reading the book all along, I was so immersed into the book, that I was like keep hearing the shadow and ghosts in the book speaking, “Hey child, Black is too much for you Asians. Black is not your stuff. It’s not like the subjects you used to read, child. It’s way more difficult, child. It’s not for you." How immersed can one be to know them more? Does it help listening to African Unite by Bob Marley? Or ATM by J Cole? Or This is America by Childish Gambino? Does it help memorising speeches of Obama? or Martin Luther King Jr? Or William Barber? Or Stormzy (oh he is British)?
No, they all don’t help much. The same shadow and ghosts went, “Futile child. Black is Black. You ain’t no Black, Asian. Just skip it, child. It’s not for you." Does transrace operation help? Like what Rachel Dolezhal did? Does wiping my everything in the past help? Does wiping out my social media footprints, and all the history, like what I’ve been doing, help? Does boxing my hair, braiding my hair help? The same shadow and ghosts went, “No child. Black is blood thing, child. You can’t fake it, child. You can’t trans it, child. You can only inherit it. It’s not your Christian Jesus God, that everyone can be my son if thy say Hallelujah, child. Just skip it, child. It ain’t do you no good this time, child. Just skip it."
So I have to skip it. Surrender. And say, I don’t know a word the book said. Humble. It’s like the project is even more difficult to be immersed as 戀英青 (Honestly, I hate that name so much. Anytime I heard anyone call me so, it’s like the worst swear I’ve ever heard. 難聽過粗口). So I really have to skip it, fold it. Nothing to tell you. You can read it if you want, though. It’s a really good book. Rage aside, I feel quite connected with him when the Author told writing, as much as activism, is like a business that’s doomed to fail. The only value, and meaning, of it is that you know you are still writing, and fighting, for a battle you know you never gonna win. I feel the same. I never have any feeling of winning anything. I always feel the time I was born, I was born to lose.
That’s fine. At least finer than when I was born to kill.
最新一輯大獲Facebook 的藝青好評。由於太多好評，同好多其他充滿好評的作品，如house of cards game of thrones West world altered carbon 一般，唔好搞我了。
那令我聯想到我跟兒子每朝看的卡通，regular show。才發覺black mirror 跟regular show犯下同一問題⋯⋯套路太單一，太悶，俗話是根本集集差不多。
In today’s press preview on sky, Brendan O’Neill gave a comment about the journalist perspective the west tend to adopt on the recent bloodshed in Jerusalem, which was interesting, and wrong.
He said the sympathetic approach towards the Palestinian protesters would encourage even more of them and their violent posture against the Israelis defence force, idf.
His understanding is if the western journalists shied away from the protesters in Jerusalem, they would simply go away.
That, I think, is a guess too wild to be correct. But at this point I’m going to challenge his position further with my own guess. It, to me, is like two drunk in a pub who bet the numbers of a lottery the next day. Wild guess against wild guess, to no end.
Brendan used a perfect analogy to show how wrong his guess was. He let us imagine what would uk guard do if thousands of illegal intruders were marching across the gate violently.
That’s exactly why the Jerusalem protesters are getting more and more violent to the point idf has to resort to “force in proportion out of ‘self-defence'".
I added on his analogy of par excellency. Think about Russian forcefully set up his embassy on Buckingham palace, or St. Paul’s cathedral. You warned Russia foreign ministry against it, presenting the spiritual symbol and sacred value of the places, to the verge of exhaustion, and to his stubborn determination to insult your country. What would you do Brendan?
The workflow of something happens for some reasons. And the journalists come to take a snap, or a side, for stupid like you and me, is the ABC, of what journalism is. To think of it the other way around, is more stupid. But it would be stultifyly stupidity to the max if the one who takes that view is a journalist himself.
I hope it’s not you.
Can’t say much about this movie because (1) I don’t know much about movie; (2) I don’t know much about music; (3) I don’t know much about Beatles; and (4) I don’t want to see one day on Twitter some idiots who know a lot about the above share my article for pejorative and sadistically cynical purposes. Like they did to my friend’s article on Medium. Which I hate most about that space. It’s another kind of censorship. Like school bullying smugs who mug someone and goes, “We have every right to do that to you idiot just because you are an idiot, y’know!!!! This is a fucking free country!!!" I hate that. I really hate that. So I also always say I don’t know. I just say something because I want to say what I like. Not because I know anything about it.
Just one thing. I used to read a lot of comments like “Paul McCartney is the brain of Beatles. John Lennon is the soul of Beatles. George Harrison is the heart of Beatles. Ringo Starr is ….. a drum." in discussion group like 高登
The only feeling I got from this documentary is so contrary to what they said above. Rather, most of the songs Beatles made would have been pretty bland and mediocre if the drum were some ordinary drum rather than Ringo Starr.
That’s how good Ringo is.
What I learn from most of the music band is that. A drum is not a brain, a soul, a heart of anything. A band is like a racing car model. Drum is the engine in it. You never see an engine except you are those engineer geeks. But how good, how powerful, how geniusly built an engine is determines how good your racing car is. You can either be Ferrari F90, McClaren, or down to Ford Fiesta. It’s all about the engine.
If you have had experience of being a daddy, or mommy, here’s a good one for you.
It’s funny. Pain stuck in your ass funny. And a bit paranoid. A bit anxious. A bit helpless. A bit sarcastic. A bit cathartic. And most of all. It’s depicting something true in our life. Every dad and mom feel, at a certain point of time, or like me, all the time, they suck. They failed. They fall shy of. They got beaten by their babies/children/dickheads like Hampshire batsmen got bowled by Stuart Broad.
This is a good one.
So as He Died with a Falafei in his Hand. A movie I watched in Australia. A movie made in Australia. And it’s awesome. Lock Stock and Two Smoking Barrel kind of awesome.
OK. Alex. So I now try to juggle that 20 minutes for it.