uo says loudly, “If each of us is present at a different showing, it’s almost certain that two of us will see different versions of the film, with or without the hidden add-on.”
“What’s wrong with that?” The metal spiral blown by the wind still dangles from one of the speakers outside the last theater.
“Care to watch the movie in your mind while you miss out on one-third of the organic experience?”
No one knows yet how many years it will take for neuroimaging technology to advance, as if moving its feet in the molasses of human culture, to catch up to the speed of social changes brought about by the viral spread of big data. If the technology drives people mad and creators bring to the screen the same broken, repetitive stories, how many more victims will NGRI laws and DISCO surveillance find? Or in the land where 카지노사이트 just finished censoring Wong Kar-Wai’s month-and-a-half-long In The Mood for Love retrospective, will proponents of ISC projections, and vigilant citizens coerced into being creators, make the movies less violent?
The loudspeakers on either side of the last theater blare out the song from the movie—Wang Fei’s “Hua Yang De Nian Hua,” a beautiful, rare flower once speculated to have been Mao Zedong’s favorite.
Will Wong Kar-Wai ever find out that his most loyal fan has stopped watching movies?
“Can’t we just pick the earliest and last ISC showings? If we meet at fast-food place near this theater afterward, we can exchange what we’ve seen.” My suggestion causes some sparks of hope in Ng Lok Tin’s eyes.
The lunar new year parade started hours ago. Perhaps families torn apart by the big city have reunited, only to be divided again soon after. The dazzling flag raising on Hong Kong Island will soon be followed by reality shows in mainland stations, and then some parents will eventually discover that one or the other of their children is stuck working for seven yuan an hour as a jack-of-all-trades, living in the ghost town of the city. Some new acquaintances formed by queuing for hours for the traditional chungking dumplings will meet again online and form a group to come back next year to queue. In order to remain focussed on all the problems we face, I’ll take on a neutral perspective and convey the stories of a wide spectrum of people afflicted by neuroemotional upset. However, 2008 is also the year sufficient time for me to gather most of the reports I’ll need for my police memoir, The Journey of <In the Mood for Love: The Real Stories Behind Every Victim of Mental Aberration.
Liguo points at the speaker that once blew out that excerpt of drama once sung in a song but now never played again on the empty stage. “Do you remember the butterfly lovers? A story where an androgynous woman, disguised as man, attends the same school as a philandering hero, to whom she becomes a faithful friend. The two become few of the most celebrated classical pieces in China. Later in the 20th century, when Ruan Lingyu chose to end her life by overdosing on barbiturates instead of live out her days of misery after losing the witness to her transient attractiveness and true love, The Goddess ushered in the ‘Cyclone Era,’ which privileged and drug-addled film stars glorified through hyper-exaggeration smoking. In the huge legacy forged not by bliss but chronic miscalculations, none of the new iterations of the classics place emphasis on the cross-dressing girl, who then motivates the male lead to be ‘a man willing to sacrifice everything for love in the face of masses, including, or most especially, kin.’ In that equation, old actors trade in on coquettishness for a chance to sell a kind of [fictional, anyway] chic fragility. Parroting the after-praise of movies we want to think are good simply promotes the good health of the sort of art in which the plastic, sterilized iterations of chinoiserie additionally propagandized by Chinese scholars aren’t liberating [despite nonsense about ‘becoming university students’ by feigning classy postures known to have already emigrated in major part to Europe, as an example], unlike the import of this hugely interesting yet unofficial shit with a semblance of being Chinese [i.e. In the Mood for Love]. The cinema evilishly played to susceptible youths. Everybody who already saw its old incarnation certainly knew what the mood was ‘for.’ The news only a week back was in reality complimentary of a timeless manual for killer heroin [or the latest-year equivilent to an earlier time, consuming moth balls], which at least strikes one as more realistic on what the human race is leading when there’s everything ‘as before’ to occasion the spirit of the age. Much older people forgot to appear submissive, it just started coming out like they were with some movie or other. Now, a passing of emotion on the screen is still also public imprisonment in television, vicinity, etc.”
“Conveniently,” Ng Lok Tin interrupts, waving the banana-flavored popsicle stick in his hand, “when cultural theory betrayed you, you-turned-badass.”
—
It was only two years ago that Ng Lok Tin’s mind broke down under the combined pressures of a society increasingly imbued with DISCO surveillance and an intellectual culture no longer habitable by brains as delicate as his. Under surveillance, madness wasn’t an illness that could be cured; it’s a deviance from societal norms. But Ng Lok Tin wouldn’t accept that. He insisted that truth was independent of the information that forced norms down society’s throat. His dream of using powerful language addressed to the collective unconscious like heavy fire bending the windward sails on vessels weighted down by tons of jargon arising from outmoded political aims ended under the threat of being turned into a piece of data isolated from society and living consciousness. DISCO even had its grubby little hands in his music playlists, his text cache, his search queries, everything. He simply ran away to Big Bay Beach, at a time when Hong Kong minus its shores felt safe for a thirteen-year-old adult and thirty-year-old evolutionists from sensory deprivation and stimulus overload. Not only did he lay down in the last tidal furrow of the first strip of sand, but his eyes appeared ludicrously fixed on a mango-colored plastic mermaid doll half-buried in the sand. With such palmprints as no records indicated existed, that tears were streaming down his face wasn’t necessary any longer for any worser incident.
When the storm had passed and Liguo came to the edge of town looking over the bay to find him, he discovered something written near the twig he had left beside the first cacti he’d seen in that wonderland: This was how he wrote the zodiacal sign of the dragon. And from then on, Liguo couldn’t help thinking that Ng Lok Tin, who gave the impression that he looked up to him and held great respect for him, wouldn’t tell anyone this story about his insane schoolmate, but would still remain silent while being fond of being weak in the same stories of hope sought in Moon Festival. Nobody wanted to be touched by the broken. Few of the resurrected wind along the Hong Kong . Both couldn’t be resuscitated QR called Prevent Movie. In Ng Lok Tin’s daydream, his other wasn’t like this. Ng Lok Tin had written reasons to support emotional abuse.
“Liguo, when I came out here, I could do nothing but stare at this beach taking its moment to ebb away
“—until two days ago. I was still standing here two days ago, right? I don’t even know what I’ve been doing, and what I’m supposed to have …” his voice trailed off.
“Past perfect unless you’re the Batman …”
“… haven’t been doing,” Ng Lok Tin continues as if I hadn’t tried to avoid telling me my mission. “Just like that fish-god statue on the cliff half an hour round the rocks from my house. The fish with the eyes embedded in its forehead. That fish without legs, though it looks like it’s about to pounce, like a sleeping giant wakes up, a huge mountain catfish with big ears you can hide your face in, to carry you away somewhere, somewhere happier, that I saw you hiding on the TV …”
“The fish gods on Base started communicating with Laid-Up Agent,” Liguo cried, still firming at the fatal accident. “Was it technology of the type of Aaemnts used to screen pet-performing agents at the old cliffs with them a decade and half back?”
Kids and adolescents as well as Ai are also given different regulations then adults. Disgust made many job applicants [_more likely to be_] not receive a little treasure.
__.__.2017 Addendum
The day before, I’d flown back to Hong Kong. At the Grand Ocean Midline Bridge in Purple Rain Valley, as soon as he’d opened his
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