from its earthly platform, hong kong rises high towards the sky, nay, the sun, babel all over again will we ever learn? multicoloured and multitongued and multidreamt and multibelieving, there must be a limit to the melting capacity of this cement pot. the stew must clog. and yet the city keeps stirring and stirring, it bubbles upwards, desperate to raise its treasures above the boiling ground so they can gently simmer au bain marie.
these four walls and semitranslucent ceiling have a strange effect on me. needles aimed at the sun now seem like pictures from a fantasy book, and yet fantasy has seldom been so tangible. i am able to squeeze the spirits if i choose to, and despite my protests they coil into my nostrils in smoke and they feel divine. but spirits are fragile things and come with no handling instructions, i think i will just abstain from touch. these spirits are red. and instead of roaming the vast universe, they prefer the damp obscurity, the discrete secrecy of this room. that suits me fine, maybe i will stay until the rain stops.
ah, now i see. this city is empty of people. and through its avenues, like heavy fog, parades money. this is where finance comes on a holiday, to eat ice-cream and go on a rollercoaster. a giant waterpark where all currencies bump into each other, shout in a thousand amused languages, and after which i'm sure they'll end up making love.
colour. colour? and so much of it too? where was colour when i peeked through the clouds onto the playground of wealth? maybe it was all hiding in white, colour has been known to do that sometimes, a little ingenious trick that physicists have cracked long ago. but with its warmth it now reveals a surprising array of human things. voice and intelligence. sentiment. and also hair. the sun is about to set, and the human mass slowly building into a throng hungers for beauty. i am promised the sublime in a couple of hours - no small print - but for the time being i am content with this metallic rainbow.
look at me. i am the sparkling jewel, i am the vanquisher of the dark and the sanitised navel of the world. i am hong kong, king kong, ping pong, yin yang, sing along, splash bam zing bong, and i have come to muscle through your scepticism and shake you. look at me, look at me, i say. i will count to three. onetwothree. you are mine.
Posted by H. Cardoso at 19:28