Human Like A House

j'ai peur que tu ne m'aime plus,
j'ai peur que tu ne me parle plus,
j'ai peur que tu as une autre belle fille,
j'ai peur que tu veux me quitter,
j'ai si peur que je ne peux pas dormir,
ce sera finir bientot,
je sais,
oui je sais.

- j'ai peur by My Little Airport

And yes, that settles a 21 second track by the Hong Kong twee pop band, My Little Airport which I refuse to keep in my library.
And no, Gigi Leung is not dead - it's one of those somewhat whimsical/nonsensical/in-your-face-ish songs by that selfsame band. Hah, the uproar it created when I placed that title for an online chat nick - all sorts of ghosts from a distant past started swarming all over it.

So yes, I'm in Shanghai now, the city of bad air, reckless driving (I live in a somewhat 'civilised' and 'policed' state), lack of xenon headlamps, gangs of cyclists, never ending construction projects (since 6 years back) and the prophecy of another Pruitt-Igoe in the making. I whine about the place but that could be constituted as more of a love-hate response to that bad 'Shanghai Air' (with reference to Duchamp's Paris Air ). So yes, if you want it plainly put - the whining could be very much a form of affectionate. The lack of insects and intriguing snippets of biodiversity (other than the sparsely dotted trees of here and there) seems to silently creep up on me somewhat as I contemplate the whizzing movements of a small worker honey bee circling the table lamp.

There have always been a couple of inexplicable phenomena or two which I deviate between coincidence/chance and fuzzy logic. As a child, I have always wondered why the moon seems to follow you wherever you go, how you always get to watch TV programmes on afternoons where they have reruns of which you have already viewed in the past (and I still do now) and lastly why the blardy wing keeps getting in the way of your view when you get assigned the window seat (right). The lunar phenomena has a scientifically plausible explanation in the child's 10,000 (random) facts and 'Book of Wonders' while the other two are still very much cold cases - which I which to resolve after considerations provided by a certain anticipated reading.

Boxes, boxes, boxes - yes boxing day in the form of boxes of books! How pleasant can things get? I get to stay in this bookshop of Mr. Bookseller and while on the verge of completing my reading of The Yellow-Lighted Bookshop (which deals with the workings behind the book trade and a rather comprehensive history of how book selling came to be), I get to open up boxes of 2 separate shipments of new arrivals. Sweet is really an understatement here for I'd gladly accept that as my redefined definition of Boxing Day. After all, Christmas is very much a commercialised event in today's world.

Santa isn't very happy about it either. I guess that could be the one true explanation of both pieces of charcoal and presents. Listening to the 1907 playlist of mine that screws with the mood/head seems rather apt in in light of a dark, near-winter night rattling away (I'm on the Macbook keyboard since I the Lycosa wasn't brought along cause it's' dangerous and alive') and the faltered exams that just ended yesterday. I'm really asking for it this time for a momentous mood swing and what seems to be the true capital of an urban concrete jungle.

Time for bed - looking forward to the moped ride in the freezing morning.