FILM | Cloud nine

Forget all that talk of porn and pubic hair. Tsai Ming-liang's new movie, The Wayward Cloud, is about the state of being deeply disconnected. Much of the sex that's had here is either vicarious i.e. people watching porn, or laborious i.e. people making porn. They're disconnected people having disconnected sex. And amid such disconnections, two people are about to reconnect when they cross paths again in crazy Taipei city - so The Wayward Cloud is really a romance.

Hsiao-kang, once a watch vendor on a skywalk in the city, is now a porn actor. He's a guy who's mostly completely comfortable in his own skin. He's a dreamer. He's been in love with Shiang-chyi since he sold her a watch two movies ago in What Time Is It There? After she went to Paris, he spent his waking hours walking all around the city to reset clocks to Paris time.

She's been looking for him since she came home in the last movie The Skywalk Is Gone. She's a girl who knows how to have fun with her fantasies, even if it's as silly as pretending to be pregnant with a watermelon.

They meet again in The Wayward Cloud on a summer day in a park. (Cue to a celebratory, cheery Chinese oldie as lip-syncing actresses dance all around a Sun Yat-sen statue.)

That night, they say their good-byes at the door of the lift at her lift lobby. Door closes. She's still so blissed out from seeing him, she forgets to push the button for her floor. Door opens. He's rooted to the same spot...

Another night, they cook crabs together. Then they eat them together - almost orgasmically. Then he sinks under the table to smoke a cigarette - almost post-coitally. She slides down to the floor, too, and holds his cigarette with her toes, as he puffs on it...

Yet another night, they don't walk, they waltz through the city. She's barefoot and balancing on his feet. He leads her in small dance steps...

They don't talk. That's a tiresome rom-com tradition not necessary here.

Planned parenthood, Buddhist-style

For a moment I think about taking the FBI to a bed somewhere, but immediately I realise this is a consequence of the defilement from yesterday. This is exactly how karma is generated, through craving arising from craving arising from craving. Just because I successfully negotiated the charms of three beautiful women, with the help of JBO and an astronomical investment by my Colonel, I now feel I can fuck the FBI with impunity. But the Lord Buddha taught 2,500 years ago that there is no impunity. In more elegant language than I can muster he warned that you always pay for pussy, one way or another. For example, if we go back to Jones' room at the Hilton, one of two things could happen. She could enjoy it more than I or I could enjoy it more than she. The keener one immediately becomes the slave of the other, with disastrous consequences for both. I think it likely that I would initially fall under her spell, which gets more powerful every day. Having trapped me, she would use her abrasive genius to nibble away at everything about me which is alien to her: my belief in rebirth, my spiritual dimension, my meditation, my Buddhism, my preference for huge doses of chili in everything I eat. She would not realise that she would be turning me into an American, but by the time I'm living with her in some luxurious but soulless suburb in one of those cities in America which look like all the others, conscientiously working at the sort of work immigrants work at, speaking with an American accent now and forced to go underground with my chili habit, she will have started to hate me because I will have become a millstone round her neck and the lust will have run out a long time ago. There might even be a child, which of course will make things a whole lot worse, because our mutual karma will include this third person. After death, no matter how hard we try, we will be reborn in circumstances where we will be forced to continue where we left off. We will be sworn enemies by this time, and I will probably be the dominant one now, due to the way things have to balance out in the universe. No, I am not going to fuck her today - Bangkok 8

FASHION | In the mood for qipao

it's a warm day and i've been working up a sweat from squeezing in and out of ma's qipao. raiding her wardrobe has turned out to be more rewarding than going through other people's clothing at a flea market.

we have a wedding to go to two months and four days from today. it's a good girl friend's wedding, which in my book is up there with dressing up for your own wedding. yesterday i got that crinkly green silk frock from warehouse. today it was ma's turn to wonder what she should wear. she's been outgrowing her clothing - it might be menopause - so when she says, "i have nothing to wear," she means it more than most women.

ma: "what about that skirt i got from this fashion last week?"

(it's a big black boho skirt. it's nice. it is also (a) too casual, (b) too young for her. i don't have the heart to tell her, however.)

me: "no lah. no lah. what about your qipao?"

soon, she was taking them out to show me how they were too tight for her: a baby blue floral one, a red one - and a red and white beauty with white buttons on the bodice. i was in love.

ma had narrow boyish hips and she still does. it's mostly her waist that has widened. my hip measurement is 40 inches on a good day - obviously, i didn't get that from her. so, her qipao are too tight for me, too. some serious alterations are needed soon.

happy birthday tony

a few friends and i had a party on sunday in honour of tony's 43rd birthday. everyone - except ms c's boyfriend, mr k - had to be in character as one of the girlfriends from tony's films.

ms s (left) as maybe maggie from in the mood for love and me (right) as gong li from 2046. i was so seriously in character, i had one glove and one pack of playing cards, okay?