The flight sucked. Taking off is fun in a 747 or anything fast enough to make your bones rattle and your intestines shake, but this didn’t do it, not even having two seats from Kuala Lumpar to Hong Kong, and my hysterically over-tired finish-China-Miévilles-The-Scar-in-a-single-reading left me fucking hallucinating and dropping in and out of a very unbalanced half-sleep populated by South China Sea pirates, Fujian snakeheads, and Remade New Corzoban sex slaves, the view out my window a dead ringer for the Scar itself.
So, back in Guangzhou where the foreigner population is currently outnumbering locals due to the 97th Canton Trade Fair. The success of which is evident in the ferocious high-heels and short skirts all over town. It’s like Vegas in the gold rush. Or something. But I was climbing in Baiyun Shan within 12 hours of schlepping into Guangdong East Station. I have priorities. The rainy season declared open war on climbing today anyway, dumping down the kind of water you only get in a drought.
Two months in Guangzhou, making art. Just before I left, trying to find a book of Goya’s Disasters of War etchings, I came across another series of his, which kinda perfectly fits into my current Binlang Girl/demonic Chinese warrior jag. Perfect late night fever-induced bad-dream reading to go with my recently contracted Ebola. Either my viscera will shortly liquify, causing the deaths of millions across the Pearl River Delta, or I’ll survive slightly brain-damaged. Nothing unusual there. Currently my typing and fine-motor skills are severely impaired making writing this and self-pleasure quite difficult, hence the lack of posting.