Ashley judging with the luxury of those who did not need to survive its the night of the Ghost Festival she said I didn’t want to work anymore I wanted to think about my mother why don’t we go get some offerings together I asked we took the ferry over to Kowloon and the breeze over the water revived her a bit she wet the towel with the hot water from the teapot on the ferry and wiped off for makeup I caught a trace of her natural scent fresh and lovely as always you look good I said and mented on the streets of Calhoun we bought pastries and fruits and cold dumplings and steamed chicken and
mechanical arms served drinks in the bars along Central and machine hands fashion shoes and clothes and factories in the new territories in the Mansions up on the peak I heard though I’d never seen that automatic sweepers and mops I designed roam the Halls discreetly bumping into walls gently as they clean the floors like mechanical elves puffing up bits of White Steam the expats could finally live their lives in this Tropical Paradise free of reminders of the presence of the Chinese I was 35 when she showed up at my door again like
The mechanical arms and hands that automated Hong Kong’s service economy allowed expatriates to live in a tropical paradise “free of reminders of the presence of the Chinese.” Mechanization erased the colonized not by removing them but by making their labor invisible. The same logic applies to any tool designed to smooth away the human cost of convenience.Ashley judging with the luxury of those who did not need to survive its the night of the Ghost Festival she said I didn’t want to work anymore I wanted to think about my mother why don’t we go get some offerings together I asked we took the ferry over to Kowloon and the breeze over the water revived her a bit she wet the towel with the hot water from the teapot on the ferry and wiped off for makeup I caught a trace of her natural scent fresh and lovely as always you look good I said and mented on the streets of Calhoun we bought pastries and fruits and cold dumplings and steamed chicken and
Festival she said I didn’t want to work anymore I wanted to think about my mother why don’t we go get some offerings together I asked we took the ferry over to Kowloon and the breeze of the water revived her a bit she went to town with the hot water from the teapot on the ferry and wiped off for makeup I caught a faint trace of her natural scent fresh and lovely as always you look good I said and minted on the streets of Kowloon we bought pastries and fruits and cold dumplings and steamed chicken and incense and paper money and caught up on each other’s lives house hunting I asked we
Thoughts about land. Western influence causing Chinese villagers to move into the cities with the promise of jobs. Railroads connecting villages but damaging the natural way of things. Spirits treated as superstitions, having no worth in the eye of Western religion. Not respected. What to do with a lively Hood built from the acknowledgment of magic? There is no need. The village is an ecosystem. And the villagers don’t feel the need. Who cursed who is out of the questionthen she had refined it through hundreds of iterations until she was satisfied I could see traces of her mother in it but also something harder something new working from her idea I had designed the delicate folds in the Chrome skin and the intricate joints in the metal skeleton I had put together every hinge assembled every gear soldered every wire welded every seam oiled every actuator I had taken her apart and put her back together yet it was a Marvel to see everything working
Both characters realize their dreams, though coopted by mechanization. A future shaped by others’ desires leaves no room to live into one’s original identity — yet the trace of redemption persists and can still be worked toward. The tension is between fulfilling responsibilities with such excellence that it tips into innovation, without becoming enslaved to the machine or succumbing to the disillusionment of a new ecology.I said I suppose it’s the same with ghosts as with people some will figure out how to survive in a world diminished by Iron roads and steamed mussels some will not but will any of them Thrive she asked she could still surprise me I mean she continued are you happy are you happy to keep an engine running all day yourself like another Cog what do you dream of I couldn’t remember any dreams I had let myself become entrance by the movement of gears and levers to let my mind grow to fit the gaps between the clanging of metal on
“what do you dream of” is relative. Doesn’t apply uniquely to the era of spirit connections as opposed to industrialized era. “Being a cog in the machine” is not human, they paint it as such, but connection and dreams requires a new imagination in that eramechanical arms and legs that would eventually replace the Chinese coolies and servants I was selected to serve Mr Finley Smith in his new Venture I learned to repair Clockwork to design intricate systems of gears and genius uses for lovers a study how to Plate metal with chrome and how to shape brass into
The inspiration of “what do you dream of” empowered the character to study optimization so thoroughly that he was eventually called on to mechanize others. A parallel emerges: caring deeply enough about a craft or gift that mastery of it leads, paradoxically, to its mechanization.spell pistons and the deafening hiss of high-pressured steam rushing through valves I can no longer claim to be attuned to that vanished world of my childhood I don’t know I said I suppose it’s the same with ghosts as with people some will figure out how to survive in a world diminished by Iron roads and steamed mussels some will not but will any of them Thrive she asked she could still surprise me I mean she can continue on
Running like another cog. The engines are too loud, deafening what he was trained for. Industrialized religion follows the same pattern: the imperative to produce and remember collectively generates a desire to create rather than to listen, rather than to hold things halfway in story.“It’s been a long time,” I said, looking at her. I swallowed the you look good. She didn’t. She looked tired and thin and brittle. And the pungent perfume she wore assaulted my nose. But I did not think of her harshly. Judging was the luxury of those who did not need to survive.
assaulted by industry, made by industry into something that wanted her for the beauty, for what she had to sell, rather than the identity that existed independent of her ability to shapeshift.When she wanted, she could always turn into her true form and hunt. But now, in this form, what can I do? I don’t have claws. I don’t have sharp teeth. I can’t even run very fast. All I have is my beauty, the same thing that your father and you killed my mother for. So now I live by the very thing that you once falsely accused my mother of doing: I lure men for money.”
I nodded. I took pride in the way I could squeeze more power out of my machines than dreamed of by their designers.
In the mansions up on the Peak, I heard—though I’d never seen—that automatic sweepers and mops I designed roamed the halls discreetly, bumping into walls gently as they cleaned the floors like mechanical elves puffing out bits of white steam. The expats could finally live their lives in this tropical paradise free of reminders of the presence of the Chinese.
