Solitude is as useless as it is useless.
  — Blanchot
   He lasted a little last night, probably to kill the rat.
   Close the sticky mouse board, put the toe of the right foot on the mouse’s head, and press it hard. The sound of the mouse’s skull cracking caused him a little trouble, and his ears continued to roar—but everything will pass, just like those few days, As soon as he got to the kitchen, he smelled a dead body odor, which he knew was rats. He stood on the kitchen counter and looked at the top of the cabinet many times. There was nothing but dust, but it didn’t mean that the mouse hadn’t been lying there. The sticky mouse board on the top of the cabinet had successfully stuck to the mouse. He just found out. (The smell, he suspected was its lingering smell. There was nothing he could do except to wipe the top of the cupboard with clean water several times.
   ) God has blessed me, the stuffy nose is healed, and the cough comes. I curl the tip of my tongue against the roof of my mouth, so that breathing can keep me from coughing for a short time. As a result, my breathing becomes a lot rougher. But sometimes, I Short of breath like I’m laughing at something funny. Especially, I can’t go into the kitchen.” He sat up on the edge of the bed and said to me. I’m still leaning against the frame of his bedroom door with the broken lock.
   (He eventually found out it was a week after the eggs he bought stink.) That’s it, he’s always messed up his life.
   I was lying in the winter full of flaws.
   He handed me the phone and asked me to read some text recorded on the note.
   “Where are you lying now?” I asked.
   “It’s too difficult to bypass an image.” He tried to tell me where he is at the moment with an awkward situation in another dimension. Then where am I standing? At the moment when I say “stand”, is the place I stand and lean on the real reality?
   By the time I showed up to him, he’d been through different kinds of cramp labor. It started at about 1:10 in the morning, and he kept yawning, and then begged by his limp self to lay his neck and head down on the pillow to rest. He cramped incessantly until his heart burst like a pink water-filled balloon. He knew he was screwed. In order to destroy the evidence, he dunked himself in a basin of water like he used to read shoddy underground pornographic magazines. Like paper, it can only be kneaded when it is soaked. He put the pieces of his body into a black garbage bag, tied the bag a few more times, and threw it into the garbage pit. He knew that tomorrow the cleaning truck would take away the waste residue. As long as the wheels are turning, after a certain distance, he will have no regrets. As another image, I can no longer bypass him.
   He cut the mirror apart, and we walked forward through a wall passage made of polygonal mirrors. He said that this is his memory passage, as long as I don’t look back, I can keep moving forward. Whether to go back or not, I didn’t think about it at all. I sense that I have some kind of secret relationship with him, and I am willing to listen to his words to lead me to a certain place, leading to the unknown. We came to an open field with trees full of crystalline statues. The animals here are just images, just like him and me, they are different images. What the eyes see is bizarre. The monkey the size of a fist is swinging on the gorilla’s chin, how it hooks the gorilla’s chin, I don’t know, after getting rid of their images, I continue to walk in his memory, I perceive that, in fact, I am leading to Fields are just extensions of his memory tunnels, spaces built by visions of his past.
   I even saw a vivid him, standing in front of a bright mirror, greatly increasing or decreasing the arc of his lips to adjust his smile.
   “I found out tonight that I look good when I smile,” he said behind me.
   “Is there anything particularly happy?”
   “No, I smiled at the mirror first.”
   But his laugh is always a silent laugh. We seem to have walked into a silent world. Here all sound has been stripped away, swallowed by an invisible monster. If there was anything that could be called a “voice,” it was one of the more suspicious ones we both could hear. In addition to the trees, there must be other plants here. I also met a plant on the side of the road. The shape of the individual is like a kiwi fruit shrunk two hundred times – can you say that, what does it look like two hundred times shrunk – who knows what it is called , Let’s call it kiwi. The children put the kiwi on their eyelids one after another, smiling happily. We passed by in a daze, but I still used part of my mind to think about the problem of the heart, whether the balloon burst or the tomato was too ripe to burst by itself… At the moment I am inclined to the latter. Everything is natural – if the term “self-ripe” can be used to describe the ripening mechanism of plant fruits, regarding the cracking of his heart, it is a kind of “self-ripe”, in this way, this usage is also appropriate of.
   “Why didn’t we see a mouse?” I asked.
   “I’ve wiped out all the rats,” he said.
   Then he recalled the details of the extermination of rats, and the poem he had written about the dead rats and his undisclosed hopeless love. All kinds of fuss about the rats, the details of exterminating the rats, zooming in on the movements of the rats, crawling, escaping…that poem has been shown vividly, including his psychological activities.
   This is exactly the weak moment to understand the self.
   The night and the starry sky, and the stop sign, the continuation of time
   . We are destined to be unable to penetrate each other
   . When I crush the head of the third mouse
   , I think that my heart may also be
   crushed . Night and morning, and Ji Feng, comfort
   yourself , there is no cause and effect in the world, where there is no
   reincarnation, the void haunts, and people are too ruthless
   . I still blame myself last month for
   driving the endless descendants of the mouse into the sewer.
   I think I should estimate its vitality
   This is the right moment of weakness to understand myself How will I know what the weather will be like
   Gossamer of longing, we’ve all lived for that breath I got rid of
   two hours ago
   It always pulls out the heartbeat
   I know it, yeah I’m not good…
   “I used to regard poetry as companionship, but I didn’t handle it well. I overstepped myself and was too sad, as if it was an accomplice of depression.” He said.
   “Maybe many times, just to care more about myself, I will put emotions on myself. One day I suddenly discovered that the things in the novel are actually closer to my heart, and the poetry may be more just to express a ‘Tendency’,” he said.

   “Honest men are doomed to bad luck,” I said.
   “There is no sadness, we are just moving forward in the downturn.”
   Seeing orangutans, there must be tigers and leopards. He seemed to spy on my question. He said “tiger” and “leopard” in the language of their people, without words, he said. He believes that this is the helplessness of their national language, and also the helplessness of Chinese, and there is no word in Chinese that has the same pronunciation as them. As for the pronunciation of “leopard” in their nation-the pronunciation of “leopard” means “leopard” or “lion”. If they share the same pronunciation, then “lion” is also “leopard”. He found it interesting and stepped forward to be side by side with me.
   His rigorous attitude is a bit like Mr. Palomar described by Italo Calvino. Mr. Palomar is a foreigner. Neither he nor I have ever been abroad, and we have been living in a certain residence. When I mention “we,” it must be me that separates me from him, not sharing a name, or wearing the same face. “We”, just because of a certain chance, decided to go together. Especially, after “we” lost a solid body or entity.
   At this time, we must lament time, time is just the product of our lamenting memory projection, we live in a huge void, without beginning and without end.
   A car drove past us. It was an express delivery van. The flickering lights seemed to cheer the concrete driveway. The truck drivers eating ashes along the way, and the tireless exhaust on the long road, sink into the twilight with the tired face of dusk.
   “I’m always afraid that someone I know is going to be terrible,” he said.
   “For example?”
   “But we are far from realizing ourselves.”
   “That’s right.”
   “For example, the relationship between dirt and dust, for example, me—and you, you—and me.”
   He was full of interest, smiled at me, and said, “Does our vocalization really have a voice?”
   The confusion came too suddenly. But I don’t want to go any further. Just as I still accept that I somehow obey his words, wandering like this.
   “Do you want to see my shame?” he asked.
   “Do you want to see my shame?” he repeated.
   Before I could answer, he spread his hands, and the index fingers of his left and right hands opened the right palm and the left palm one after another. He closed the cracks in the palms and spread them out again. What appeared in front of us was a dream.
   It was a Sunday morning, and his time and space were disrupted by this dream. ——Liang Bin, a junior high school teacher, is his high school teacher. Elementary school classmate Qin is his high school classmate. University classmate and roommate Wu Junfei is his high school classmate. In the dark shadows, he could only recognize a few high school classmates and a few junior high school classmates, but without exception, they were his high school classmates at this time. The video suddenly borrowed a certain Chinese teaching class from his college days. As a normal student, he stood on the podium and gave a failed class in front of everyone. When he walked down, he buried his head in front of the desk box, accepting it with his big eyes. His hair and the failure of a hundred thousand hairs. Then Teacher Liang Bin came forward and handed out the papers to save him the face of being at the end of the road. (It’s far away, but I still have to say that we can obtain images through narration, or images need to be maintained through narration.) In the dream, he was the only one who scored 100 points, and he scored 110 points. For the 150-point question, he scored 58 points for the composition, and he wrote a short story.
   “Did you see that?” he asked.
   “See what?”
   “People have a habit of covering up a certain specialty to cover up other setbacks and indulging in dreams without knowing it.”
   “How to say?”
   “For example, you have been ignoring me by relying on the narrative function Your name—of course, the name is a dispensable symbol—if there is no change or transmission of images, your narrative must be a pale and cowardly consolation.”
   This morning does not belong to the sound of diligent birds outside the window, it is still another dream of Li Xiangdong who is frustrated in love and no one cares about it. (Since he mentions names and symbols, I will not declare below that it was a dream). I have never thought about the difference between dreams and reality, the difference between dreams and ideals, I once answered a high school alumnus, and we are junior high school classmates, he sent me a QQ message in a classroom of Anshun College. I immediately answered him, “Dreams realized are ideals, ideals not realized are dreams.”
   There is a detail in the dream in Li Xiangdong’s palm: he gave the girl a love letter wrapped in an envelope, but later the love letter turned into cabbage. Bring the cabbage back to feed the rabbit; eventually she returns him the cabbage leaves wrapped in an envelope in front of everyone, and he decides to take them home to feed the chickens. The images reflected in the dream are “rabbit” and “chicken”. If you want to further interpret the dream, the rabbit will make a hole and the chicken will fly. They are not in the same world. A “love letter” may be a stack of affectionate letters, and a “cabbage” may also be a rare organic vegetable. Here I played with my vanity and used “duo” instead of “tree” to describe “cabbage”.
   Li Xiangdong’s nickname is Chaoyang, which I have mentioned in several novels in the past. Many people have mispronounced his nickname “Chaoyang”, but those who know his real name will not mispronounce it again. “Chaoyang”—orientation—needs a direction, for example, a sunflower chooses the east.
   Regarding the dream of alienation, there is another image related to the piano. When I leaned against the door frame of his bedroom earlier, I found the spherical object hidden in the mirror. It was a melancholy bull’s eye with A door panel is looming. He leaned against the door panel, and Qin didn’t say a word in the room. At this point, if we continue to discuss the topic of shame, maybe I will be more comfortable to express my opinion. After that, he successfully imprinted Qin’s standing posture from his feeling.
   He closed the cracks in his palms again and spread them out again. Like turning a page of paper, he found Qin. Qin’s figure was no longer melancholy. She was wearing a white shirt and standing in Li Xiangdong’s soft dream. A comfy pillow and we can hear…
   “It was only later that I found out that the place where I stood the day I met her was the place where I first met a murderer when I was a child.” Li Xiangdong said.
   “Did you mean the dream?” I asked.
   “Do we have to mention dreams? What is reality?”
   Reality? I meditate for a moment. The “truth” is that I just met a man washing his intestines on the side of the road. The man was washing his intestines like rubbing clothes. That must be the man who “showed his face” that Li Xiangdong saw in his childhood. At that time, the term “showing up” was quite popular in their village. Young and old in the village must use this term before insulting or provoking each other. The matter naturally originated from the dying man, who was lying in a pavilion in the village after being stabbed, and the noodles he had eaten flowed out from his punctured belly. Therefore, the word “show your face”, in the words of Li Xiangdong and his people, is extremely vivid. (Note: Pavilion, place name, Daxinzhai Public Field Dam; it is not a pavilion or other small building with shelter.) Real? “Reality” also appeared in another dream of Li Xiangdong. Li Xiangdong was greeting a woman, and he forgot what they said in the first sentence. A wedding is being staged in the pavilion, and the wedding reception ceremony is in progress. Because of their conversation, the scene just now was erased, including his doubts, what kind of wedding would have paper umbrellas appearing together, it was a blank sheet of paper. He was curious about her appearance, and he had a premonition that she knew his father, saying that he was the son of so-and-so. Her eye circles were slightly tired, and he briefly refuted some of her misunderstandings, about father’s “fame” and village “nosy”, (father and he almost fell out because of his marital problems, and his insistence on celibacy offended Father, father preached in front of the villagers that he did not have a son like Li Xiangdong.) The next sentence the young woman said she planned to have a good chat with him. He woke up when she bent over to move the chair.

error: Content is protected !!