锦瑟无端五十弦

秋日周末上午 阳光美好 微凉的秋风轻轻吹过 走过游人熙攘的哈佛校园 端着从咖啡店买的黑咖啡和巧克力点心 穿过长满高大树木的庭院 树叶颜色黄的刚刚好 熙熙攘攘的街头有人举着“Free Hugs”的牌子站在高高的台阶上

每到傍晚的时候 就会想念波士顿 第三次飞去的时候 就如同回家一样的熟悉
天色渐晚的时分 可以精准的预测何时空乘会走过来收走我的水杯
飞机会在夕阳里绕出海岸线多远之后掉头回落到停机坪
需要花多久时间可以从第十五排A座上方行李架取下行李走出机舱
机场大巴需要经过多少个红绿灯能停在地铁站口
从蓝线转绿线再转红线的周四夜晚 会遇到几个在站台上卖唱的男人
走出哈佛站口的时候 月亮会在头顶的哪一个方向
路过纪念堂的时候会迎面碰上多少拿着吹管乐器 刚从乐团排练出来的学生
以及 多少秒之后我可以站在你设计室的工作台前 看你斜前方的女生的电脑屏幕上播放着这周新一集的True Blood

是最细微的东西 细微到尘土里 折射出光来 然后安静的落在我的脚边 像羽毛麽 还是雪片 闭上眼睛耳边响起的是簌簌的你满桌手画稿飘零的声音

送你两颗苹果 和一碗满满的绿豌豆 换你整个宇宙

活着

又是一个不用睡觉的夜晚 数不清多少个这样的夜晚了

英伦推门进屋 一如往常的直奔厨房里炒蛋吃 吵吵闹闹的

我盘腿坐在地毯上 开足的暖风吹得我晕晕的 铺了一地的书书本本和paperwork 所有的灯都亮着 skype那边是同样熬夜在做project的小朋友 一边满脸严肃认真的画着他画了一个星期还没有做完的图 一边紧张傻傻的喊着做不完了做不完了都两点钟了 一边嗷嗷嗷的唱着歌 然后会假装可怜的说“哎呀你要是在身边就好了 我就不用这么stressed out了” 我在这边心里笑得跟花儿一样

想想看都十一月了 怎么能想象这一年眼睁睁就这样过去了 多少血肉模糊的风景 都成了过眼云烟

忽然很想听范特西 记忆里面熟悉得不能再熟悉的曲调响起来的时候 内心涌起一种暖暖的安慰 似乎一切还如同五年级的小女孩时候一样 完好如初 充满希望

这样的一个夜晚 很久以来让我第一次觉得很温馨 是那种我早已久违了的温馨

因为你相信命运，因为我怀疑生活。

我常常会想 一生顺遂和一生坎坷究竟哪个更好？某作家说林青霞的文章——一生顺利，所以少了几分沧桑。又有的时候会想，悲剧也好，喜剧也罢，人生这一出戏都有谢幕的时候。悲剧和喜剧也都可以很好看，但是都无法停滞在任何一个你钟爱的桥段。套用宗萨仁波切的话，人间是剧场。

“醉的人们呀举起杯笑着眼里都是泪，谁在晚餐后老去像迷雾里我的心。。。”

阳光照射进来
像一杯刚刚挤出来的泛着泡沫的牛奶
还带着牛棚和干草的气味
睡衣的颜色
身体像镂空的花边一般单纯
正如我对你的想念
它已没有欲望
我会想念你
但我不再爱你

——代薇《早晨》

"Our old buildings still stand because we saw them, moved in and out of their long shadows, were lucky enough to know them for a time. They are a part of the city we carry around."

不知道她还有没有在写诗了，如果有，说明她又恋爱了。

I want to lay barefoot

on a grassy hill

under an endless sky

blue as my eyes

with you by my side

my hand tucked in yours

and summer's last breeze

sweeping over our bodies

as we find pictures in clouds

whispering the stories

that float with them

it was made for me...

sometimes i get butterflies in the way he looks at me… in the way he kisses me. in the way he says 'i love you.' in watching him laugh…in knowing that my head rests in the perfect spot on his chest-like it was made for me…

and i breathe him in, the scent heavy on his neck…in his clothes, on the palms of his hands. i breathe him in so i'll always remember…and never forget.

Out of Africa

To an Athlete Dying Young

致一位英年早逝的运动员

The time you won your town the race

We chaired you through the market-place,

Man and boy stood cheering by,

And home we brought you shoulder-high.

当年，你为小镇赢得了比赛

我们举起你穿过市场

男女老幼夹道欢迎

你在人们肩头凯旋

Today, the road all runners come,

Shoulder-high we bring you home.

And set you at your threshold down,

Townsman of a stiller town.

今天，人们又聚集在一起

把你抬在肩上为你送行

轻轻放你归于尘土

小镇为你肃穆宁静

Smart lad, to slip betimes away

From fields were glory does not stay

And early though the laurel grows

It withers quicker than the roses.

明智的你早早离去

因为荣耀不能为谁停留

月桂树转瞬苍翠

却比玫瑰凋零的还快

Eyes the shady night has shut

Cannot see the record cut,

And silence sounds no worse than cheers

After earth has stopped the ears:

黑夜的幕布落下

再也看不到记录被打破

沉寂不会比欢呼更糟

你在大地的深处长眠

Now you will not swell the rout

Of lads that wore their honours out,

Runners whom renown outran

And the name died before the man.

现在，你将永不会被击败

他们的荣耀转瞬间即逝

尽管后来的冠军辈出

活着时名字已被人遗忘

So set, before its echoes fade,

The fleet foot on the sill of shade,

And hold to the low lintel up

The still-defended challenge-cup.

趁着荣耀消逝之前

敏捷双脚踏上归途

在门梁上悬挂着的是

永恒的冠军奖杯

And round that early-laurelled head

Will flock to gaze the strengthless dead,

And find unwithered on its curls

The garland briefer than a girl's.

那些早先的冠军们

将会嫉妒的注视着你

你卷发上的月桂花环

将永不枯萎

——A.E. Housman (1859-1936)

回忆是木纹化不开冲不散

再多的等待也是空白

再多的空白也无法将你掩埋

失去了你 美丽只是面具

失去了你 善变只是游戏

失去你 流浪只是逃避

失去你 爱情只是抄袭

─《灵感》 陈绮贞

天气很晴 你是一行蔚蓝色的诗句

湖泊很静 而我学着

朗读无处不在的爱情

比利时的黑巧克力 余韵不如你

葡萄庄园里的香槟 清澈不及你

古典钢琴弹不出 你微笑时的声音

山腰蜿蜒的小径 余韵不如你

琉璃瓦上的雨滴 清澈不及你

…

─《很旅行的爱情》袁咏琳

Trying Hard but not hard enough

All I want is to be healthy, and happy.

Since when did it start being hard?

I can't remember how it all started.

I do know how it will end if I don't change the situation.

There is something to let go of.

But sometimes holding on is the only source of comfort.

Sometimes you need to let go of the only comfort in order to live a real life.

A monstrous being is consuming me and slowing tearing away at my flesh.

It will not stop until there is nothing left of me.

Unless I set it free, unless I set myself free.

There is only so much pain you can inflict on yourself before you feel numb.

There are only so many lies you have to tell yourself before you lose sense of what's real, what's not, and who you really are.

That's not the way for anyone to live.

All I'm asking for is, some peace of mind some time during the day.

Preferably early in the morning and late at night.

No constant worrying and weight on my chest.

No disturbance from the external world.

Just a few moments. 1 minute. 10 seconds.

That's-

basically it.

Sunday Morning

We all have that friend.

When life gives you crap, and you are tired of dealing with crap, this is who you turn to.

You know he(she) is a bad influence.

He teaches you denial, he teaches you to throw away what means the most to you.

By doing that, you feel 'liberated'. Because what means the most to you is often the source of all the pain.

He gives you a goal. A goal that is meaningless, but it's just what you needed. Something to pursue. Something to attain you make yourself feel worthwhile.

The more you put in his hands, the more he grows. He drains you and sucks you dry.

He is a parasite.

Soon, he's the only one you can see. Nothing else in this world matters anymore, they just make you suffer. But your friend, he's different. He eases your mind. He makes you feel free and unconfined when in fact he has chained your heart. He makes you disinterested in the world, disengaged in your own life. You become a cold, lifeless shell of a human being.

It was so hard, so hard to let go of this friend.

For as long as I can remember, I believed that he was my only friend, the only reason to hold on.

But I let go.

He's trying to linger, but I am now strong enough to keep him at a distance.

I was the only one that had the power to sustain his existence.

Soon I will be ready to stop feeding him, and he will die.

Sorry, friend. I know you wanted to stay until you strip everything away from me. And I know you want me dry and hollow, and cold. Sorry to disappoint, but the only one that will rot and perish is you.

I can't believe I have forgotten how good it feels to be alive.

How joyful it is to walk under the sun and out of the shadows.

But at least I realize now. It's not too late, it's never too late.

Every ending is a new beginning.

那些被遗忘的梦啊

Daily Routines is endlessly fascinating for those who work at home sometimes and can't shake off a guilty feeling that sitting in your pyjamas at noon eating a Lion Bar is not the way to Get Things Done. Nonsense! Winston Churchill got things done and his routine is the best of the lot: 7.30am substantial breakfast and working in bed, followed at 11am by rising, bathing and a weak whisky and soda in the study; 1pm three-course lunch with friends, champagne, brandy and cigars. Then a little light work or possibly backgammon, and "at 5pm, after another weak whisky and soda, he went to bed for an hour and a half."

We brush aside the up-before-dawn and 10,000 words-a-day types, and embrace those who mastered a more civilised life, such as Nabokov - Scrabble, butterfly hunts and long naps - or Turman Capote: "I can't think unless I'm lying down, either in bed or stretched on a couch and with a cigarette and coffee handy. I've got to be puffing and sipping."

I mean, whose work would you rather read, Colette - swimming, sex and regular blood transfusions from an attractive young donor - or film critic Roger Ebert - rise at 7, oatmeal, treadmill, cold shower etc. And Joyce Carol Oates's comments - "To me, wasting time isn't in my nature. I find it difficult to understand why people would deliberately waste their time" - make me determined never to read a word she's written. Most importantly, try never to sit next to the highly self-disciplined J.M. Coetzee: "A colleague who has worked with him for more than a decade claims to have seen him laugh just once."

Some had more idiosyncratic routines. Auden's method, perhaps not recommended, was to take lots of speed, which he considered a "labor-saving device" in the "mental kitchen". Maybe Gerturde Stein is the one to emulate: "Miss Stein likes to look at rocks and cows in the intervals of her writing... Miss Stein spends much of her time quarrelling with friends."

Something to say

When I regret, when my mind starts to complain, i remind myself

- no one said it was gonna be easy.

and you know what?

It's not easy.

In fact, it's not possible to tell you how hard it is.

But it's happening.

Every day it gets a little bit easier.

Every day I realize something more about what life has to offer.

Sometimes you just have to force yourself to look, and to listen.

Sometimes it's better to embrace the silence than try to fill it up with empty words.

习惯

我喜欢在天空和在海上来往。

每当这些时候，会体会到，什么也不比自由重要。

自由，是情感放空后的舒畅感。

我喜欢在一个人的旅途中，每一个举动都不需要带任何情感。

尽情的享受。去追求最真实，最简单的快感。

离别，重聚，来来回回，反反覆覆。

感情，要收放自如，其实并不难。

留学生，需要习惯。

当抽离了，我可以让所有事物显得渺小;

你是我唯一不能视为过路人的那个。

做出一点成绩给你看到，那是我唯一的执着。

从来就是这样。

好多事情现在还不想去深究。

让我再沉醉一会儿吧。

别那么快看透。