Chapter 9 eight

Golden stars.blue stars.Purple stars.yellow stars.Thousands of stars.Changes in a kaleidoscope.Hope to be strangled with ten fingers.Who gently closes the door of memory? HD imagery is the most difficult to capture.Abstract painters fell in love with the dancing colors.Pan Jinlian likes slanting rain knocking on the window the most.a line.ten lines.A hundred lines.A thousand lines.Ten thousand lines.Crazy beads of sweat are missing the distant white snow.Milo painted the Double Illusion on your heart.The four characters on Yue Fei's back.Wang Qia Neng used a drunk brush as splash ink, so he is the ancestor of ancient and modern Yipin.Everything is pale.Hong Kong 1962.Faulkner knocked out Sinclair in the first round.lewis.Pride under the scalpel.Trench oil beef and brutalism.Chang'e laughed at the atomic bomb in the middle of the moon.Thought-forms and imagery.Star.Golden stars.blue stars.Purple stars.yellow stars.Thoughts fade in again.The devil laughed hysterically.Young people must not forget the lessons of the past.Su Wu did not marry an orangutan as his wife.Wang Zhaojun did not swallow the medicine and died.Imagine spasms.There was a dim light in my mind.

he woke up?Someone asked. Yes, he is awake.Someone answered this way. When you open your eyes, what is presented in front of you is some out-of-focus reality.I am surrounded by white.Both are dressed in white.One tall and one short, a man and a woman, stood by the bed.I have no intention of capturing deformed objects in the obscurity.Just not completely devoid of curiosity. Maybe it was careless hope that he forgot to close the door, and Joy sneaked out like a thief.Nervous emotions sit in the atrium, not daring to look for tangible reality. what do you think?asked the man in white. (I don't know, I thought. Who is this? I don't know him at all, why did he come to ask me? Mrs. Sima must have accidentally let someone she didn't know into the room again. Strange, there was dazzling sunlight outside the window; I Why are you still sleeping on the bed? Am I drunk? Where was I last night? Drinking? I don’t seem to have drunk. Since I haven’t drunk, why do I have a headache? Only when I wake up after being drunk will I have a needle-pricking headache .I’ve never drank alcohol, how could I be in such pain?)

what do you think?The man in white repeated. I polished my eyes with my fingers, and finally saw two people in white clothes clearly.The man wears a pair of black-rimmed glasses. He is slender, rather thin, with unusually high cheekbones. He looks a bit like Arthur.miller.The woman has a mooncake-shaped round face, very fat, very fat, looks a bit like a beer barrel. Who are you?I asked. The fat woman smiled unnaturally, and said: My surname is Shen, a girl here.This is Dr. Zhong. (So ​​it's the hospital again, I think. So I'm lying in the ward again. Why? Why? Why? Am I sick? What's wrong with me? Maybe I'm drunk again; but drunks don't need hospital What did I do last night? Strange, why can't I remember it? Maybe I was really sick. When I woke up, it was like a dream. When I was dreaming, everything was very real. Maybe I was really sick. Alcohol is not a good thing and must be stopped. If it wasn’t for drinking, how could I not remember what I did? What did I do? Why did I go to the hospital?)

Why should I stay in the hospital?I asked. Because your head was broken, the doctor replied. who?Who broke my head? This is not something we need to know. How can you not know? Don't get excited, your injury is serious and you need to rest. who?Who the hell broke my head?Why? Last night, when the ambulance brought you here, you were in a coma. We immediately sewed you with twelve stitches. The situation was quite dangerous at that time, and it is now out of danger.Your physical strength is not bad; but you must still rest and rest.Don't let your imagination run wild. he's gone.

(Walks like a dove, I think.) The nurse left too. (Walking poses are like dancing, I think.) I am still lying on the hospital bed. Thoughts are messy, like scraps of paper cut out with scissors.The confetti was thrown in the air, and it turned into thought snow falling slowly. (Who has the ability to turn back time and make the past replace the future? The smile under the linden tree scares away the butcher's knife; the frown on the cross attracts thunder. It is impossible to guess. Another one must be dissected. Someone came from afar on a white horse, with sweat on his forehead , Just ask for a drop of drink. This world is equal to the palm of the Tathagata Buddha, and even Sun Wukong's somersaults can't turn over the rootless red pillar; so Camus wrote "Misunderstanding". We don't know why we are born; but we know We are bound to die. Hemingway died with a gun, maybe it was God’s arrangement; Camus wanted to rebel, but died in a car accident. Hemingway seemed to have a clear understanding, and quietly slipped away from this faceless world. New York publishers refused to let go of the opportunity to make a fortune, who knows if Santiergo still sees lions in his dreams?)

Thoughts are extremely chaotic, like rainstorms in a strong wind, falling into the sea one after another, disappearing and coming again, coming and disappearing again. (There is a chimney outside the window, emitting black smoke, which dyes my sight black. Literary works have become special medicines for kidney deficiency. In the future, instructions must be attached. Joyce’s life was painful. He was half-blind, but Everyone can see clearly. He did not sigh for the banning of Ulysses, nor shed tears for the pirated printing of Ulysses. Discouraged. He created a new style, new technique, new technique, new vocabulary; but he had no manual attached. His main works were only two: Ulysses and Finnigan's Mortuary "; However, there are at least a thousand works on his creative art. Joyce has a key to open the door of modern novels in his hand, and Virginia Woolf followed him in, and Hemingway followed him Faulkner followed him in, Passos followed him in. Thomas Woolf followed him in. James Ferrer followed him in. But his Neither Sis nor Finnigan's Mortuary has an instruction manual. There is no literature in Hong Kong; however, people may not be willing to use literature as a cure for kidney deficiency.)

My breathing is very even, but my thoughts are intricate.A fly in the corner, like a piper, guides my thoughts out of the window. (The devil rides a bicycle around the pattern of feelings. Feelings are placed in a steamer, and the water vapor is equal to the visitor outside the cage. The name of the visitor is: Lonely. 10×7. The small stem room is full of dew. Lee Stage .Duplo-Cola.Sand in Repulse Bay.The emperor.The ferry opposes the bridge.Afternoon tea at the Park Hotel.Human dragon boats buy horse cards in Happy Valley.Nanhua is against the bus.Boats in and out today.Crowds in Mong Kok.There are seaside A lot of neon advertisements. Yanfan chickens and sparrows and hairy crabs. Monkey King dance at the Mira Hotel. Abstract painting exhibition in the Great Hall.)

Thoughts are trolleybuses. (Who was I injured? Why? What did I do last night? Did I drink alcohol? If so, did I get drunk? My memory has never been weak. What happened? Yes, I remember. We ate at Xuxiang Garden with Mahomet. He drank a bottle of beer; Drinking tea at a restaurant in Hong Kong. She told me the plan; and she also gave me three hundred yuan. For me, three hundred yuan is not a small amount, it is equal to one month's manuscript fee. So I called Peng Ming, Peng Ming Ming is a photojournalist. I borrowed a camera from him. I took a taxi home. When I saw Sima Li with a serious face, I drank a few glasses of wine. I don’t know what happened after that.)

Thought equals the undirected wind. (When the wind blows, the water in the Victoria Strait is like the wrinkle on the forehead of an old woman. My hope has not been blown away by the strong wind: because I have the stubbornness of a stone. I saw the jump of the A word, at first one, then it can not be counted Mehman has Proust's ambition; but he can never become Proust, because he has only ambition. Some famous men are worse than Mehman, they have no ambition. Ambition is a strange thing, It destroyed the devils like Hitler; it also made the half-blind Joyes and Proust, who had been ill for ten years, write "Ulysys" and "Records of the Past". Proust was an asthmatic patient. Proust was a heart patient. I don't understand how he spent ten years lying in an airtight bedroom. During these ten years, he completed an immortal book. Some people say: He suffered from Severe nervousness; but until the eve of death, he was still not tired of hard literary work. What kind of power is this? Is it just pure ambition? Kafka believed that human beings' attempts to understand God's rules would be fruitless. Then , Is man the plaything of God? God uses hope and ambition to play with mankind? So I think of Camus. In memory of Kafka, he wrote "The Stranger". He is optimistic about everything about human actions; but for Everything about human nature is pessimistic. But what is the ultimate purpose of life? The answer may be: life has no purpose at all. The Creator created a lie. Ambition, desire, hope, happiness, and sexual desire are all raw materials for making this lie. If there is one thing missing, it is easy for people to achieve true awakening. People cannot wake up, because the creator does not allow this phenomenon. Everyone says that life is like a dream; in fact, dreams are too like life to think about, and if you think about it, you will definitely become a lunatic If you can have a steamed grouper for dinner, you must eat two bowls of rice.)

Thoughts are like a fan that has just been turned off and is still turning.Thoughts are different from fans after all.It doesn't pause. (I am the only patient in this ward, so it must be the first-class ward. I am a poor man, how can I be eligible to live in the first-class ward? Who sent me here?) Thinking of this, Dongdongdong, someone knocked on the door. Come in!I said. The white door opened, and immediately smelled a pungent fragrance.Zhang Lili walked in with a smile, holding half a dozen carnations in her hand, wearing a dark blue cheongsam with fair skin, she was very beautiful. (A figure like hers is still beautiful even without a beautiful cheongsam.) When she walked gracefully to the bedside, the row of shell-like teeth shone in the sunlight reflected from the mirror.

Are you all right?she asked. Probably all right, I replied.The doctor said to rest quietly. Okay, just stay here for a few more days.You don't have to worry about the hospital expenses, I will bear all of them. The doctor said I had twelve stitches. Unexpectedly, that old pervert would bring two thugs. You should have thought of this long ago. I just thought he was a fool. What I don't understand, though, is: what exactly is the cost of my injury?Lili was honest, and told me everything that happened, saying that the owner of the spinning mill didn't know that I was hired by her.Because of this, Lili is of course willing to pay for my medical expenses.This failure, Lili has no loss, I am the one who is injured, and I am the one who is lying on the hospital bed and groaning. In the future, if the last place is lost due to a broken manuscript, I will also be the one who will suffer from hunger. I was a fool and did a fool. When the smile faded from her mouth, she lit a cigarette.She has a beautiful smoking pose, worthy of being captured by a painter.I'm not a painter, I just admire.Feelings are such useless things, like ice cubes, which melt when heated.Lili is so despicable; but I still admire her smoking posture very much. (Emotions are more complex than anatomy, I suppose.) When she puts a lipstick-stained cigarette butt to my mouth, I have only one longing: Get some wine. No, this is against hospital rules. A charming smile appeared on her face, like a peony in full bloom.She stood up and left.Leaving an answer that was neither no nor yes further complicated my complicated feelings. (In Lili's mind, I am a drunkard, an impatient person, an unemployed man, a poor wretch who can read and write. According to her thinking, I should be beaten. A poor man like me should not be beaten If you beat him up, you can’t teach the owner of a spinning mill to go to the hospital and get twelve stitches) When the cigarette butt turned to ashes, I was in a panic. At eleven o'clock in the morning, I was too idle to panic. At twelve o'clock at noon, the nurse came to check the temperature, but she was still flustered with idleness. At 12:30 noon, a worker from the hospital came and asked me what I wanted to eat. I asked for wine, but they brought me a plate of vegetable soup, a plate of ham and eggs, a cup of coffee and two pills. At two o'clock in the afternoon, there was still no wine, and I was still flustered with idleness. At four o'clock in the afternoon, the nurse came to check the temperature.Mind vacuum.Emotional paralysis. At 5:15 in the afternoon, a newsboy came to sell newspapers.Bought an evening paper and was taken aback.The headline read: Tensions in Cuba, Nuclear War Imminent.