Chapter 12 eleven

Sitting in that restaurant, facing an empty glass, thoughts tied like a thread.Emotional vacuum, another self suddenly left my body.a cup.two cups.three cups.Zhang Lili's gaze spread over my face like glue.I saw a goldfish and its five sons. Continued Cup?I said. Just out of the hospital should not drink too much. Continued Cup? Okay, it's just this one cup, let's go after drinking. The waiter brought the wine, and the joy turned into a firecracker.She slipped me two hundred bucks to buy cheap mania.She doesn't seem like a woman with feelings.Her feelings have already condensed into ice cubes; once a year, waiting for a smile from afar, it suddenly melts. (She won't love me, I thought. She'll never love me. She's a breathing stone.) My anger boils into waves, and my temper flares up like a summer shower.I didn't want to beg, so I bravely returned the two hundred yuan to her.

Her smile is still charming, and her serene attitude is reminiscent of a dancer's toes.She pays for me.Before leaving, she said: When in trouble, give us a call.The flames in the eyes burned the calmness sitting in the atrium, and asked the waiter for another glass of wine, just wanting to forget the figure-eight posture. My story has entered into an absurd realm, cheap perfume is beckoning my boldness, the darkness is liquid, the ear cannot resist the invasion of noise, the mouth is not like a cherry, but it is familiar.Finger sinned because of her lewd glance.Suddenly awakened the squirming mind.When raising a glass to drink, reason has cooled.

she is laughing. A smile is uglier than a cry; and a gaze hangs like a circle in space.The drums are beating, and the circle does not rotate. Emotionally scorched.The timid hunter is eager to sail away.When he took out the banknote, that graceful posture disappeared into the black halo. Walking out of the love exchange, the sea breeze caresses my cheeks like fingers.Too many neon lights, too many colors, too many high-rise buildings, too many boats, too many laughter and cries work together to prop up modern civilization and make people suddenly desire to go to the moon. Then a glass of wine appeared.

The dim light is like the wings of cicadas, covering everything in front of me with a thin layer of blue.I like blue.I drank three glasses in one go. When the waiter brought the fourth glass of wine, Mehman's nose also turned blue. How do you know I'm here?I asked. You called me yourself. My memory is also drunk. You're not drunk, or you wouldn't remember my phone number. I lay in the hospital for several days. What disease? Someone broke the head. Why? Don't talk about it. One sigh from Mehman is equal to thousands of words of comfort, which made me feel relieved.He mentioned his short story and I blushed.I don't remember it at all anymore.He raised another question: Should new poems be annotated in detail by the author at the end of each poem?

I rarely write poetry; I'd rather have an extra glass or two of wine. Then I saw a pair of questioning eyes.There was a fire in my eyes that burned to the core of my heart. (New poets should not be prevented from trying to inject new blood into poetry, I think. As for the requirement of detailed annotations, it is not necessary. When poets construct the concept of beauty, they use their own imagination as a kind of beyond reason and feeling. Of course, there is nothing wrong with it. Expression is a kind of creation, and the expression of poetry is not only a representation of a concept or artistic conception, but also a bunch of flames burning in the heart. Therefore, guided by the imagination, the poet walks Entering the realm of irrationality is not lost.)

Thinking of this, the pair of inquiring eyes widened even wider. I'm not a poet, I say. Mehman was disappointed.Mehman also lacks confidence in new poetry at this stage. (If he is seriously interested in new poetry, there are many articles that must be read several times before he starts writing. For example: Bruton's "Manifesto of Surrealism".) After a while of silence, Mehman suddenly returned from the dream to reality. You are now left with only one long story field. Yes. It is difficult to cope with life on the income of a long story alone. There is no other way.

No other plans? I have a plan, but I wonder if it will work? What? I want to write some new stories about Monkey King making trouble in Repulse Bay, or Pan Jinlian being a charter woman, and post them to other newspapers.I heard others say: This kind of thing is most suitable for Hong Kong readers. Not necessarily, not necessarily. Mehman shook his head.He thought it was self-defeating. (I thought: he is still young.) I raised my glass and drank the wine in one gulp. It's a cold feeling.This is a cold taste.Elvis Presley's "Hawaiian Wedding" released a series of zigzag sound waves.Hope is a candlestick, lit by a fire, lighting up timid eyes.A girl who sells betting tickets wants to earn a penny, and emotion and reason begin to wrestle for a round.Mehman smiled innocently, it was because of my stingy hesitation.Then I asked the waiter for another glass of wine.Emotions in modern society are so sensitive and intricate.

I don't know when to break up with Mehman, and I don't know when to stand in front of my long mirror.Two eyes collide with wonder in the mirror, and I see another me.Suddenly I thought of Descartes' famous saying: I think, therefore I am. (But can I think in the mirror? Thinking belongs to every individual. If he can't think, he doesn't exist. If he doesn't exist, he is not me. Although our appearance is exactly the same. How weird I miss you, my thoughts are indeed a bit weird recently.) My senses have become dull, and I often use alcohol to numb my reason.Drunken rationality cannot comprehend the real world, so it has to use dull senses to explore an illusory realm.So I had the desire to reread Plato's works, and I went to the bookshelf, but I couldn't find it.I don't have a single bad book on my shelf, but there aren't many good ones either.Most of the good books are sold to second-hand bookstalls when the alcohol addiction breaks out.I have no works by Plato on my bookshelf.My bookshelf is missing books. (My bookshelf is still a paradise for thoughts, I think.) Especially when drunk, my mind walks in this paradise. (Qikgaard lives next to the Grand View Garden. He once asked someone to bring a letter to Lin Daiyu, saying that it is the root of human beings, planted in his inner spirit. However, this root began to wither before he was born. .After he died, his roots were planted in the soil. Therefore, Daiyu buried the flowers in the soil. Did she want to teach her soul to take root in the guise of falling flowers? No one knows. things.)

Dongdongdong, someone knocked on the door. Sima Li stood at the door, wearing heavy make-up and gorgeous clothes. out?I asked. just came back. What's the matter? I want to discuss a question with you. Close the door and pull out the stool for her to sit down.Her eyes are the masterpieces of Impressionist painters, using too many dangerous colors. Are you still mad at me?I asked. She shook her head. I'm already a little bit drunk, and I can't use reason to capture the truth.When her soft lips suddenly turned into a close-up, I couldn't stop my heart from trembling.A terrible idea came into being, but he woke up from the confusion immediately.she says:

They have gone out to play cards and will not come back so early. No, no, you're only seventeen! Sima Li smiled like a world-weary old prostitute, walked gracefully to the desk, picked up my pack of Camel cigarettes from the desk, took out one, and lit it. (I've got to stay sane, I think.) The smile on her face still hasn't faded, it's still the world-weary old whore.I'm a little scared. Smoke rings from her soft lips painted my face.I fell into a hazy state, as if an invisible hand was capturing my reason.The desire of the egoist burns like fire.Young feelings are equal to uncut jade, which must be carefully dissected with delicate techniques.I couldn't tell: did her eyes see a devil?Or does she have a pair of poisonous eyes?This is not love.Seventeen-year-old girls don't necessarily need love.She needs a game; a game that can only occur in dreams.

(Can't resist the temptation of the snake? Eat that poisonous apple?) I become a breathing stone. What are you afraid of?she asked. You are only seventeen years old! She laughed, giggling. You are more timid than those boys! I like mature men. Throwing the long cigarette butt out the window, staring straight at me with both eyes.I suddenly jumped up and went to pour a glass of wine. There was fire all around me and I felt suffocated. Suddenly someone opened the door with a key. Suddenly, the sound of leather shoes came from the living room. Suddenly someone tapped on my door with a finger: Ali, come out!Your mother won the money, treat you to supper! Sima Li suddenly stood up, groaning, and went to open the door.Mr. Sima grinned and said with a smile: Ya Li, your mother is very lucky tonight, she has won a lot of money, we will go to the Palace of Palace for supper together. Ya Li was not excited about it, but followed suit.The whole floor fell silent immediately, and it was a good time to write a manuscript.I only have one novel site left, and if I don’t write well, I may lose even this last site.And I am not a person who writes martial arts novels. If I want to use kung fu on this, I really can't use any energy.Even so, I still have to write.I know that this is a regrettable waste. Not only must I write for my life, but I must also try my best to cater to the interests of ordinary readers. (I have to write some weird fight scenes, I think. Some people have written about killing people with sound waves; others have written about killing people with Qigong. I have to invent some novel tricks to earn cheap money from ordinary readers. Surprised. Yes, after Tie Shuanzi was hit on the temple with chopsticks by Taoist Tongtian, fortunately, he met the Emei monster ape, applied some juice squeezed from the fairy grass, and rested in the mountains for a period of time, and finally recovered. But the injustice is hard Tun, in a hurry to find Taoist Tongtian in Zhaoshan to take revenge. The Emei ape shook his head, thinking that this matter must not be reckless, saying that Taoist Tongtian is very capable, and iron operator cannot deal with it alone. Iron operator listened and immediately Kneeling down on both knees, begging the strange ape for guidance, the strange ape pulled out from his waist, and then spread his palms, asking the iron operator to come closer and take a closer look. The iron operator moved forward two steps, staring intently at the small Jinwan, feeling surprised, the strange ape blew, but saw Jinwan flying up into the sky, spinning a few times, and suddenly fell down. The strange ape quickly reached out to catch it, and the golden pill instantly turned into a golden stick, flashing and flashing It made Tie Suanzi dizzy when he saw it. Tie Suanzi applauded in amazement, and the strange ape immediately showed a haughty look on his face, flattened his mouth, and asked: What is this? Tie Suanzi answered: This is a golden stick. Ape said: Yes, this is a golden rod; but, do you know whose golden rod it is? The iron operator shook his head, saying that he had no way of guessing. The strange ape immediately laughed, and then suppressed his smile and said: "Fool! This is Monkey King Monkey King's golden stick!) Thoughts are like a runaway horse, uncontrollable.I wrote 2,000 words in one breath, eager to drink some wine.After putting down the pen, lively chatter and laughter came from the living room.Mrs. Sima must have won a lot of money, otherwise she would never be so happy.I poured a glass of wine, walked to the window, and watched the lights of thousands of houses facing the sea go out one after another. (It's rare for me to be so sober. I should continue to be sober.) However, I raised my neck and drank the wine in one gulp. (Ali is a seventeen-year-old girl, but she doesn't look like a seventeen-year-old girl at all.) I poured another glass of wine. (A seventeen-year-old girl shouldn't be so bold. Unless she already has experience; however, this is unlikely. Although girls in the subtropics are more precocious, they are not so bold. If you don't watch more American movies , I must have read more Sihao novels. This is a free world, writers have the freedom to write martial arts novels or Sihao novels; scholars also have the freedom to read martial arts novels or Sihao novels; but is such freedom necessary? In my opinion, these are unhealthy liberties that threaten to worm the entire foundation of society.) I took a sip of wine. (We are really a very free place here. Newspapers and magazines can translate foreign articles or photos at will without penalty; at the same time, articles written by local authors with blood and sweat are not guaranteed. As long as there are some commercially priced things , anyone can pirate a book, and then ship it to Nanyang for dumping. Sometimes, even the author himself wants to publish, but he is forced to give up because the printing is not fast enough. In fact, the pirates here have close ties with foreign distributors , the author publishes the book by himself, and often cannot get the cooperation of foreign publishers. On the contrary, those pirated products can be shipped to other places and make a lot of profits. In short, here, the articles written by the author cannot get the protection they deserve Not only that, in order to avoid legal troubles, pirates printed other people's works. After the book was printed, even the author's signature was changed at will. For an author, the loss of copyright is already an irreparable loss ; What's more, the signature will be changed.) I drank the wine in one gulp, and anger ignited in my heart. (This is a free place, but it is too free. Anyone who lives here does not like freedom. However, if pirates can obtain the freedom to pirate at will, then robbers can also obtain the freedom to rob The author of course has the copyright to his own work. The work is equal to the original author's flesh and blood. But here, it is a crime to snatch other people's flesh and blood; What is the reason? What is the reason?) I went to the wine cabinet and poured another glass of wine. (As far as serial novels in newspapers are concerned, newspapers are registered. Then, of course, novels published in newspapers will also be protected by law. But why can bootleggers print these serial novels into four cents novels and change them? Author's signature, shipped to Nanyang for dumping?) I drank several sips of wine in a row, my heart was full of anger, and my drowsiness disappeared.I'm an escapist and only drink to escape this ugly reality. When I lie in bed, the tide goes out.Borrowed love is just a colorless, odorless and invisible mass, swimming in the darkness, no different from the darkness.Loneliness is imprisoned in a small room at night, and desire is like a dancer.I suddenly remembered the smiles in front of the scene and the tears behind the scenes. (Some people say: the theater is a small world; but others say: the world is a big theater. But we are theater viewers? Or actors?) Only confused people can taste the taste of happiness. So I had a dream. When I woke up, I couldn't remember the scene in the dream at all, and I had a headache like a needle.Yi Gulu turned over and got out of bed, stood in front of the long mirror, and found that his beard was very long.While shaving, Mr. Sima coughed in the living room.Mr. Sima went to bed very late last night and coughed very loudly. When I walked out of the shower room, he said he wanted to talk to me. What's up?I asked. I want to take back your stalk room. Why? Marie is young, and I don't want a drunk to spoil her! I shook my head, my cheeks were already red with anger.Back in the room, you need to drink a little wine.The bottle is empty, and the change in your pocket is no longer enough to buy a bottle of FOV.Put on your clothes and go out on the street.Call Zhang Lili first, without getting up.Then call Mehman, not at home.So I took the tram to Central, and went to the newspaper office to advance my salary by tens of yuan.The supplement editor shrugged and said it couldn't be done.Inquiring about the reason, he said that the paper sales had plummeted, so he did not speak up.There is no way but to walk out in vain.Wandering around the bustling Des Voeux Road, seeing a big bet, he resolutely put the watch away. Sima Li in school uniform; Sima Li in a red cheongsam; Sima Li in a purple waist-length blouse and a white knee-length skirt; Sima Li in a three-point swimsuit; Sima Li in a sweatshirt; Sima Li in evening dress; Sima Li wearing a gray jacket and gray pleated skirt; Sima Li in ancient costume; and Sima Li without clothes; Dozens of Sima Li; dressed in more than a dozen different costumes, like paper figurines on a revolving lantern, turn around, turn around, appear in my mind, never stop.Sima Li is a seventeen-year-old girl; she is also a world-weary old prostitute who has gone through many vicissitudes. In the hearts of Sima and his wife, Sima Li is purer than the first lotus flower; In the minds of those male classmates, Sima Li was Elizabeth.Taylor 2nd; In the eyes of strangers, Sima Li is a beautiful girl; But in my mind, Sima Li is a little fox! I hate her, I'm afraid of her, I love her. Intricate emotions are like a kaleidoscope, turning and changing, no two are the same.I have loved others; I have been loved by others; but I have never loved a girl of seventeen; nor have I been loved by a girl of seventeen.Sima Li is a poppy flower with a beautiful appearance, but the juice is poisonous. (Yes, she is Poppy. She must be avoided. Better to move away.) Touch your pocket, eighty dollars and a pawn ticket.Even if you find a suitable house, it is still not enough to pay the down payment and deposit.Still drink two more glasses. There is no second-class tram｜At 22:15, the street is full of white-collar workers. The big fat man in the car wants to eat a fried steak in Repulse Bay!Long time no see, Lao Liu, how are you?The Roast Chicken in An Yuan is teasing the desires of the poor The calendar of naked women on the West Bookstand is the best seller at 12:30 Hong Kong Culture and the Forbidden City of Men Yam Kim Fai is the popular lover of all Hong Kong mothers and sisters Cuba is improving The entertainment theater is being remodeled Yao Zhuoran The night kicked very well. News headline: A young woman was attacked in her chest in her dream. The sound of Liyuan East Street turned into exhaustion. Lavia writes about Rome, Tymon Lunyan writes about New York, Faulkner writes about the American South, Joyce writes about Dublin.The heart of Hong Kong is beating, and the pulse of Hong Kong is also beating. There is no second class in trams. The sun is good.The sun shines on the slate street, allowing pedestrians to see flying dust with their naked eyes.Some photographers are capturing the old taste, trying to use the filth on the slope to earn the curiosity of foreigners.Queen's Road is already an old woman, and the builder intends to create a miracle by replacing H3 with Yu soil and steel bars, hoping to restore her youth. Walk into the Arcade of Wan Yi Building. The temptation of the window is great, and the eyes of customers become Esperanto.Someone puts a nickel in the weighing machine and spits out a hard card that reads: You will be happy. (Lies! Opaque lies! This is a world of lies! The wise will lie; the fools will lie; the rich will lie; the poor will lie; men will lie; women will lie; the old will lie; the young Also lie.) Stand on the escalator and let the machine take the place of your feet.There are too many pedestrians and vehicles on Des Voeux Road.There is no second class on trams.This is a muddled world, and anger must be used to prevent the pursuit of logic.I was extremely tired, and longed to be a recluse, but I couldn't get it. I walked into a dimly lit coffee shop, sat in a corner, and breathed the air that smelled of mold.Ask the waiter for a glass of wine, and the philistine laughs like a wild cat breaking a porcelain bottle in the middle of the night. I haven't seen you for almost a year, he said.Where are you hiding?Chinese betting ticket?Still infatuated with women? Yes, I answer.Not only did I win the betting ticket, but I also fell in love with a beautiful woman, but unfortunately it was all a dream. He laughed, with sour excitement.His name is Mo Yu, a director of Chinese films who specializes in copying Hollywood techniques. We miss you often, he said.Especially when you want to play cards. Are you not afraid that I will lose the debt? Mo Yu suppressed Maitreya's smile and replaced it with a diamond-like gaze.My feelings suddenly turned into ice cubes, and I couldn't use my wisdom to suppress my panic.I thought the wrong words could not be without fear. Help me write a screenplay, he said. The tone was somewhat pitiful, like the sound of blessing bells on a Sunday morning, coming from far away, yet seemed very close.Hope suddenly sprouted.I see a flower of the future. I've never done this kind of work. What are you afraid of?Which of the screenwriters in Hong Kong is not a monk halfway?Besides, the current audience's requirements are very low. As long as it is a costume film, plus New Arts Complex, Huangmei Diao, Lin Dai or You Min, it will definitely be a blockbuster.The script is not important, it's just that Mandarin movies are more serious than some Xiamen-language and Chaozhou-language movies. In this case, why are they still willing to pay three thousand yuan to buy a script? Three thousand yuan accounts for a very small percentage of the production cost of a movie.Recently there was a costume film, in which there was a scene where some antique vases had to be smashed. The cost of these vases alone could already buy three split-act dialogue scripts. Speaking of this, Mo Yu took out a shiny gold cigarette case, opened it, and handed me a black Supreni.Get angry, add these few words: Art is the least valuable thing in Hong Kong, and the film industry is no exception.Say nothing else.Let's just talk about actors, such excellent actors as Hong Bo and Tang Ruoqing, in order to make a living, they must make Cantonese films.This situation is very similar to what you wrote.In Hong Kong, real literary and art workers often make life a problem. In order to make money, they have to go against their conscience and write martial arts novels or pornographic novels. Unexpectedly, Mo Yu, who was extremely philistine, would say such a thing.I stared blankly at him.He exhales blue smoke.I said: I’m really poor recently, and I’m still waiting to move. If writing a script is as easy as you said, I’d like to try it, but I don’t know what subject to write? Afraid that the current Mandarin movies can’t find themes?Not to mention Red Mansions, Water Margin, and Three Kingdoms, just three words and two films can last ten or eight years; in addition, Liao Zhai and Journey to the West also have plenty of material, and if they don’t think it’s enough, old dramas, Kunqu opera, and even Tanci commentaries can be used adaptation.In short, as long as you are willing to go to the second-hand bookstore for a walk, you can find them everywhere. Since it's so easy, why would you hire me, a novice, to do this kind of work? We are old friends! He suddenly put on a pair of black glasses, and when he smiled, his eyes and nose wrinkled together, looking like a panda. My mood suddenly became tense, and I raised my glass to drink, but found that the glass was empty.Mo Yu immediately pressed his thumb on his middle finger, rubbed it together, called the waiter, and asked him for two glasses of brandy. Regarding the writing of the script, if you are willing to help, I am very willing to give it a try.I'm planning to move recently and need some money to work around. No problem, after the story is passed, I will pay you five hundred in advance. Mo Yu raised his wine glass, drank it in one gulp, stood up, and walked to the next table.Looking at his back, I left a deep impression: I haven't seen him for a year, and he is as thin as a bamboo pole. (A few days ago, the newspaper published a news about a big director in love with a porn star. He might be the one. In fact, it is no longer news that a director hooks up with a star. If the director does not hook up with a star, it is the real news.) Raise your glass After taking a sip, I was very excited and decided to go to the bookstore to see what materials were suitable for adapting the script.So I paid the bill and walked out of the coffee shop. The bookstore is full of people reading books.Mandarin Duck Lantern, Golden Phoenix, Nanke Meng, Pipa Story, Oiranian, Peach Blossom Fan, Double Pearl Phoenix, Six Chapters of a Floating Life, Legend of the Gods, Conquering East and West, Longtu Gongan, Tianyuhua, Romance of Three Smiles, Luoyang Bridge , Killing Son News, Jintai Remnant Tears, Butterfly Dream, Ten Beauties, and even Biography of Ji Gong and Peng Gong Case can all be adapted into movie scripts. I have a special interest in "Butterfly Dream", so I bought an old play Kua Zi as a blueprint for the adaptation. On the way home, I began to figure out how to put new wine in old bottles. (This is a popular story. It has been adapted into movies in the past. If you can’t win by surprise, you will lose the meaning of reshooting. The story itself is both refined and popular. When adapted into a movie script, you must have new insights and new arrangements. You cannot rely solely on Stunt shots to confuse the audience. "Hua Chaosheng Notes" said that Yan Zhu in the early Qing Dynasty took "Qi Wu Lun" as a legend. In fact, Feng Menglong had already compiled "Zhuang Zixiu Drums into a Dao". Although the story is absurd, it is also tortuous Youzhi. Tong Zhiling's performance in "The Big Splitting the Coffin" became a smash hit, but it was a performance on stage, so it must be ingenious to adapt it into a movie.) Thinking of this, my interest grows stronger. Sima and his wife had gone out to play cards, and only Sima Li was sitting in the living room. She gave me a stare. I also stared at her. Walk into the bedroom and prepare to write the outline of "Butterfly Dream".When I picked up the pen, I found that the belly draft was not yet mature.Want to drink, the bottle is empty.By chance, Sima Li leaned against the door frame and looked at me with a smile. Decided to move?she asked. Good job you did yourself. what did I do? How can you tell your parents that I intend to spoil you? She smiled, very peacefully.After a pause, he asked another question: If you don't want to move, there are ways. any solution? You don't have to worry about it, but you must agree to one condition. What conditions? She replied with a sly smile, and went to light a cigarette. (How can a seventeen-year-old girl smoke Camels?) Her smoking posture has a mature beauty. Her lips were covered with apricot-colored lipstick, and even the green smoke she spit out smelled of apricot.I have to suppress my feelings and firmly resist the invasion of prickly eyes.The imagination under the umbrella, the rain is frustrated again.A tree in the distance is but a queer association.All young people always love to pursue two suns.Suspicion hides in corners like a thief, not daring to move.A bold desire is blocked by a timid hesitation.I don't look like a man with guts. Throwing a small stone into the pool of my heart creates a few ripples, like seagulls touching water.That midnight love is legal, but curious men and women don't pay attention to the angle of the sun.Want to drink a glass of wine, the bottle is empty.Disappointment is often cold, and dancers break their shoelaces in dreams.She breathed a sigh of relief, the look of excitement still in her eyes. (It's all going to pass, I thought.) But the longing didn't inspire me much. Don't be afraid, I'm not who you imagined me to be, she said. I know.I know. Now that you know, why hesitate? (If this is the case, how can it be said by a seventeen-year-old girl?) I am afraid.I suddenly saw a pair of tiger eyes. Open the door, abandon armor and flee.Walking to the street, I still have lingering fears.Enter the herbal tea shop and make a phone call to Maihemen. Lend me three hundred dollars? Why? I decided to move. When do you want it? If it's convenient, bring it to me in a day or two. Hanging up the phone, I walked into a restaurant.