Chapter 43 Forty-two

It is a beautiful thing to keep a clear mind.Get up early in the morning and go to Victoria Park to see the sea, the high-rise buildings in Kowloon, and the butterflies flying around happily. After the night darkened, the alcohol addiction broke out, I felt weak all over, I couldn't sit or stand right, my temper was extremely irritable, like a balloon, it couldn't be bigger, just one more breath, and it would burst immediately.My hands were shaking badly when I struck a match.So I went into a restaurant and asked the guy for a cup of coffee. (Coffee doesn't quench your thirst, I suppose.) The devil's beckoning to me.It is a magnetic force that requires savage affection.I heard a silver bell-like laughter, and it turned out to be a pair of familiar yet unfamiliar eyes.

I'm looking for novelty again in the darkness of the Finger Ballroom.Preoccupied with the idea that new stimuli might become a substitute for wine.However, too much naked emotion, lack of mystery.Separated by a layer of veil, the relationship between people has a fascinating beauty.I want to drink.I still strongly resist the temptation of wine. Walking out of the ballroom, there is no certain place to go.I didn't dare to pass by the door of the bar, so I ended up looking at the window on the side of Queen's Road.I am a patient of the century, desperate to become a traitor to promises.

The lights of the nightclub belonged to tomorrow, and the carcass from South America made the blood of the male guests flow faster.liquor.liquor.liquor.There is wine on every table.The trembling voice of the saxophone that never wakes up is also boozy.liquor.liquor.liquor.Each guest has a glass of wine in their hand.Only I am a traitor.There is a cup of coffee in front of me.The colorful lights turned into a flock of frightened birds in the chaos.The carcass from South America disappeared amid applause.I am a dreamer, trying to capture the mellow taste of wine in my dreams.Speaking of it, it is not easy to explain.I have declared war on myself.My mood is very disturbed.Suddenly remembered a vulgar words: yesterday died.In fact, there is nothing good about tomorrow.Tomorrow will surely become yesterday.liquor.liquor.liquor.That drunken smile is the most alluring.That drunken applause.Every sound touches my heart.I have to leave the nightclub and let the night wind blow away my confusion.

Sitting on the tram, I laughed when I thought of Camus' famous quote.A wise man in France uttered a wisecrack, and a hundred Chinese poets rushed to quote it.The majority of human beings are ignorant and play clowns in vulgar farce.This is a sick century, and no one who reads is healthy.I'm sleepy.The street wind slammed on the windows, unable to blow away the green smoke from the passengers' mouths.camel smoke.Langson lighter.A light gray tie with red embroidery.The conductor repeatedly covered his mouth with the back of his hand and yawned, probably thinking of Xiazi and Anu who were sleeping soundly.liquor.liquor.liquor.Without drinking, even this colorful city has to stretch.The moonlight is like silver, and the night street is extremely quiet.I walked into the store to buy a pack of cigarettes, but saw a few rows of foreign wine. (Why abuse yourself like this? I thought.)

So I went back to Shiduo. (No, no, absolutely not! I thought. Mrs. Ray saved my life and gave me all her savings. If I had any humanity left, I wouldn't be able to drink anymore.) So out Dodo. As the night deepened, the surrounding area was very quiet.I was amazed at how loud my leather shoes were. (I'm dying of thirst, why don't I go to the nightclub for a few drinks. She won't notice, I think.) So I turned around and went to the nightclub for a few drinks.When I got to the door of the nightclub, I hesitated again. (No, no, I can't deceive her. I can deceive myself, but I can't deceive her. She's a good old man. She's out of balance, but she's a good old man. I can deceive yourself; but you must not deceive her!) Then she turned and walked home.

The moonlight is silver, and the night street is extremely quiet.Thirsty, with enough change to buy wine. (I must control myself and not become a slave to wine. But if I go to a nightclub alone, sitting in a corner, she will never know. Why should I torture myself? Wine, has a special power. No taste The taste of wine has been there for a long time. Now is a good time to drink. Why should I abuse myself? This is what life is all about. If you are too serious, you will suffer yourself. It is better to be confused! Alcohol is not poison, there is nothing to be afraid of. I I'm in such a bad mood, if I don't take advantage of this to drink a few cups, I will definitely get sick. I should think about myself. Although Mrs. Lei treats me so well, she is not my mother after all. In fact, even if she is my mother Mother doesn't have to listen to her, I am me, and others cannot dominate me. When I want to drink, I should drink to my heart's content.)

When I thought this way, I was standing in front of the nightclub again.I made up my mind to push open the door and go in, choosing a corner seat. liquor.liquor.liquor.a cup.two cups.three cups.Four cups.five cups.I seem to have met a long-lost friend in a distant place.I am very happy. (Wine is my good friend, no friend can understand me like wine!) a cup.two cups.three cups. I don't feel lonely anymore, I have wine.Alcohol is a kind of proof, it makes me sure that I still exist.So I was satisfied, and everything seemed so harmonious.Someone is doing a potato dance, which looks like a flock of pigeons.There are some abstract lines drawn on the wall, and if you look at it a few times, you will realize a truth.

I think of an arched bridge, a man ran to the right of the bridge, a woman ran to the left of the bridge, and finally met at the top of the bridge, just as the music came from the sky.This is extremely beautiful, although it is a fleeting idea.I see two orange lips stuck to the rim of a glass.That smile, as shallow as a swallow's touch of water, seemed familiar.I can't capture the idea of ​​what's lost, everything just disappears so easily.Joy will disappear.The pain will also disappear.The beauty of this woman is like a poem without words, far superior to those word games. I walked into Andersen's kingdom, trying to find innocence amidst the noise of jazz music.The harsh clanging and the sound of drums in the African forest, combined, are attacking reason.Everything did not stop, and bright clouds suddenly appeared in the dark night.My brow was sweating, but she was laughing so hysterically.There is fanaticism burning in my heart, and it seems that I am locked in a cage and cannot get freedom.I want to search for the answer, but I can't comprehend the mystery of this life.Let's drink one more glass, wine is a train, and in a muddled rush, it takes me from a beginning to an end.So I hate too many lights.Too many eyes are actually more annoying. (It's a nasty place, I think.)

Her complexion was so fair, only her dirty thoughts were sugar-coated.Everything is nasty, even the music here. (There may be curious spiders in the corner, peeking at human madness.) Feeling undressed, grasping at nothing to hide its shame.When you are young, laughter is a kind of strength.In old age, gray hair is a kind of irony.Only for those middle-aged people, wine becomes the best companion.The watch is stopped.The drummer's face is still so healthy. Who still remembers the apricot blossoms and spring rain in Jiangnan?Who remembers foot rowing in the creek?One autumn evening, in the temple at the foot of the Lion Mountain, the evening bells jingled, and the flocks of birds in the forest flew away at the same time.I yearned for the religious atmosphere in the temple, but I couldn't get rid of the suffering in reality with the guidance of the Bodhisattva.

Later, I learned to smoke.Later, I learned to go to the small dance hall to buy cheap love.Later, I learned to pursue my childhood dreams from the screen.Later, I learned to lie.Later, I learned to drink.Wine brings me a colorful realm; it also brings me a blank space. At that time, I was just over twenty years old.The sycamore tree on Joffrey Road.The pelota court on Albert Road.Brother Si's roast piglet.A Belarusian woman in her early fifties.Casinos building roads out of bounds.Eventai's carcass exhibition.Both are charming, none as good as wine.It was a dancer with a world-weary mood, and she said she liked my eyes.Then we had a casual appointment, under the big tree in Zhaofeng Garden.I didn't know that she had a mouth that was good at lying, and she was willing to be her slave, giving her everything she had.She often took me to Hongchangxing to drink.I have never been drunk once.I boasted about my drinking capacity again and again, but she smiled and said to me: One day, you will be drunk.After a while, I was really drunk.That was the day she stopped dancing, and when I knew she had decided to marry King Cotton, I walked alone to Hong Changxing, so drunk that I couldn't even tell the direction.At that time, I was just over twenty years old.Since then, wine has become a kind of passport, often taking me to another world.I don't necessarily like the blank realm; I just hate the ugly reality more.There was a time when I was used to drinking baigan in Chongqing in the fog.

There was a period when I used to drink rice wine in my hometown in the rain.There was a time when I sat drinking whiskey in that small restaurant in Tsim Sha Tsui almost every day.Then I got acquainted with a vain and ignorant woman who I thought was very kind.She advised me to quit drinking.I quit.Then we bond together.I found her relentless in her pursuit of fantasy.Some people said: She was spoiled by an old opium-smoking actor, some people said: She used her youth to seduce the old man.All in all, ugly things.I thought about wine.When I left that woman, tragedy couldn't turn into comedy, and wine, like a lawnmower, cut the thorns on the road.But that heart has turned from the brisk rose period to the melancholy gray season.Friends say I'm a fool, and I won't admit it.I often say to myself: One day I will regain the lost source. Several times, I wanted to rebuild a city.When the rain is pouring down, strength is poured into the wine glass, the hunter's bullet misses, and the wild duck is still fluttering in the air.Those are things in the past, and it is so difficult to find the details of it.The past is like a pedestrian on the street, who just met and left immediately.Only the sun will go and come again; the path of man is definitely not a circle.The beginning and the end are just two points on a line.I was quite courageous, and once danced on this line; after being frightened a few times, I became as timid as a mouse.The days flow by like water.The days fly to a distant place like a bird with wings. I have seen many strange things: a person standing under the sun has no shadow; a white powder Taoist with hands sticking out of his eyes; A weightlifter with a heart; a female star who is moved by true feelings, these are the sparks in memory;But the memory is not all of this spark of strangeness, on the contrary, most of it is extremely ruthless.I can't stop drinking.I can't help but look for myself, and would rather often be left in an unknowable realm. My partner, seems like a very interesting woman.I don't know what her last name is; I don't know how she came to be with me.I gave her a hundred dollars, and she smiled charmingly.I told the clerk to pay, and all I wanted was to go home and sleep and forget myself.I thought it might do me some good to do so. When I woke up, I found that she was still sleeping next to me.I didn't want to do it; but I did it.I rolled over and got out of bed, gave the 20 yuan to the hotel clerk, and went outside, the sun was blinding my eyes.I hate the sun because it's staring at my naked desire. More than once I've bought cheap love from whores in my drunken ignorance.I often regret it; but I often find it ridiculous.I have to blame myself, I shouldn't use wine to water my waywardness; let alone spoil my feelings.In fact, not only can you get nothing by doing this, but it may cause mental convulsions. The weather has not yet warmed up, he turned up his collar and put his hands into his trouser pockets.Walking home from the sidewalk in Shimintu, I passed the newsstand, took a habitual glance, and saw the third issue of "Avant-Garde Literature". (Mehman is a stubborn fool, I think.) My literary enthusiasm may not have completely disappeared; but I won't even look at the catalogue.I don't want a gilded soul; but I'm afraid that black will take over my heart. Some people think that wisdom is a gift from God, I disagree with that.I think wisdom is a pill made by the devil, the more you swallow, the more troubles you will have.So I remembered a friend.This person is very diligent, and once spent twice as long as Cao Xueqin wrote "A Dream of Red Mansions" to study Zhiyanzhai's comments.He is now in his fifties, and when he read "Chunliutang Poems", he was more joyful than an explorer finding treasure. (Which is very sad, those who have swallowed too many devil's pills.) Have I realized it myself?This question is difficult to answer.However, in the current situation, the appeal of wine is still great.Back home, Mrs. Lei was shrugging and sobbing.I asked her why she was crying; she asked me why I didn't come home all night.I sighed, and she burst into tears.I have always hated women crying, especially old women. (I have my liberty, there is no reason to be under her control. Although she saved my life; and sent me money, but I have my liberty. What I will do, she has no control! I will spend the night away , that's my own business. I drink because I need to drink. I play women because I need to play women. She is an old lady named Lei, who has nothing to do with me, and has no reason to restrain my actions!) So, I backed out.Mrs. Lei cried even more sadly, her voice was very high-pitched, like a hen whose throat has just been cut.I was afraid of hearing this sound, and went out angrily.The sun was still shining brightly, and it was a beautiful day.My heart is still raining, unable to drive away the inexplicable sorrow.Before entering the teahouse, I couldn't resist buying a copy of "Avant-Garde Literature" at the newsstand. I dare not drink, and I don't want to miss Mrs. Lei.Sitting in the pavilion of a big teahouse, he ordered a pot of Pu'er and two plates of dim sum, and then opened the magazine in his hand.I saw a poem special, arranged in a rather novel form; however, it was just a bunch of wordplay.The author cannot skillfully use words to express images, and the result becomes a pile of typefaces without meaning and center.Literary works are more expensive than original creations, and everyone who loves literature knows that.However, originality must be adequately explained.In recent years, due to the efforts of a few outstanding poets, it seems that a road has been found out, and everyone is looking forward to reading great poems in the near future.Unexpectedly, as soon as the real pearl appeared, the fish eyes flooded in like a tide.Readers waste too much time and energy, word game-style poems are still emerging one after another, and if they continue to develop, the words of new poems will one day become colored broken glass in a kaleidoscope. The third issue of "Avant-garde Literature" devoted a lot of space to a special collection of poems, with the best intentions, but the effect was the opposite.If word play or the accumulation of type can be counted as new poetry, new poetry has reached the Dead End.If there are only one or two people making fun of Chinese characters, that's not a problem.The worrying thing is: new poetry in the style of literary games has become a trend. I don't understand why Mahomet wants to release such an album?Could it be that other departments cannot find the ideal manuscript?Therefore, I turned over the translation part, still choosing some old materials, nothing new.As for the creative part, like the second issue, it is not substantial enough.The expression methods of the three short stories are very old-fashioned, very similar to the works in the early days of the May Fourth Movement.But because of this, I am very worried for Maihomen. Maihomey wasted his mother's savings, and wasted his own time and energy. It is really a pity to publish this nameless "Avant-Garde Literature" thing. I asked the clerk for a drink, and I had to think about my future.In order to live, I took the popular route.In Hong Kong, writing about merchandise can certainly be exchanged for the stability of life; after all, it is boring.I should try to find a regular job, though it won't be easy. After drinking a few cups of tea, I walked out of the teahouse.There is no definite place to go, just move around aimlessly.I am an ant, walking around in a small place, but I don't know how small it is.Ants want to forage for food, and their desire to survive is also extremely strong.I laughed, thinking that my stupidity was born with me.Went into Gloucester and ordered whiskey.Only wine is good.Alcohol is king.Wine is god.Wine is the confidant of wanderers.I cannot search for the ultimate purpose of life.Drinking is very important to me.But wine is not air and sunshine.It needs money to buy.In order to drink, I had to find money.Otherwise, after spending the money that Mrs. Lei gave me, how can I live with it? I think of Qian Shifu, the owner of the publishing house.He is a vulgar cultural merchant who started out by pirating other people's works and is now a big publisher.In the past, when I asked him to sell my novels, he pursed his lips, turned his head to one side, and said that he would not publish such novels even without royalties.What a horrible guy, but I should think of him at this moment.I regard Qian Shifu as a person; however, he is not a person.I wanted him to give me an editorial job, but he pursed his lips and turned his head to one side, saying he couldn't consider it.I said that my situation was quite embarrassing, and he said that he was most afraid of literature and art.I said that I can not only write martial arts novels, but also new editions of pornographic stories.he laughed.He said that being able to write and being popular are two different things.He can find a hundred authors who can write martial arts novels; but it is difficult to find one that is popular. My vision suddenly became blurred. In order to maintain such a little self-esteem, I had to quit immediately.Standing between two high-rise buildings, it looks very small.All static things have rational arrangements, but human behavior is often illogical.An emotion is not like a lift, it has a variable speed as it descends like an object. The wind in March is still blowing on the face like a knife.I went to drink again.I met a drunk who insisted that I stole his eyes.I thought he was ridiculous, but couldn't be without mercy for myself. (He's a mirror, I thought. Do I claim someone else's eyes when I'm drunk?) The faces of the masses.The smiles of the crowd.All it took was three glasses of wine, and everything faded into a blur.Sanity can be washed, but with wine alone, it can never be washed clean.The mist on the glass windows does not allow the eyes to spy on reality.The magnetic sound of Na Jinggao came from the ear, and the space was beautifully decorated. The drunk man was still there, grinning, insisting that there are too many vitamins in this world.I find it funny because I can still stay awake.It was a long, long train, and I was the only passenger on the train.The wheels roll over the rails in a monotonous rhythm.For the first time, I recognized loneliness as a terrifying beast.I hate time and try to cut off half the day with a knife.God is so rigid, always unwilling to pull up the night early.Another glass of wine is the thing I need most.There's a cockroach on the wall; but it doesn't look like a sly one.Snapped!Someone beat it to death with clogs. Life is such a thing, even if there are thousands of hopes, it can't withstand this light blow.Who believes that Einstein committed suicide in order to seek the truth after death?All the goblins know that eating Tang Monk's meat can lead to immortality; but Tang Sanzang himself cannot avoid his end.Must we seek happiness?Even a clever man like Schopenhauer cannot answer this question.However, from a worldly point of view, unhappy people do not linger on the world. (So, have an extra drink.) I found my eyes had been stolen.I cry.I ask the guy for the eyes.buddy laughs.The other diners laughed too.Laughter was like random arrows, shooting into my ears from all directions. (It's terrible! It's terrible! I have to get out of here.) The street lights are laughing too, and I can't find a place to hide.There is a tram stop ahead, very close, yet seems very far away.Laughter becomes a wave.I could be drowned at any time.I called out; but it was of no avail.I became a clown on the stage of life.