哈欠吟者在伯林艮晒太阳时的哼哼唧唧: 绝壁无余字

散步

Thu, 08 Nov 2007 21:09:06 GMT

我们所住的城市不大，横竖不过几个街区。城市管理得极好。我家这条街更格外干净漂亮些。街角斜对着图书馆。街心草地上三棵大树高高地直插到云里。每天散步经过，我和妻都要仰头看上半天。每天我俩都能比先前看到更高些的地方。可搬来几个月了，竟还没看到树梢。

妻是个夜猫子。晚饭一过就要拉我出门散步。不到十一二点不肯回的。拽也拽不住。没办法，幸福的家庭也各有各的不幸呐。我家最大的不幸是妻跑起来比我快。一个没看见就暴走起来。不耐烦等我，常先跑了到街口，又再转回来。街坊见了都笑。散步常碰到的是 Eli。挽着高他半头的太太，不紧不慢地。见了我就停下来寒暄两句。常是我们聊得差不多了，才见妻撒着欢地转回来。Eli 便很绅士地微笑了，又再寒暄一番。

今天吃晚饭迟了。才扒了大半碗饭，妻就搁下饭碗边穿鞋边拉我出门。迎面正撞上邻居波兰大婶。我问候了两句。她拉了我，正色道，“散步？今晚你们不要出门了吧。”“为什么？”，我有点诧异。“今天满月，她会出来呀。常在这附近的。还是不要招惹的好。”我心里有点替她难过。波兰大婶本来好好的。自从两个月前她丈夫无缘无故失踪以后，她变得有点神道道的。还待再说两句，却发现妻已一溜烟出了门。忙匆匆追了出去。

真是满月。银洒洒地照得四下皆亮。倒是格外好景致。妻在不远的一棵大玉兰树下站了，痴痴地看花。我蹑到她身后。正要吓她一跳，她却伸手向后来拉了我的手。两人看了一会儿花。我忍不住道，“别到处乱跑，没听 Anna 讲吗？今晚有个老妖婆出来。”说着自己先笑了。“老妖婆？错。是有个小妖婆来也！”脚上一痛。妻已瞻之在前，忽焉在后起来。

街上人不多。月色微凉，清爽得让人不想回家。我们每天都会选一条不同的路线。今天这条路黑黢黢的。两旁的人家都已黑了灯。静悄悄的连狗叫也没一声。我突然觉得有些发寒。又转过一个街角，眼前竟是三棵大树。我不禁揉了揉眼睛。怎么这里也有这几棵树？心里一阵恍惚。前面不远处，妻突然惊叫了一声。我忙抬头看。夜晚白亮亮的天幕下突然出现了一个白色影子，依稀是个人形。那影子来得好快，越近越高大。是个两人多高，无比肥硕的白衣女人，惨白的脸上有些狰狞。我大叫让妻快回来。妻才转过身的功夫，那影子已到了跟前，追着向妻伸出手来。我只看到那树干一样的手臂从妻身上掠过去。妻，便不见了。

真的不见了？！我一声大吼，撕心裂肺的一声大吼。手中不知哪里来了一柄利器。那利器没有重量，只有手中满握的冰凉。我疯了。只朝着月下那巨大的白色影子没头没脑地冲上去。劈刺，劈刺，没有章法，劈刺。利器一下下着在白衣上，却感觉不到任何质量。我垂下双手。那白衣女人竟也不见了！无比的悲伤和惶惑潮水一样涌上来。我四下张望。街道在月光下渐渐清晰，整整齐齐。那一瞬间，五脏六腑变得空荡荡的。我终于明白了。

我们所住的城市不大，横竖各八个街区。

我是那刚吃了白后的黑卒。妻，那骏丽的黑马，正躺在棋盘边的盒子里等我。

要是王小波还活着

Thu, 12 Apr 2007 00:54:43 GMT

要是王小波还活着，
他大概超越了黄金的才华横溢，
淡淡定定信手拈来。
也可能还困在黑铁的枯涩里，
举轻若重左突右冲。

要是王小波还活着，
他大概依然笔锋犀利，
挑着一杆不大不小的旗。
也可能已经重归沉默，
无需解释，没有犬儒主义。

要是王小波还活着，
他们大概依然相守，
没人会拿她来比Yoko Ono。
他们也可能已经分离，
有人会拿她来比Heather Mills。

要是王小波还活着，
我们大概只有一个现实，
而不是无限的可能。
我们一样会有很多种诠释，
其中一个映照自己。

要是王小波还活着，
今天就是4月11日，
不是王小波十年祭。
我大概正笑着看他信口开河，
而不是自己在这儿胡扯。

old lady next door

Wed, 14 Mar 2007 07:39:17 GMT

The old lady next door died last month.

She lived next door by herself. A very quiet old lady, must be in her 90s. Most time we noticed her existence only because we could hear her when she walked by in the hallway. She had this thing that she pushed against the wall to get some support when she walks. So we could hear a quite distinctive sound moving from one side of our wall to the other side, as if a crack is slowly making its way though the wall. Sometimes we ran into her in the hallway, we'd say hi to her, politely. And she'd say hi to us. It's absolutely fruitless if you try to strike a conversation or anything. She'd be standing there staring at you, blinking, with her sweet smile and her innocent eyes. And you'd know that she couldn't hear a word. Sometimes I felt sorry looking at those innocent eyes, not for her, but for myself. One day, I thought, when I'm 90 years old, I could have that kind of innocent eyes again. But it would be too late.

We learned that her condo was sold last month, dirty cheap. Claire found that out online when she was checking out the housing market. That's how we found out she died. Nobody in the building mentioned anything. Even Anna, our neighbor who usually knows what's going on, didn't know what happened to her. Anyway, she died, just like that.

Last Sunday afternoon, I was putting on my shoes to go out when I heard a loud bang from next door. I was a little surprised, didn't expect anybody to move in this quick. Then I heard voice coming. And then, there, from the peephole, I saw her walking down the hallway with an old man. All of sudden my mouth went dry and I felt sweat on my back. I should say I thought it was her. All I could see were two pale white figures gliding down the hallway. I don't know why, but I felt like I was expecting them to turn around and smile at me. But they didn't. They were deep into an argument. He kept complaining. And she argued with a teasing tone, "yes, yes, I know, I'm not as good taking care of myself lately. OK, I know." "You are losing it!" "OK, OK, I'm losing it! So what?!" "You are losing it... and you'll be like me...", he sighed. "Nothing wrong with that.", she mumbled.

Then they disappeared.

For a moment there her eyes weren't innocent at all. There was a flickering flame in her eyes that made me feel happy for her. I think she prefers having someone to argue with than having perfectly innocent eyes, or being alive.

Ye, I'm pretty sure about that.

Old stuffs - 7/21/04 - Johnnie Walker and Norah Jones

Mon, 01 Jan 2007 20:18:24 GMT

Twinkles under the light
whispers thru the night
Don't know why, don't know why
Is it too late to deny?
Absent, scattered
tears and sweat
Don't know why...

Application

Sun, 31 Dec 2006 07:11:16 GMT

application sees an invitation
application clicks submission
application meets auto-rejection
application needs auto-resubmission

and application resubmitted automatically
and application resubmitted automatically
and application resubmitted automatically
and application resubmitted automatically

application under consideration
application faces suspicion
application gets suspension
application has no direction

application lies on the belly
and then on the napkins
and then in the toilet bowl
and then swims underground

and application resubmitted manually
and application resubmitted naturally
and application resubmitted organically
and application resubmitted orgasmically

application is accepted
application is exhausted
application is indifferent
application is impotent

application on vacation!
application on vacation!!
application on vacation!!!
application on vacation!!!!