Chapter 15 141-148

141 Beijing, Beijing, Beijing, Beijing—where I live and live, where I visit and shop, where I look and see, and where I talk and talk. Here is my favorite and my most hated, or my womb and coffin. Here the days are sweat, toil and busyness, and the nights here are sighs, semen and tears. Here the pain lives forever, dying, and here the vitality is not diminished, and the youth remains forever. Although there are people in the frying pan here, although there are people in the smoke and dust here. Although, although—here exiles the frustrated people, detains those who come here, soaks the numb people, and buries the lonely people.

There are broken souls flying around here, and there are large areas of lonely souls crawling here. The space decays here, like an oasis peeling off into a desert, and time stands still here, like a flowing river turning into ice in an instant. During the day in Beijing, the traffic is rolling and the crowds are turbulent. At night, the lights in Beijing are endless, and hope will last forever. Here cigarettes whisper, spirits weep, glasses clash, furniture shatters. This is Beijing, a Beijing with no direction and no end.This is Beijing, Beijing with joy and laughter. Clothes are hanging on the branches here, earthworms are crawling on the road here, the music here is hoarse, the words are silent, the memory is scattered, the words are lost, the buildings here are burning, the doors and windows are closing here, the shoes here are covered with clouds, and the The river is covered with hair, where thoughts are sinking, where will is disintegrating, where the sky is trembling, where the earth is melting, where you can see the clarity of heaven and the flames of hell, and you can also hear the voice of God and the demons. instructions.

But this is still my Beijing—lovely Beijing, even cuter than I imagined. It is still the Beijing I want to touch, the Beijing I want to touch after I touch it. May the laughter here always be open and endless, and the joy here will always be endless. I live in Beijing as a vagrant, I was born in Beijing, I grew up in Beijing, I fell in love with Beijing, maybe I will die in Beijing, but I don’t know much about this city. Beijing always has a fleeting feeling when I see it. From this feeling, I sometimes feel that Beijing is an imaginary city, an illusory city, which flickers and disappears from time to time. Apart from the general feeling, I can't know more, although, I often wander in Beijing, and I am familiar with its streets and alleys.

I know, I live in Beijing, I have always lived here, I often feel that I am guarding this city, but I am abandoned by this city, I feel, I feel again and again, I should paint a picture of this city, make a picture of it. Music, but I can't do it. So I imagined myself as a poet, as the only poet here, but in my imagination my poems were ridiculed, irritating, annoying, and even more unpleasant to myself. Maybe, I should start writing. Maybe I should stop, say no more, and die right there. 142 I think that writing is a process of continuous failure. From the beginning to the end, I struggled in vain, always wanting to write the truth of a thing to let readers confirm. Unfortunately, from the first story of Zhu Ling, I failed. fell into failure.Then, I started to write Zhang Lei's story, which was completely out of bounds!I don’t know what’s the point of me writing it down like that. Readers can complete it by themselves, so I was disappointed in myself. Then, in desperation, I started writing the story between me and Chen Xiaolu. I persisted, finished it, and finally wrote it. I wrote a pure love novel. Many people like pure love novels. Unfortunately, I was not satisfied after I finished writing it. I added some bits and pieces about Chen Xiaolu, as if I got rid of the pure love novels and entered some kind of more objective and true narrative. , and the story seemed more complete, but I couldn't tell myself what the story told the readers, so I went back to my own life again, and I also wrote a few friends such as Daqing Jiancheng etc., they, together with me, constitute my life, and my life and my novels form a larger whole, but, as I demonstrate in my novels, this whole is meaningless, no matter how coherent, No matter how well-founded, the reader still can't understand everything, can't know the cause and effect, and my life is not the cause and effect of this story. , flying through the whole story with difficulty, without understanding, I still haven't found anything certain, I'm still looking for my belief in survival, I'm still confused, and as for my readers, I don't know what you call me, If I were to be called a fool, although I would feel some displeasure at this disrespect, I can only admit with regret that you are right, and think that the reader is not only right now, but will always be right once and for all, but , even this relationship is difficult to determine.

143 Finally, let me talk about the specific incident of my breakup with Chen Xiaolu. Perhaps there are many similar incidents that I have not mentioned. However, the time has come, the story will end, and my words will also dissipate like smoke. This happened when Chen Xiaolu and I shared the same bed for the last time. That was the last day we stayed in the hotel in the suburbs of Beijing. From having dinner together, to playing video games together, to going to bed, to messing around, to going to sleep, everything went smoothly, not only smoothly, we seemed to be a match made in heaven in the Garden of Eden, It can be described as perfect, but perfection also has its fatal weakness. After perfection, there will be nothing to do. Perfection is like a delicious feast, waiting for the perfect destroyer to come and eat until After eating, he lifted the table and walked away.

In fact, the saboteur came without me being prepared. Early in the morning, when I was falling asleep, I was woken up by a vague voice. I was about to reach out and hug Chen Xiaolu beside me, when suddenly, the voice told me to stop. I heard Chen Xiaolu on the phone. And the other end of the phone was obviously Chen Xiaolu's Taiwanese husband, so I decided to eavesdrop - eavesdropping is not good, I think so - since it is eavesdropping, it means that others do not want you to listen, but you must You can’t listen, since the content you don’t want you to hear is probably not something that is beneficial to you, since you must listen to it, most of the time you want to get a piece of news that is not good for you, one is kind, and the other is ungrateful. Of course, the conflict in the middle is unavoidable ——Thus, I felt that I had done something bad. Of course, Chen Xiaolu also had problems. She could have gone to the bathroom and locked the door to make this call, but she was lazy for a while, which caused the evil result of my eavesdropping.

I heard Chen Xiaolu's voice was very small, so small that I could almost immediately judge that it was a disgraceful thing. Another reason for the low voice was that I had to be very focused to hear clearly. Of course I was very focused. Standing motionless and pricking up my ears, I heard Chen Xiaolu chatting with her husband about going to the airport. The reason is that his husband arrived that afternoon, and Chen Xiaolu picked it up. This matter is actually nothing special. I eavesdropped and swallowed. It was bad enough, and what was worse, was that she talked incessantly, and, needless to say, her manner of speaking, mother-in-law, was a kind of torture to me, but I could bear it, because it was to me, though It was torture, but when I thought about it being torture to his husband, I felt a little relieved. What really irritated me was Chen Xiaolu's tone of voice when talking about this matter. This kind of tone is not only frivolous, it can be said to be charming, this is the tone of a real fairy.

I gotta say, I love how she talks to me like that, but not how she does it to people, what really pisses me off is the thought that her husband likes it as much as I do - I listen, Listen, listen, hating, sad, jealous, and as soon as the call was over, I jumped up and went into the bathroom and locked myself in—I was sitting on the toilet, panting , Turning my head to look in the mirror, a ridiculous green hat seemed to appear on my head, lingering, just like my lingering anger, I turned the door open, went back to Chen Xiaolu's bed, and Sitting there, she found a cigarette to light, and then smoked without saying a word. She got up, walked around in front of me, and looked at me. She was very calm, and she didn't show any adulterous expression, but she was a little complacent. I realized that for her Taiwanese husband, her adultery has not been exposed yet, and for me, she, Chen Xiaolu, went to the airport to meet a Taiwanese husband with a green hat on her head, which would also make me look good. Unfortunately, I love She, I fell in love with her at the age of twenty-six, of course, it made me lose my temper, not because I sat naked on the edge of the bed and smoked a cigarette, or because I thought she was going to crawl in a few hours. To the other bed, not because I stopped looking in the direction she was, but because I lost all faith in the emotion thing, but because I thought about the days to come, those empty days, but because I feel that reality is taking the last gift from me, and I think, my life, my stories, even my writing—should this ridiculous thing be over?

144 On the way back to the city from the hotel in the suburbs, I sat next to Chen Xiaolu, who was driving the car, and asked me to read her the poem that was interrupted by the orgasm when we were having sex—it was a collection of poems by Milosz, and I I opened the collection of poems, but I was silent, I didn’t know where to read it, even, it was difficult for me to see a few complete sentences, but there were still some lines of poems printed in my eyes, those poems were like some kind of spell, both beautiful and beautiful. Kind, but incomprehensible, the sun shines through the car window, flashing across the page from time to time, I have to close my eyes from time to time, I open my eyes, I look at the road ahead, I tilt my head to look at the driving car Chen Xiaolu, I flipped through the pages, Chen Xiaolu's hand would leave the shift handle, reach under my book, and poke my penis through my pants, I heard her joking, talking about participating in the F1 formula She said that the two of us can make a racing car that can rival Ferrari. She will ride on me naked, using my belly as a seat, my feet as wheels, and my legs as wheels. With my penis as a piston and my head as a steering wheel, we're going to race like this, we're not going to change gears, we're not going to brake, we're going to run the distance, we're going to win the race, there's going to be champagne, we're going to drink champagne, we're going to Drunk in the Land of Freedom—But, I wasn’t amused by her jokes, I couldn’t laugh, I held a crumpled book of poems in my hand, I was sitting in Chen Xiaolu’s car, I had finished the script work , I was going home, I put on the small sunglasses that Chen Xiaolu threw in the toolbox, I flipped through the poetry collection again, looking at it without saying a word, with the sound of the engine and Wang Jingwen's singing next to my ears.

145 Milosz is a dreamer, and the poems written by dreamers are always easy to move people. When I mess with Chen Xiaolu, I like to recite Milosz’s poems out of breath. Sometimes I read, sometimes she reads, I think, Milosz's poems are more tactful than pornographic novels, more rhythmic than rock music, more cultured than Playboy, more beautiful than psychedelic music, more popular than pop songs, and more provocative than pornographic videos. Human desire is more vivid than silence. His poems can be read with shouts or whispers, and any kind of moan is suitable as an accompaniment. If you are willing to try its best effect, then you can use it while masturbating. Your voice will be more effective than a feverish one, and you will find that loneliness leaves you, emptiness disappears, depression is forgotten, and you will feel that your voice is really real and pleasant to hear.If you put a book of his poems under your pillow, you can throw the marijuana stuff in the trash.

146 In his collection of poems, he once wrote intermittently: —You suffer in this world because of your dreams, just as a river suffers because the reflections of clouds and trees are not clouds and trees. ... You are the wind that blows in the dark and disappears, you are the wind that has gone and never returned. ... You have loved and hoped, but to no avail. You pursued and almost caught, but the world was faster than you. Now, you can finally see your phantom. ... How old, irremediable, and empty everything is. Wasted time, unconquered pinnacles, and sudden vileness. Tears, tears. But we cry later, in broad daylight, never at that time. ... Etc., etc. 147 I didn't read these poems to Chen Xiaolu, I could only read these poems clearly by wearing sunglasses. I threw the collection of poems on the back seat and focused my attention on the front. Chen Xiaolu played Wang Jingwen's over and over again, as if telling me that she seemed A pawn on the chessboard of life, although it is very beautiful, it cannot be controlled by itself. I understand what she wants to say to me, but there is one thing I don’t agree with. I really want to write a song to sing with her. I really almost Write, my song is called "Sperm", maybe one day, I will write it out and give it to Wang Jingwen to let her sing it to Chen Xiaolu. What I want to write is that I am a tired sperm on crutches, a person looking for life sperm, I carry the intricate and boring secrets of life, I run blindly with other sperm, I don't stand a chance, I don't run very well, I stumble, I stumble Only by finding the core that will give me rebirth, no one tells me where it is, no one tells me my luck, I have nothing to do but run, I can't stop to catch my breath, I can't look around because I In a dank and dark vagina, not in a heaven of flowers and light. 148 This is the third time I have tried to write the story of me and Chen Xiaolu. I wrote and wrote until there was nothing to write. I think I did not write well. I must have lost something very important. Of course, they have It may exist in the words I wrote, or it may be really lost, or it may be lost in the depths of memory. They may exist or they may not exist. I don’t know. As I said, no matter what I do, there is always something. A sense of futility, even if I will be reborn again, I am not sure whether this sense of futility can leave me, in fact, I don't want to be reborn, but I want the boring days around me to pass quickly, I want to plant wings for boredom , to make it fly faster, but I know it's useless, no matter how fast I fly, because I don't know where I'm going.