Chapter 9 hunter

so and so: It was evening after coming out of the subway, and walking into the street was like walking into a dark fish shop.People generally stink.The back of a middle-aged woman is always shaking in front of my eyes.She was out of shape, her legs were like two spindles, and the flesh of her upper body was deposited at her waist, but she was still wearing a white dress with red dots and pointed black high-heeled shoes. A bun like Nezha.She swayed and swayed in front of my eyes, walking on a flat road seemed to be climbing steps one by one. In the middle of the night, the sky will be blue, even with white clouds.I sat on the balcony, like sitting on the bottom of the sea, looking up at the vast sky that you may occasionally look up at.

Chu Chen has a short poem "What is on the ground is in the air": The story I tell you today is based on "shouldn't be".In a distant era, there was a forest, and there was an ocher-yellow path in the forest, and there was a house at the end of the path, where a thin girl lived.She has been sitting by the window, and she is not a lively person, and she is rarely willing to talk.Her facial features are simple and clean.One day, a sincere young man came over. As soon as she saw it, she got up and walked towards the path.He followed. For many years I thought about this arduous journey.The sky is gloomy, the boundless wilderness is covered by snow, there are only a few black trees along the way, there is neither night nor day, it will always be like this, only the sound of shoes stepping down, like stepping into pine cork again and again.He lowered his eyebrows and listened to what he said, but these were all optional. When she said something like "you'd better go back", he stopped, remained silent, and walked after a while.Sometimes she hangs her hands down (two arms seem to be broken), her neck is raised, her lips are slightly opened, her teeth are against her teeth, and she hisses silently.She is exhausted.

Because of the blindness, this story has different results.If he is the protagonist, he is the unremitting love god, carrying the eternal castle on his back, and bearing punishment, suffering and despair with a rare spirit.In the end, the wish is not to get the other party, but just to cast a long life into practice.Knowing it can't do it.And from her point of view, he is an out-and-out hooligan—if it is a superficial hooligan, it means being pushed to the ground, insulted or beaten, which means the end.But he was not in a hurry, he was sure he could bear any humiliation, and followed slowly and firmly like a jackal.This difficult road was led by her, wherever she went, he followed, but rather he drove her everywhere.He is a brilliant and terrifying hunter.

"Please," she said one day.He felt a little pain and shook his head slightly. "Please." She burst into tears, almost hysterical, "Didn't you want me? Come here." She said and began to undress. "No." He squeezed her angry hand. "Then what do you want me to do?" He also seemed to have forgotten what he was going to do."Let's keep going," he said. At the beginning of the story, she is the strong, his master, with the power of life and death, but later, she is completely weak, helpless.What kind of tenacity and paranoia is this!It's like a guy comes up every morning and puts a whip in your hand, "Please whip me up, please."

Humans have not made any laws to prevent this behavior. Today, as a nightmare, I am gone.When you occasionally look up at the sky covering the Central Plains, Northeast China, Asia and the Arctic Ocean, you may still feel palpitations about a thought.You may think that I am also looking up at this mirrored sky, and you may be afraid that the sky will reflect your tracks into it.You went to a distant land and gave birth to children.I have inquired about it a long time ago.But you don't have to be afraid, and you don't have to show your inherent compassion in awareness of peace.After a lot of pestering and harassment, I only stayed in my bedroom. For a year, I wrote letters every day, but in the end I only sent one letter, which was still about things that had nothing to do with feelings.We said we've only met five times - there was a chance to meet again, but when you surfaced nearly a hundred meters away, covered in lipstick, I turned and ran away.The sun was too strong that day, the road was hot, and everything was distorted. I saw your decay with just one glance.The steady progress of the time thing was embarrassing to me.

I prefer to recall the uncivilized youth and your clean and simple face when no one is around.Afterwards, my face was blurred, and my memory was hard to keep--I was left with numbness and emptiness.What I want to tell you is that it is this lack that causes me to wander around paranoid.Sometimes I see that I have successfully managed the nest in one place, the account number and password are set up, and the money comes in. I suddenly feel bored and go to another place to start from scratch.I have been entangled with several women, and one day I heard a sentence and felt like entering a maze.

"That's what he said too. He thought I had talent and wanted to introduce me to the music department," she said.I'm ashamed because I just complimented her on her natural musical sensitivity.In fact, I don't even know the notation.In fact, apart from being good-looking, she is also mediocre.She needs men who can't stop praising her as the only lord of this god-dead world.And every mean man sees the sign.I thought about how many times I've complimented someone with ulterior motives just to rip off their pants.I put on my pants, fastened my belt, and said, "I seem to see you talking to a man in the future."

"What will I say in the future?" "You said, 'A choreographer at the time also thought I was good at fingering and wanted me to study further.' And—" "And what?" "You still say, 'But I don't believe it'." Another time, while I was running around the room with another woman, the phone rang. "Shhh." She put her index finger in front of her arched lips.I heard her talking to a man, such as whether she has eaten, whether the coffee machine at home is repaired, whether she is going to learn Sanskrit, whether she wants to ride a battery car around Anyi County, you have to be good.It never occurred to me that a woman could give two men the same sincerity, joy, and love.But she was just lying to him, every word she said was a lie.She lied so sincerely.She said that she was walking alone on the street now, "so tired, so tired."

I remembered what my girlfriend in Lanzhou told me on the phone many years ago. She was also shopping, but there was no sound around, neither the sound of tires speeding, nor the noise of roadside vendors. "I miss you so much, well, that's it." My girlfriend said.I seem to walk into the river of time loop, as if God must let me see these. When the woman put down the phone to comfort me, I stared at her like a calm cat and said, "It's easier to attack than to defend." "how to say?" "Look here." I opened a book and found the underlined sentence, "'Knight, you know how to win quickly, but you don't know how to keep your spoils.'"

Of course sometimes I get hurt too.One day I was standing on a stool on the balcony overlooking the land below the eleventh floor. My eyesight was somehow exceptionally good, and I could see the texture of every pebble—it was as if the earth lifted itself before my eyes.I forget whether I stepped on the stool to collect clothes or to jump off a building, maybe both.I don't want to lose my life so easily, nor do I want to completely forget my vows.When I called the person for the last time, I said, "Okay, remember, you will regret it." Of course, I have always been greedy for life and afraid of death.

The failure of this trick made me wonder for a long time how to face her.If she wants to say "Aren't you going to die", what will I do?But it didn't take long for me to calm down.When I had to run into her on an occasion, I found myself not even the slightest bit embarrassed.She is just such a woman, with thinning hair and a yellow scalp, and she speaks Mandarin with a Taiwanese accent, and she is from the Northwest—just one of the women who doesn’t matter—but why did I fall in love with her so much at the beginning, and I wanted to die To live? I have a very dirty side.Then I thought, there is nothing more nonsense than love in the world.Almost everything about human beings is giving in to love, coaxing it, allowing it, whatever absurd things you do in its name, you can be forgiven (or at least sympathetic).But once married, its function and meaning are very clear.It is nothing more than an aperture invented by human beings to carry on the family line.One day, my aging father called from the countryside in Xinjiang.For several years, he insisted on making such calls every three days: "Get married." "What are you getting married for?" "To have a baby." "What's the purpose of having a baby?" "Let him marry." "What is he marrying for?" "He married and had children." I felt like my father was God's overseer, bringing me back to the hard labor camp with a whip.He also couldn't tell the reason for getting married, so he could only give counter-evidence: "Do you think there is anyone who is not married?" Or, "You must have a child?" Or, "It's been like this since ancient times." I am I want to tell him that this whole thing doesn't stand up to scrutiny. The ancestors gave birth to us, we gave birth to offspring, and the offspring gave birth to offspring. There is no end to life, and there is no limit. Why?For descendants?What are the children and grandchildren for?For their children and grandchildren?What are we waiting for?At the end of time, a golden door opened, and the living human beings entered the hall of eternal life with the spirit cards of all their ancestors?Or, at the end, God is going to show you a movie?Thinking about it carefully, we are no different from those pigs, dogs, cows, and sheep that we despise. They are also born from generation to generation. Like us, they are busy with food, and they dedicate their wealth and energy to give birth.Neither we nor they know why. Perhaps there was mating first, then mating, and then procreation.Maybe just for better access to food (via parents in early childhood and children in old age).Later, morphine was invented for marriage.Morphine is so fascinating that some people can't tell whether marriage comes first or love comes first.They feel that marriage would be a terrible thing without love.They grieve because when marriage comes, their need for love is not met. I find none of this interesting. Maybe it's because I've failed badly at this. If I had tasted happiness in the first place, maybe I'd take up the gun and attack this stupid idea.But happiness never really came.I know that people only have one life, fifty years, sixty years or a little longer.Many things are only tasted once.When I taste a bitter fruit, I force myself to swallow it.Too late to change.There is no room for two lovers in one's life.Happiness - the taste that once fascinated people, only exists in my fantasy for a long time, just like a person in a dungeon has a complete sky.I created you who are so holy that I can’t be more holy. At the same time, I resent those vested interests in reality. They are gluttonous, extravagant, and wasteful. They eat half of the apple and throw it into the trash can. The eyes of those hungry people follow the parabolic game thrown out. moving, sighing angrily.Later, I felt that love is actually like this, and there is nothing worthy of respect.I started letting myself down. If the result at that time was different (you promise me), we might be able to live a good life, get married, have children, play cards on weekends, buy a car and wander in the countryside, and live a bright life.But I can't imagine more flavor either.That kind of life is just a big, vague chunk, and sometimes you can see a detail or two, like the milk bottle falling down, dripping on the table, and then a drop falling off the edge of the table.It's like dripping ink, dripping into my heart.I don't know how my soul trembles when I touch your hand. I haven't tasted the magnificence of the fire of the soul passing through my fingertips and burning.I've occasionally experienced similar sensations with other women, but they fade away quickly.Maybe you are no different. Back then, when you wanted to get the person you loved, I wanted to get you, and someone wanted to get me, all of them suffered serious failures.We become each other's punching bag.In the end, we get nothing, and according to time or God's will, we collar ourselves like livestock and choose to marry.Accidentally grow old while we try to gaze at the stars.When I came out of the subway today and saw that fat middle-aged woman, I didn't feel that anyone would still love her, and I didn't feel that she was worthy of anyone's love.Time destroys everything.On the long street, the rain was about to fall, and no one came to pick her up, and no one called her, even though she kept pinching her phone and waiting.Only she herself tied a bun that belonged to her youth, still wearing the long hair from her first love, and her black hair was like a chopped snakeskin bag.She was a god at the beginning, but now she is a fertility site. I have lived in a daze for a long time, not knowing the Wei and Jin Dynasties.But time never shows mercy. Eighteen years have passed, as if there was only one night.Eighteen years ago, I thought, to hold back that time, just stop there.But as the night passed, time brought us to today's stiff and cold day.Time, the thief, beat us with a stick, stuffed us into a sack, and ran to the present in no time.One night eighteen years ago, I saw you.There is a fresh breath on your body, like the breath of a green leaf after a spring rain. It penetrates the heart and makes people fascinated.Beneath your skin are rivers of green veins, and your pupils are bright and pure, like the only star in the darkest night.You're going to eat shaved ice, you're going to be picked up by your mom in kick pants, and at your house, your dad is still tuning a huge two-foot-wide radio.It was just a moment.The illusion of life.Now those substances no longer exist, including the songs we have heard together, and the singers are all dead. I haven't written a letter for many years-this time I wrote it just because someone organized everyone to write a letter of the heart to resist the materialistic or too technological lifestyle.I searched for a long time, but I couldn't find a suitable letter recipient. That is to say, among human beings, there is no one worthy of my confiding to him.In the end, I estimate that many people, like me, wrote letters to you who are far away and unrelated.I drank a lot and I was slick, cunning, contemptuous, like a rag full of greasy grime.And before, I wrote a lot of hymns, and they kept in boxes.One day, my illiterate mother said, "Burn these letters." I looked at her in amazement, and burned all the letters addressed to you.I felt sorry for the exclamation marks when I was burning, and thought that if you come back to me in the future, how should I provide evidence that I still love you for so many years? At the same time, when I am old, how should I provide myself A trace of serious love.But soon I thought about it.It is impossible for a lion to fall in love with a locust.This should be the most clear rule in the world.At the same time, even if you thought about loving me, I couldn't cheer up, or rather, I hated you and myself.And after getting old, there is no more stable way of life than waiting to die. someone 2011.6.19