When I was very young, I felt very lonely. My father is a legend.He is not only a very successful businessman in the mall, but also a well-known alcoholic in the local area.Every time he came home drunk, he always smashed some things in the corridor, such as the neighbor's water tank, or the flowerpot on the windowsill, and then spent a lot of money to compensate them.Then there was a strange phenomenon, that is, the neighbors like to deliberately put some broken flower pots and water tanks in conspicuous positions in the corridor, so that my father would not have no one when he was drunk.In my impression, my father was much more drunk than he was sane.I'm used to this for a long time.

I can't remember exactly when my mother ran away from home when I was old.I just have a vague impression in my mind, that is, the night before she left, her father beat her after drinking, and some blood dripped from the corner of her mouth. That was the first time I saw the violence and mutual hatred of human beings, and this violence Happens between two people who are supposed to love each other.So my mother admitted that it was a mistake to fall in love with my father in the first place, and it was even more wrong to marry him.I don't know if she also thinks it was a mistake to give birth to my son, but mistakes and setbacks have educated her and made her smarter.So she left without hesitation.Kissed my forehead as I walked away, and that was the most disgusting scene of all the motherly love I can remember.I thought why did she kiss me when she was already determined to abandon us?Could it be that she kissed me to make her feel that it was more natural for her to leave?I have no idea.All I know is that she disappeared from my sight before the spittle on my forehead dried, and never reappeared in my life.

Mom's departure seemed to make Dad very sad for a while.My understanding is this, mother is a beautiful woman, no man wants his beautiful wife to run away.I think Dad hurt his self-esteem.So he swore off alcohol, and he did.To my regret, the period of being able to breathe alcohol-free air at home lasted only a few months, until another woman, whom I should call my stepmother, appeared in his bed. I have hated this woman since I was a child, because my grandma, who is as kind as Guanyin Bodhisattva, said that she was transformed from the spirit of bones.I have seen the White Bone Demon in the TV series, and I know that she wants to eat Tang Monk's meat.Tang Seng is a very decent and kind man, but she wants to eat him, which shows how hateful she is.So I incidentally hated my stepmother.This habit has been maintained for many years.

It may be that my hatred makes her timid, but she never offends me easily.And it still seems to get up early every day to cook for me.Although in principle I shouldn't eat the rice cooked by the white bone essence, but I think my father also eats it.I think she shouldn't have poisoned her husband to death just because she hated me, so she just ate it calmly.And it's kind of fulfilling - we hate each other and you have to make me breakfast.How dripping is the pleasure of revenge! In the first year of high school, I made a girlfriend.She is the school belle of our school, the most beautiful girl recognized by everyone.It took me a lot of effort to catch her, and it earned me the envy of all my male classmates.In my opinion, this was the brightest moment of my teenage years - not because of this girl, but because of the envy of people both familiar and unfamiliar.Since I was a child, I have been a person who longs to live on a level above the public.At that time, I liked to hold her hand and swagger around, kissing and hugging unscrupulously on campus.I even touched her breasts in the movie theater, and it felt like touching two steamed buns with too much yeast—no sexual desire, only appetite.But I still take the trouble to show off this to my buddies. I think the feeling of being envied by others is much better than kissing the school girl.I don't know why, but I always feel that Xiaohua's face is exactly like a combination of my own mother who ran away from home and my stepmother who made me hate it.In fact, she is quite a nice person, she is indeed beautiful, and she can be considered kind, but she is a woman.The two women I was closest to since I was a child disgusted me, so there was a gap between me and women in the world.But I don't want to deny that she is almost the first woman in my life that I don't hate.

It's ridiculous that my misogyny directly led to my preference for literature.I refuse to communicate with my family because I think they are all stupid.I can't imagine a woman who loves to be someone else's stepmother and spends almost all her energy in this suffocating home. What sparkle is worth discovering. In a very accidental opportunity, I read a book called.I don't know whether the book is a novel, a memoir, or a journal of sleep talking, but there is no doubt that it is a book full of extremely obscene language.This name is Henry?My hatred of women quickly turned into contempt when Miller's people wrote that all the women in the world were stunners who didn't care to sleep with any man.Many years later, when I realized that this book did not intend to express this meaning-because it seems that the men in it are also this kind of virtue-this idea has formed an indestructible system in my mind.In other words, my unseemly hatred of women and Henry?Miller has nothing to do with it, because even if I didn't watch it then, I watched The Unbearable Lightness of Being or The Unbearable Lightness of Being, and the result seemed to be the same.

Those quiet or floating words are not the root of my sins, but just a bit of arty pursuit of noble things in my boy who hates women. Then something happened that strengthened my thinking.The principal called my father and informed him that if his son continued to engage in bourgeois dude's naughty and even obscene and spiritually corrupt activities on campus, he would be expelled from this key middle school.I think this must be the exact words of the crazy headmaster - my dad can't tell such a good joke.Although he is a brilliant entrepreneur, he is still a man of duty at heart.So I was whipped by my father with a big belt and ordered not to eat.What's ridiculous is that when he beat me, his woman kept protecting me and quarreled with my father, saying that if he beat me, she would divorce him.I think it must have been agreed between the two of them, one to sing the red face and the other to sing the bad face, so that they can gain both fame and fortune-not only beat me, but also maintain their demeanor as parents.Such tricks can't fool me, I thought.In fact, I really want to say to that woman, the reason I hate you is that I am too narrow-minded, and the reason I despise you is that your actions are too hypocritical.I am a typical paranoid, and this excellent quality of mine has faithfully accompanied me throughout my life.

At that time, my biggest wish was to be admitted to a university in a big city, so that I could stay away from this disgusting woman and this perverted family.After I told my father about this idea, an extremely complicated expression appeared on his face, but I knew he would not deny my decision. As for that woman, I didn't even bother to think about her.Let her fend for herself in my father's bed.It's none of my business that she's willing to use her rebelliousness to accommodate a tolerant alcoholic husband and paranoid stepson. ten thousand years is too long, fight for now.The words of the chairman inspired me, so that I was admitted to the Chinese Department of a national key university in Beijing two years later.The whole family was very happy on the day the list was released, especially my stepmother, she even shed a few tears, as if she was as holy as all the mothers in the world, her funny expression sent chills down my spine.But that doesn't take away from my joy at my own success.Because the people I hate will disappear from my eyes soon, and I will leave this small city that makes me depressed forever.

The most proud thing I did before going to college was to get rid of the school belle very smoothly.Shaved quite thoroughly and beautifully.On the day I broke up, I invited her to a coffee shop with a very elegant environment. Amidst the charming jazz music, I held her hand and clearly expressed three meanings. One is that I don’t like her at all, and the other is that I look down on her, and third, no one will really like her in this life. I have to admit that my breakup speech went a little too far.The last meaning I expressed even contained a vicious curse, but I think as her ex-boyfriend, I am obliged to give her some advice when we break up.She's so pretty and sexy that no one cares about anything other than her looks.This is the tragedy of all beautiful women.

Of course, my bad words to her actually contained some other elements: when we got along, she betrayed me.In fact, it's not her fault, she has a beautiful face and a sexy body, of course she has the right to seduce others when I don't care, and pretend to be loyal in front of me.For a long time, I even firmly believed that she was the only special woman in the world. It was not until one day when a buddy of mine was drunk and cried and confided to me that he had slept in the bed of a "school girl" that this view came to an end.Dude is not wrong because he is a normally developing male. There is nothing wrong with "school beauty", because she is a woman after all.But in my opinion at that time, as long as it is a woman, it is a sin.It was me who was wrong, I recognized the wrong partner, and put myself in this neither awkward nor embarrassing situation.

In fact, generally speaking, in the three years we have been together, cooperation is still the mainstream, confrontation is only a tributary, and achievement is still the main one.During the years when I was still interested in women, she accepted almost all my impulses.At this point, I am grateful to her.So I think my advice is kind, even great. After listening to my breakup speech, she even slapped me and ran out crying.What a fucking puzzling woman. I insisted on rejecting my father's offer to send me to school in person.On the day I left home to go to school in Beijing, my stepmother secretly slipped me a small paper bag.I pretended nothing had happened and stuffed it into my clothes pocket.After getting on the plane, I opened it and looked. It was a piece of jade, emerald green, with a red string tied to it—it seemed that she planned to let me hang it around my neck.I smiled helplessly.She also wants to imitate those contrived stepmothers in TV dramas who secretly give her so-called family treasures to her sons who are better than their own when their sons go to study in other places... I almost vomit when I think of this .

So I stuffed that thing into my travel bag and began to look forward to my college life.All the men and women I loathe in that little northern town have gone to hell. In fact, letting them go to hell is not to curse them, but to wish them the most sincere blessing.Devils love to destroy, they prefer hate to love, but devils never lie and never betray. That year, I was 18 years old. [2] Shanghai is an exciting place.Here, every day, countless people spend a lot of money, spending their little earned money on things that don't belong to them at all, in exchange for a little bit of face or respect that is important to them.Anyone can find a life in Shanghai that suits them, because it is so big that it can accommodate all the aboveboard and furtive.But for me, this is an exception. The Shanghai in my life is a gloomy and lonely place.I was born in a red western-style building in Shanghai.The building was only two stories high, but it belonged to our family.I heard from the nanny that it was the only family property that my grandfather's father set up in Shanghai Beach that has survived to this day.The building looks ugly.In summer, many green vine-like plants will grow on the outer wall of the building, which will attract countless mosquitoes and flying insects.Inside the building is warm in winter and cool in summer.I really want to find out the reason why it is warm in winter and cool in summer from the structure of the house, but I don't know anything about architecture, so I didn't think about this problem that has plagued me since childhood until the day I died.But there is one thing I am very grateful for—this building did not cause me to suffer from rheumatism or other diseases, but it became the Bastille in my heart, which is the stimulus of my life's resistance. To tell you the truth, I hated this unsophisticated building.But for some reason, my mother liked it very much.She liked to go for walks on the green outside the building on midsummer evenings, bragging about our building to the bloated housewives in the apartment opposite.Of course, the bragging content sometimes extends to her husband who can make a lot of money and her beautiful and well-behaved daughter.I don't like her talking about me to other people.I don't like anyone talking about me.But she is my own mother, and she gave me life, which gives her the right to talk about me in front of other people. The mother is a good example of the neurotic type of woman who goes through early menopause.Her favorite thing to do is to monitor everyone around her like a Kuomintang female spy, especially my every move.I deeply regret that she was not absorbed into the national intelligence, otherwise she would have become the most hated woman in those imperialist countries. It's a pity that all the crimes that should have been suffered by the imperialist countries were borne by me instead.She was always able to break into my room with a flawless excuse when I was talking on the phone with a classmate, and she could memorize the contents of my diary by heart.Best of all, she knew the names of all the boys in my class and formed a sisterly friendship with our notoriously gossiping, sadistic head teacher. She is a genius at customizing codexes.The various regulations and restrictions she set for me are perfect, and the rewards and punishments are reasonable, which is amazing.Especially on the issue of male and female defense, her exquisite jurisprudence thinking has been vividly reflected.If I gossip with a certain male classmate on the way home from school, her expression and behavior will always make me feel that I have dug up the ancestral graves of people all over the world.If someone pops in to take a look when I go to the bathroom to change my tampons, it's my mother. I know what her greatest wish is.It must be to let me go through my adolescence like her, and find a man who can make a lot of money to marry, and then treat my daughter like she treats me.I became more convinced of this after I got to know my grandmother.My mother sang "I'll Be You When I Grow Up" all day long, and she even shouted a few beautiful High C's when she was happy.I don't know whether a woman who thinks she is very successful will be a little complacent or even a little psychopathic. I hate my mother, this is the most unforgettable feeling in my childhood. This is epitomized by my love for my father. From the day I was born, I rarely saw my father.He works abroad all the year round, and can only live at home for two months a year, but every time I see my father, I will be very excited.There is a class of outstanding successful men in Shanghai society.They wear expensive and high-grade HUGOBOSS suits, wear YSL or CK men's perfume, they can smile and talk to every familiar or unfamiliar person in any social occasion, and they are confident that they can become the visual center of any place.In my eyes, my father is such a man.He has an idol or even a god-like effect in my mind.I even always thought he must have married my mother because my grandfather owed my maternal grandfather a large sum of money. But what surprised me was that my father was very, very good to my mother.This is beyond my comprehension.I don't know if my mother deliberately hid her domineering personality when getting along with my father, but no matter what, they never quarreled in my memory, at least in front of me.This added to my love for my father—a man who can maintain his presence even with a neurotic wife deserves the adoration of his daughter. Every time my father comes back, he will take me to the most luxurious place in Shanghai to eat, and then go to the opera or go shopping-I like spending money, not to mention I hate staying in that disgusting red building all the time. In my own room, the only thing I can do is listen to music.In those few years, I listened to almost all the music, and I can even name all the theme songs of Hollywood movies in the history of human music in the 20th century. I like European and American music more than Chinese music.Because what I can't stand the most is a beautiful melody with crappy lyrics.There are two kinds of explanations for the so-called lameness. Some lyrics are inexplicable and incomprehensible; The smell on my body..." The first "missing" seems to be understood as love, the second and third are more like satisfying some people's fetishes, and the last sentence is simply a raving like a spring. My favorite is a song by the Eagles called "Hotel California".Because I feel that the colorful hotel in the song is very similar to my home - there is no choice to come here, but it is too difficult to leave here.The difference is that I am not "prisonerofmyowndevice" but "prisonerofmyowndevice". Most of the time I couldn't see my father. Except for school time, I was imprisoned by my mother in the red building of our house for a long time.Everything in the building is hypocritical and suffocates me, like my Bastille.Finally one weekend afternoon, I ran out while she was napping.This is almost the first time that I can walk on the street unscrupulously alone.I was already a high school student at that time. I ate a lot of snacks at the street stalls, smiled at all the handsome boys I passed, and went to the shopping mall by myself and spent all the money I had on a brightly colored underwear.In the past, my mother bought all my underwear, and those bras were all the same standard. If the missionaries had wives, they would not wear them, and the color looked like the belt of an old woman walking by the Huangpu River at night. makes me sick. I went back before it was dark that day.To be honest, I'm really afraid that my neurotic mother will fly to Ben?Bin Laden went to blow up the World Trade Center before. But she still called the police.From a distance, I saw her crying and talking to an impatient man in uniform.When she saw me, she stopped crying immediately, and I saw a kind of ray radiating from her eyes that made my hair stand on end.I gave the policeman a sympathetic look and walked into my room. The situation that night was really dark.My mother tried her best to explain to me the truth that all unscrupulous women start from running away from home, which she thinks is an irrefutable truth-she defined the nature of my sneaking out as running away from home.She cited countless examples of girls who refused to listen to their mothers and eventually became prostitutes or beggars.I suspect that she made up those people, because if those women had the legendary experience that my mother said, I would not know nothing about them. She also pulled my newly bought underwear and shouted that the designers of this underwear should be shot, because the bras they designed will lead to the loss of morality and shame of all women in the world without exception, and then hinder the progress of human society. . I was surprised to find that my mother still has such a magnificent imagination.Later, after hearing her story, a friend of mine who studied literature asserted that her failure to develop in the literary world was a loss to the Chinese literary world.But at that time I was too lazy to argue with her, because I was really tired.So while she was talking, I fell asleep.I had a very beautiful dream that day. I dreamed that my father and mother were divorced. I followed my father and he took me out to play every day.That was the happiest day I had before I was 18. At that time, I made up my mind that I must leave this place and this woman. After graduating from high school, I didn't get into any university.The long-term depressed state of mind made me feel fearful of all burdens.I told my mother that I was going to read some more books somewhere else.Her reaction is predictable.But this time I learned the lesson, I put the blade on the artery of my wrist, and threatened her with death.So, she quickly gave in, because she didn't want to let her own dream for many years - to turn me into her - into naught. She and my father decided to send me to a school specializing in foreign languages ​​in Beijing.The reason is simple, my uncle is in Beijing, and he seems to be quite a big official.This time I did not raise an objection.Not because I have any special liking for Beijing or my uncle.It's just that the only wish in my heart at that time was to leave this home, and it didn't matter where I went.Besides, I think learning foreign languages ​​is good for me to understand western music. The moment before boarding the plane, I actually cried.Because my dad didn't come to see me off that day-he went to other places for business three days ago.He is almost the only person I miss in this city. Mom cried too.At that moment, I discovered that the crying mother also looked beautiful.I think Dad must have fallen in love with her because of her tears.At that moment, for the first time in my life, I felt that she was not a spy, a jurist or a writer, but a mother who would cry for her daughter's journey. She didn't finish her charge until I got on the gangway. The moment the plane took off, I felt that I was so reluctant to part with her.But this feeling was quickly replaced by the great attraction of the ancient city in the north.I finally had a moment of peace and freedom. That year, I was 19 years old. [Part 3] The most ingrained education I have received since I was a child is-absolutely obey my father. His father was a stalwart man with a legendary life.When he was 16 years old, he was sent to the army by his family to receive party education.After that, he made meritorious deeds many times, and he was soon able to get the appreciation of his superiors, and eventually he became someone else's superior. Perhaps it was for this reason that he achieved supremacy in the family.He scolded his wife and son—whether they were right or not—with the tone of a subordinate, and the theme of my life with my docile mother was obedience.Many years later, when I think back on this childhood life, I often have some doubts: that is why I have to obey my father so meekly?But never got a reasonable answer.Perhaps this is the inertia of behavior. When I couldn't even speak clearly, I slept in a room alone.Sleeping by myself since childhood is a fine tradition advocated by my father.He insisted that if a boy over the age of two still sleeps with his parents, then this child must be the dregs of society in the future.Every time he talked about this truth, there would always be a strange look on his face, as if any dissent was a blasphemy against the sacred patriarchy.My mother loves me dearly, and is afraid that I will catch a cold and be afraid. At night, she always uses the toilet as an excuse to sneak into my room to cover me with a quilt.This habit has lasted for many years, and as a result, her old man really suffered from functional frequent urination. This is the biggest guilt in my heart for many years.She is a very poor woman.She spent her whole life trying to find a balance between her husband and son, but she lost herself in the end. In fact, there is nothing wrong with sleeping alone, I still like to stay in my room by myself-I usually hide away when my father is at home, because he can always pick and choose from my every move. It's a "little rascal" problem-it's just that when I think back to this detail when I grow up, I always wonder if he picked me up on the battlefield.Because according to the current prevailing view, such parents are cruel and will be cursed by the old people.And it's really inhumane.How can you guarantee that a child with an underdeveloped cerebellum will not fall out of bed and onto the floor at night?To be honest, I doubt that I really fell when I was young, because my brain is always slower than others. In fact, at that time, I always had a very, very secret wish in my heart, that is, subconsciously, I hoped that my father could stay in my room for a while before going to bed every day, even if he didn’t say anything, just sat for a while, I will be very happy too.Unfortunately, such a wish has never been realized.We almost never had any conversations between us that weren't necessary. What I couldn't stand the most was that he didn't allow me to have discretionary money, a habit that lasted until high school.In fact, it makes sense to think about my father, because money is a very important factor in the formation of the characters of the social hooligans I know or understand-their crimes often start with extorting money from weak classmates.And there is one thing I am very relieved of, that is, since I have no money, no one will rob or blackmail me, and I have been safe on the way home from school for many years. When I was 12 years old, something happened that I will never forget in my life. A male student in the class who has always had a tense relationship with me (actually I don’t have much friendship with most people in the class, but I always find this person not pleasing to me) took a folded bag with a complex structure and a beautiful appearance. Knives come to school.Everyone in the class was overwhelmed, and everyone passed it on, and the face of the owner of the knife was always filled with an indescribably happy smile.Almost everyone in the class, including those beautiful girls, surrounded him and asked him where he could buy that knife. That classmate seemed to be the spokesperson for the image of that knife.He said that it was brought back by his father from Switzerland, and it is impossible to buy it in China.His tone seemed to be deliberate to me—I feel like to me—in a demonstration. So I feel that I have been greatly humiliated.The reason why this kind of shame can be called a shame is because it comes from a person I usually look down on the most—I have hated the kind of nouveau riche-like villains since I was a child, and I think they are simply vulgar.I am determined to accept this challenge. So I hatched a great plan.The reason why it is great is that in the process of carrying out this plan, I almost risked my life.I resolved to steal Dad's pistol and take it to school.I want everyone to understand how small and humble a Swiss army knife is compared to a pistol.Its owner is even more pathetic. I stole Dad's pistol without much trouble and without him noticing.In fact, it's not that he was careless, but because he was too reassured of me - he didn't believe that I had the courage. I took it to school the next morning.The result was as I expected. All the people gathered around me, which was unprecedented.The male classmate fiddled with his knife alone in the corner.I can finally look at his embarrassment from the corner of my eye with a victorious attitude.The strange thing is that it doesn't feel as good as expected.There wasn't the jealous or frustrated look in the boy's eyes that I'd expected.It also took away from my sense of accomplishment. Soon the pistol was discovered by the head teacher.When he saw the gun, he almost jumped up at a height high enough to break the Asian record, and viciously used words like "thug" to describe me-maybe he thought of the school shootings in the United States.I think that must be the brightest moment in his teaching career.As a Chinese junior high school teacher, he could find a gun-wielding thug in his class.If he is qualified to write a memoir in the future, I don't think he will miss this passage. What happened later was even more natural-the head teacher called my home, and my mother came to school to pick me up.For the first and only time in my life my dad hit me, and it was pretty hard—almost a "beating" because he nearly broke the bridge of my nose.Since then, my nose has become the most vulnerable part of me, and it bleeds at every turn. That beating made me feel remorseful - I can't live in this family in my own way, it will only hurt myself.I had to follow the rules of the man who beat me. So I chose to be one of the "silent majority" - just like my dad expected.I stay in my room all day and do my own thing.Reading, listening to music, sleeping, masturbating.I hardly interacted with others, even with my own relatives, I just kept the most common greetings, because I knew my father didn't want that, and gradually I didn't like that either.In fact, it’s good to stay alone in a space that belongs to me, because then I won’t worry about my world being violated by others. I started denying people access to my room - including my parents.I no longer expect my dad to come into my bedroom and have a few words with me before going to bed, because I can't bear the smell of other people in my room. When I was 16, my increasingly depressed mother dragged me to the hospital for counseling.From that day on I learned that I had a disease called "depression".My mother cried that day.And when I got home at night, I had a big fight with my dad-the first time in many years.And it was also the first time that my father endured my mother's quarrel silently, without making a sound, just sitting on the bed and sighing non-stop.I can vaguely recognize my mother's voice, which probably means that my father harmed me, and he turned his son into a mentally handicapped person. I don't care about these.I was in my room watching a DVD in my room when Mom threw a tantrum at Dad — the thing I’ve done most when I’m alone in my room in recent years — and it’s called Fallen "Angel" Hong Kong movie.The director of the film is a guy who wears sunglasses all day long.The film was beautifully shot and colorful, and it told the story of a group of people called "angels" living alone in the same city.Some of those angels kill with smiles, some wear fishnet-like stockings and masturbate on other people's beds, some sleep with strange men they meet by chance at McDonald's, some are dumb but can't stop talking Rambling... They are related to each other and isolated from each other, as if no one needs to have any necessary connection with anyone. I feel like the people there are all myself. My mom never gave up trying to cheer me up.She always asks me to go out to play with my classmates, but I'm not interested at all.She even paid a psychiatrist to give me regular psychotherapy, which made me very helpless.I actually like the way I live my life right now.If possible, I would like to live alone for the rest of my life. My dad is now actively looking for topics to talk to me.But unfortunately I have nothing to say to him.I also wonder about this, because it used to be my biggest childhood dream.Now that dream has come true, I feel bored. Later I was admitted to the computer department of a university.Right in Beijing, but far from home.My parents always thought things would change when I went to college and lived in a dorm, but I just couldn't stand sharing a space with five other complete strangers.So I insisted on going home every day, even though I would spend a lot of time on the road every day. If there's one thing that changed my life going to college, it was that I learned to surf the Internet and became obsessed with the online world.For the first time, I discovered that such a magnificent world still exists in the world.In that world no one knows who you are, and you don't know who anyone else is.You can have a space all your own—and as big as it gets.You can also talk to an ID that could represent anyone in the world without fear of any frustration - because there are only words between you, no voices, no expressions, no actions, nothing to make you feel violated thing. Not long after that I made my own personal website called "Satan City".Its theme is cinema and everything related to cinema.I pour all my passion for movies into this site.As for its name, I didn't spend much thought on it.I just feel that compared to those radiant angels in pairs, I am more like a lonely devil, content to run my own city - hell.I imitated Wong Kar-wai's hypocrisy, although I don't have his brilliant imagination. I didn't promote my "Satan City" because it has too much "personal space" connotation.I vented in this space without wanting others to know.Even so, there are still occasional break-ins.这些我无法避免。任何一个开着窗子脱衣服的女孩不该责怪窗外偶然经过的路人，这我理解。 很快我也拥有了一批数量相当可观的“朋友”。我不知道他们的名字、性别和家庭住址，甚至不能肯定他们究竟是不是实在人，他们可能是哥伦比亚的大毒枭，也可能是某个阿拉伯国家的王储，甚至可能就是睡在我下铺的那个深度近视的小胖子。我和他们很谈得来。我才发现其实我也可能和别人分享一些东西。但是这些可分享的东西实在有限得很。 22岁那年大学毕业，我没有按照父母的意愿继续读研究生，也没有像大多数人一样开始工作赚钱——我家里根本不缺那点钱——我仍旧每天呆在我自己的房间里，继续过着只有电影和网络的日子。 我不知道这样的日子还会持续多久。也许一天，也许一辈子。 [之四]这么多年以来，我一直在努力找寻自己在这个城市中的位置。可是每次都是以失败告终。因为我发现，无论我做出怎么样的努力，这个城市都不会因此而发生改变。我在美国做访问学者那两年，心里是如此的想念这个城市。可是当我回来的时候，发现我的离去并没有让这个城市里的任何一个人有什么伤感。这让我觉得自己的生命其实很卑微——尽管我已经拥有了好多人梦寐以求的东西。 直到今天我仍然认为自己是一个相当幸运的人。 爸爸是个大学教师。他穷尽一生的时间把他的书房里堆满了书。小的时候我最喜欢做的事情就是趁爸爸到学校上课的时候偷偷溜到他的房间里找书看。爸爸是不允许我动他的书的。也许他已经预见到那些书最终会招致祸害。我记得12岁那年我在他的书房里偷看一本文学史教材的时候被他逮到。于是我被罚站，一直站到晚饭时间。尽管被惩罚，我却丝毫没有怨怼之意，相反有一种偷欢后的愉悦。这种异样的快感伴随了我很多年。 没过几年，爸爸就因为那一大屋子书而被送到江西的农场去劳动改造，并且最终死在那里。作为他的妻子的我的母亲独自一个人担负起抚养我的重担。万幸的是我家只有我一个儿子，在那个动荡的年代里至少我还能吃饱。 高考恢复后，我顺利的考上了北京一所著名大学的中文系。那一年是1978年，我18岁。可以说我的青少年时代的大部分时间没有耽误在上山下乡或义务劳动中。这也是我的身体一直比我的那些同学们稍稍好一些的原因。直到我快40岁的时候仍然没有得上腰肌劳损等疾病就是左证。 和我一届的同学中我几乎是年龄最小的，更像是个真正意义上的大学生。和那些比我大几岁十几岁的人们整天厮混在一起使我看上去比同年龄的人稍微老一些。因为父亲的客死他乡和这些同学的耳濡目染，我总是喜欢考虑一些生活中的不为人注意的阴暗面。所以我总爱皱着眉头——那在我的大学阶段形成的习惯伴随了我的一生。不过皱着眉头并不代表我的心情欠佳，而仅仅表示我在思考。 大学毕业后，我顺利的留校任教，像我的父亲一样做了一个大学教师。教西方文学，顺带也在其它语言学校教教英语。这是一个赚不到什么大钱，却受人尊敬的职业，因此无论我在什么场合出现都会受到在场的人们的礼遇。可是不知道为什么，父亲当年的遭遇始终像是个噩梦在我的头脑中萦绕着，挥之不去。 24岁那年，我爱上了我们系领导的女儿。一个文静和清秀的女孩。我对她一见钟情，热烈的追求她，并最终把她娶进门。那段时间我几乎误认为我是这个世界上最幸福的人。 在很多人眼中事实似乎也正是这样。有了这位尊贵的夫人，没多久我就被破格提拔为副教授，并且得到了很多出国进修的机会。一直以来我都认为我这辈子做的最正确的决定就是娶了这位夫人。 不过“隐藏的缺憾使任何看上去完美的东西都带着点让人厌恶的斑点”，这句话是我婚姻生活中感受最深的一点。我不知道是不是所有漂亮的女人都喜欢在性事上刁难他的丈夫。总之我们每一次做爱都像是在例行公事——结婚这么多年来，我几乎没有见过她的裸体是什么样子的，因为她坚持在做爱的时候关灯。而且她拒绝前戏。在这一点上，她更像是中世纪的那些被无数骑士顶礼膜拜的贵妇。而血气方刚的我则不得不成为圣堂下为基督禁欲的苦行僧。 幸运的是，结婚后一年多，我们就有了孩子。是一个很漂亮的男孩子。我觉得这的确是个低概率事件，因为即使是在我们最年轻气盛的时候也不过两周做爱一次。而有了孩子以后，她便可以更加理直气壮的拒绝和我亲热。我甚至怀疑过她在信仰某个邪教。 后来我才知道，她憎恶性爱的直接原因是她的洁癖。因为有一次她曾无意间对我说如果不是为了要孩子，她是绝对不会允许男人的体液进入她的身体的。这种说法让我毛骨悚然。我不知道她是如何处理自己的那些欲望，但因为对洁净的追求而拒绝和丈夫做爱的确是一个很让人费解的事。 于是我的大部分性生活都是自己度过。每当我想的时候，就会一个人躲进厕所，然后在和世界上最风骚的女人风流大做的幻想中自慰。有趣的是，在手淫的时候我的头脑中往往能够产生出许多奇异幻象，并以此为灵感写出了很多东西。我现在明白为什么艾伦？金斯堡为什么有边手淫边写作的习惯了——压抑的人性往往是最强大的灵感来源。 偶尔我也会去找其它女人。比如在外地出差的时候和打电话到宾馆房间里的卖淫女做一两笔小交易，但是大多数时候我不喜欢那样。那使我感觉我的性生活是一件需要购买的奢侈品——这使我相当自卑。 我经常会产生这样的幻想：一个月光明朗的春夜，我和一个完完全全属于我自己的女人静静的在我们自己的家里，房间的窗子开着，窗子上挂着银白色的薄纱般的窗帘，窗外的春风徐徐的吹进来，抚摩着我们的肌肤。她穿着性感的睡衣，似笑非笑的用眼神挑逗我，柔弱无骨的手指在我的胸前有意无意的划过……我不知道是否这个并不过分的希冀什么时候能够实现。希望是在我的性能力消失殆尽之前。 于是莫名其妙之中，我的大半生就伴随着对不同类型的女人的幻想中过去了。我终于明白上帝对于任何一个人来说都是公平的。他在每一个人身上都设置了一个平衡的支点。一个事业顺利、生活优裕的男人不该苛求自己拥有世界上最完美的性生活。平心而论，我是爱自己的妻子的。可是每次面对她的时候我总感觉自己不过是她另一副灵魂的一个傀儡躯壳。我所拥有的一切都是她给我的，而我却无法用男性的最后一种力量去征服她。也正因为如此，她的身体在我们结婚10几年后仍然对我有着莫大的吸引力。 我甚至想过，如果可以的话，我甚至可以放弃我所拥有的一切，换取一个也许并不漂亮，但是却可以让我感觉自己是个名副其实的男人的女人。 40岁那年，我的妈妈去世。那天我嚎啕大哭了一场。妈妈为我付出了她的一生。虽然我使她拥有了一个安逸而舒适的晚年，可是她的死仍然让我背负着沉重的愧疚。我哭了整整一天，别人都说我是个孝子，只有我自己知道我哭得是什么。不仅仅是为了亲人的去世，也是为了我活过的这40年。 我美丽的妻子一直陪在我身边，默默的。她不停的说她理解我的心情。 她什么都不知道。 母亲的死让我觉得这个世界上已经没有什么需要我维系的了。 有的时候我会突然想离家出走，到另一个完全陌生的城市去。在哪里隐姓埋名，重新找一个愿意和我上床的女人，重新组建一个家庭。当然这种想法只不过是一种幻想罢了。尽管我和我的妻子没有性生活，但是这不妨碍我们做一对恩爱夫妻。何况还有孩子。 我不知道中国总共有多少男人的生活和我一样。他们为了孩子，为了手中拥有的一切可以让人羡慕的东西而忍受苦行僧的生活，放弃人世间最大的快乐。我想，如果给他们一个重新选择的机会，他们会慎重得多吧。就像我一样。