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左耳失聪

人生是一场幻觉,烟花绽放了,我们离开了.....
March 13

我不说我爱你:杜撰的爱情

【杜撰的爱情】
  
  我一直以为爱情,只是一场关于文字的杜撰。
  
  而我渴望遇见一场不离不弃的爱情。于是,我一直用笔在纸上刻画那个女主角的容颜,费尽心机策划一场邂逅相爱的美丽。我奢望,再贫瘠的土地,只要有华丽的文字便可以绽开爱情绚烂的花朵。或许我不应该奢望,不能再奢望什么,有了文字,有了小说,我的生活已经足够奢侈了。无论发生了什么事,我都可以把它当作小说来写。我可以用我的文字去杜撰爱情,无论发生了什么事,我都可以把它们当作小说来杜撰。
  
  杜撰的爱情,我用文字来勾勒自己爱情的斑斓,也许它无法经得起现实的考验。我灵性的手指在暧昧中不停地咳嗽,那些杜撰的爱,越想隐匿,却欲盖弥彰。
  
  也许我一直变换笔下的名字,杜撰的爱情在我的文字中,而我只是一如既往地杜撰,让我忘记了我爱你,忘记了我们之间的关系。爱情小说笔下的主角不知道被谁悄悄地偷换。
  
  如果爱情真的可以杜撰,我想我只是爱上了杜撰的爱情,抑或被思念沉沦了的欲念。
  
  若有来世,我们爱情会重来
  
  
  【遇见】
  
  谁在地铁口等待?谁在十字路口徘徊?如果我一再犹豫不前,是不是会不再遇见你,遇见一段爱的开场白。
  
  夜是否是太漫长了,我一直小心翼翼,不敢走的太远,害怕在第二天没有办法如期遇见你。却没有想到你一直裹着被子躲在青春的坟墓里。像一只冬眠的尤物,让我想起阿思丽的蛇,却为何看不见伊甸园的诱惑?
  
  我穿越城市夜晚寂寞的大街,却依然走不出你的视线。我想带你去看迎春花,我们可以正大光明的遇见一场春天的盛宴。可是还没有到达春天的目的地,花已经谢了。我如此精打细算却没有办法在一次错误的时间遇见一场正确的约会。
  
  亲爱的,不要躲在坟墓里冬眠,否则,即使我在雪地将冬季望穿。也无法企及你温暖的面庞。我的泪水,只能在冻土之外策划一场又一场徒劳的遇见。我只希望春天可以再近一点,再近一点。我可以听见你皮肤的呼吸。让我知道我的思念近了,便可以打开我的诗集继续抒情,不让你在初醒的清晨受伤。
  
  
  【爱情,在路上】
  
  爱情,在路上。我一个人孤独地走向地平线。没有你陪伴的日子,我总是一个人来一个人去,还有思念,还有信笺,假装我已经失明,天空开始暗了下来,把思念都压弯了。
  
  想忘记有你的,没有你的记忆。
  
  在爱情的路上,像风一样自由,自作主张,肆意地行走,停留。
  
  每天在太阳划过窗台,影子绕过思念之后醒来。或者放弃,或者追寻,既然爱情,在路上。我已经不再这么忧伤。就这么一直走下去,或者一无所获,或者永远不会回来。
  
  爱情在渐渐地靠近,我可以听见它的呼吸。
  
  周围人的步子都很快,都在追赶爱情的码头,踏上各自的船舶。如果爱情要来,我们谁也挡不住,就如同海上的飓风一样,如果我们恰好躺在一条船上。如果离开的岸越来越远,照亮爱情的灯塔也开始越来越昏黄。那么亲爱的,不要担心,一切都只是片刻的黑暗,。我们遇见一阵风,在海湾里飘,迷失了自我的前行。如果风可以再大一些,他们都会四散开去,只有我们的爱情,哗啦啦地倒下来。
  
  
  【我们的幸福时光】
  
  我们曾经走在路上,忘记了起点和终点,就像我们忘掉忧伤那样顺理成章。梦是夜的华章,当我拉开黎明的窗帘,看见爱情的曙光和思念的影子,一起抵达我温暖的心房。
  
  当我遇见花开的斑斓,叶落的寂寥,那些幸福的时光,也如同年轮一样,在一棵树是缠绕。亲爱的,你是否可以给我一把刀子或者一根笔,让我在年轮之上铭刻我们的幸福时光。或者,在一张白纸上写下,我们铭刻记忆的誓言。
  
  当樱花簌簌地下落,凤凰花落在我们渐渐成熟的肩膀。如果夜晚,我们可以趁着突如其来的流星许一个愿望。如果冬天,我们可以在雪地上丈量彼此相恋的影子,我们可以在雪上,用白色描绘心的模样。我们可以手牵手在铁轨上,沿着幸福时光逆流而上,寻找我们快乐的源泉。
  
  这样的日子是不是很短暂。无所谓,只要那样的幸福时光足够漫长。我在云朵之上看见我们爱情的希望,还有哪飘落的羽毛轻轻滑落你的面庞。那些时光那么快乐,我的忧伤如此短暂。如果它们可以像浮萍一样漂走。只剩下我们的幸福时光沿着思念逆流而上。
January 06

The power of silence

What did you not say yesterday? Were there things you wish you had said but held back? Did you corral certain words, certain sentences, and hold them for another opportunity? Were some thoughts pushed below the surface, allowed to be changed with time, perhaps to be forgotten forever? How many “I love you’s” went unsaid that would have healed an aching heart? As with sleep, you cannot store them and build a reserve to tap into at a later date. Their power, their balming effect, quickly dissipates with disuse. They work only in the moment that they were intended. Left idle, their potential is gone, the object of their delivery untouched by kindness, by tenderness.

“I love you.” It is so simple to say. Three words. There are many other opportunities to say them, but none more important and possessing more potential than now. Words can have the opposite effect if left unsaid, almost as if they were spoken as opposites. Silence can equal the opposite. “I love you” unsaid can become “I don’t love you” out loud. Your most tender and endearing thoughts, if not allowed to fly free from the prison of your mind, may silently tell someone that you don’t care. How many times has your silence told your partner or child that you didn’t love them? How often has an unsaid word created the opposite effect? Think of all the lives that would have been changed had armies of sentences been allowed to roam free. Those who go through life cloaked in spoken endearments, wrapped and comforted in the voiced love of others, are truly blessed. The power of the spoken word is mighty. The power of silence can be mightier still.

Countless millions of words have been written and spoken since the beginning of human history. A total of all the words in all the libraries of the world, past and present, and every word of every conversation, idle chatter, lecture, broadcast, and speech in history would be dwarfed by the vast legions of words left unsaid, those rendered impotent by silence. Not that it is a good thing to instantly speak every thought that comes to mind: chaos would ensue. We have to be selective of our words and deliver them into the pattern of conversation where appropriate; however, it is our mental editing that isolates certain words and thoughts as unspeakable, and sentences them to die (pun intended).

Words can change the world. They can incite, torture, kill, comfort, heal, encourage, humiliate, anger, inspire, sadden, give joy, make one laugh, and they can forever change one’s life. There are many kinds of words: “In other words,” four-letter-words, words that are read, words to make you blue; there is the spoken word, the written word, the forgotten word; we put words in someone’s mouth, and we don’t have the words to express.... Words, words, everywhere, and not a thought to speak. And the unsaid words—oh, how they could have changed the course of history! Would they have altered the destructive lives of John Wilkes Booth, Adolph Hitler, Lee Harvey Oswald, Jeffrey Daumer, or the Son of Sam? Would the unspoken “I love you’s” have given them a new lease on life had those three words been bestowed upon them?

The power of words and their silent cousins: “What did you say?” “Nothing.” Think of the consequences had that “nothing” actually been, “I was wrong. I’m sorry. I apologize and want to make it up to you.” Instead, a relationship was probably hurt forever, or even eventually terminated. “Ouch, that hurts,” if left unsaid, can become one of many familiar wedges in a marriage, or any relationship. Not expressed, it can fester inside, becoming worse and much larger over time than it originally was. It also will accumulate other unsaid “ouches,” and grow to become a very powerful “I hate your guts.” It can eat at one’s insides if not voiced. Actually, its release will help the relationship; its incarceration will destroy.

Don’t withhold. Let the hostages go. Release the words while they still hold their meaning. Release them before they change in silence. The loneliest place in the world, more desolate and forbidding than the blackest cell of any prison, is a silent marriage/partnership. All the city lights from Manhattan to Bangkok could probably be powered by the turbulent energy of the silent, but unrelenting, dialogues churning in the minds of an unhappy couple. And it would be possible, as well, to freeze solid the oceans of the world by the dynamics between the two.

Allow your thoughts to be heard. You are the most powerful person on earth. You alone possess the ability to change your world, make friends, and influence people. You have the key. Use your words for good. They can help you. Don’t withhold them, for in their muted state they can turn on you. Life is a fine balance of releasing the right words in the right order at the right time, and deciding which words are truly better left unsaid.

December 12

十一月的萧邦

是风 总找不着边际
忘乎所以
无源无尽地流泻
婉若思绪
 
是雨 总明白自己的终点
顺其自然
垂直而下地降落
落到了终点
 
我的左手温暖,右手开始冰凉
 
玻璃窗外
雪是横的
风是竖的
画上无数个十字架
为自己祷告
不需仰望

玻璃窗下
星星点点的灯光
绽放如花
堕落的目光
拒绝神的启示
婉若思绪
到达了终点
December 02

呓语

     有些话,没有说。不是来不及,而是不忍。
  就像有的人,哪怕不提及,只要一想到,就会心存感激和疼惜。

  来时的路,回望的时候,总带着种种不能释怀的遗憾。
  就如同生活,越想得到的,越是怕失去的,最终还是不能把握。

  言不由衷,不是一个名词,而是动词,甚至让人失去辩解的力量。
  如果你可以轻易看透一个人语言背后的东西,那么最先祼呈的不是他,而是自己。

  爱情从来就不是单纯的爱与被爱,当它在你眼睛里生长时,你会发现它的根须早已和你心上的血肉连在一起。
  快乐和痛苦是它孪生的姊妹,有时候你根本无法区分,哪一个离你的心,更近。

   谎言和猜度,都是能带来伤害的利器。我们无处闪躲时,会发现自欺其人的美丽。将头埋进沙丘的驼鸟和迎风而立的白桦,一个逃避一个面对,但不到最后,没有人知道哪种方式更好。  
  也没有哪种方式,可以最完美的自保或求全,更多的时候我们只能不由自主地选择最为贴近性格的方式。

  深夜不能安眠的人,不一定就是因为寂寞,更多的时候是因为挂牵和徘徊太多。
  寂寞也不是因为没有人陪,而是那一个心怀意盼的人,不在。

  都说距离可以成全美,而距离是人造出来的。美,在于适时,在于适地,也在于人心。和距离没有直接关系。
  都说残缺的是最完美的,比如维纳斯的断臂,比如那些欲语还休的断章。不是残缺成全了完美,而是残缺成全了想象。

  青春年华的逝去,总让人有一些忧伤和无助。但当你看到融濡以沫的老人,相搀相扶蹒跚地走过,你就会有突然变老的冲动。
  如果说执子之手,与子携老的场景是我心隐隐盼望的,那么眼角眉稍的皱纹,便是我甘心笑出来的。

  离别的疼,会被泪水稀释。只有在晾晒的时候,我们才会看到伤口从未愈合,而流血,日复一日。
  人脑不是电脑,总会忘记许多我们本想牢记的事情,那些没有忘记的,不是因为记性好,而是应该归功于我们对回忆和幻想的交叉运用。
 
 
                     _________12月2日  献给所有爱我的和我爱的人
November 19

黑猫

     我趴在屋顶弓起背打哈欠,我喜欢这座长满青苔的瓦片的房子,大片大片藤蔓植物爬满整个墙壁,空气中有一种发霉的潮湿。我的主人吧朵啦在屋子里倒腾着她的药水,太阳要和我捉迷藏,悄悄地躲了起来,我却没兴趣找它,我梳理着毛发,侧着耳朵倾听墙角小妖们一遍遍地唱着无聊的歌:“我们要疯掉,我们要逃跑。”吵醒了屋顶上的跳蚤,跳啊跳地跑远了。
  吧朵啦尖着嗓子叫我:“咕噜咕噜,死哪里去了?”忘了介绍,我的主人吧朵啦是个胖胖的女巫,很凶,但心眼不坏,我是她的猫,她叫我咕噜咕噜,每次她这样叫我,我都会想起她药罐子里冒出的声音。
  我一溜烟跑回屋子,满屋子药水味,我使劲皱皱鼻子,吧朵啦穿着斗篷,戴着尖尖的帽子拿着把大勺舀那些黑糊糊的药水。我从她手中接过水晶勺,她转身到水晶球前,赤脚踩在青石板上,脚裸上的铃铛叮当做响。她从水晶球里看那个胖胖的花匠,吧朵啦喜欢他,我知道,她看他的眼神里跳跃着花火。
  那是个很可爱的花匠,我偷偷去看过他,他的大花园里种着很多郁金香,每个花蕊里都有一个可爱的孩子,小小的,嘟着嘴巴蜷缩着小翅膀睡觉。风吹过的时候,郁金香上的小铃铛就叮当做响,花匠挽起裤脚干活,嘴里唱着我听不懂的歌,我想吧朵啦应该能听懂吧,每次听到他唱歌,她就微笑,再微笑,我喜欢看吧朵啦这样的笑,很温柔地拍着我脑袋:“咕噜咕噜乖”,我就对着她使劲地摇尾巴,扑棱扑棱地扫起满地灰尘。
  倒腾完药水我就没事了,吧朵啦看她的魔法书,我偷偷溜出去,骑上她发亮黄铜脚架的扫帚,四处游玩。我喜欢夜,我穿梭在云层里听着风声呼啸着从耳边穿过,星星在头顶发光,我甚至能听到她们窃窃私语的声音。猫头鹰站在树杈上发呆,伸着懒腰向我打招呼,眼睛亮晶晶的。我喜欢一切发光的东西,头顶的星星,身旁的猫头鹰的眼睛,还有脚底下闪烁着的霓虹灯。
  我停靠在一个孩子的窗前,我一直很喜欢他的小房间,月光从窗户里照在他满屋子的玩具上,打出斑驳影子,那孩子在玩具堆里香甜地睡着。他的脸在月光下显得很恬静,我拿起小吸管对他吹泡泡,七彩的泡泡一点点在他梦里萦绕,我莫名地想起大海深处的矢车菊花和花萼里射出的亮光。
  我很喜欢一个小女孩,她有着漂亮的大眼睛,眨啊眨地,总让我想起那只猫头鹰。这个孩子坐在书桌前,睁大迷茫的眼睛,窗棂上透着的一点点昏暗的月光轻轻洒在她身上。慢慢地,她趴在桌子上睡着了,她又开始做那个梦,梦里一个看不清面目的长发女人舞动着大大的手,使劲朝她脸上煽去,她像雕塑一样直直地倒在地上,那女人又用尖尖的皮鞋使劲朝她身上踢,女人长长的头发肆意地在发霉的空气里摆动着,孩子就随着她踢的节奏在地上皮球一样来回滚动着,辫子凌乱地在肩膀上散落一团,然后女人走了,留下了满屋子的狼籍,满屋子的血腥。
  一片乌云遮住了月亮,屋子一瞬间暗了起来,孩子醒了,她很恐慌,抬起头急切地寻找着什么,嘴里喃喃地叫着“疼”,门嘎吱一声响,一个女人端着牛奶走了进来:“乖,还没写好作业?”女孩惊恐地点点头,俯下身子继续写。
  我默默地离开,我掌握不了扫帚的速度,我在扫帚上拼命地翻跟头,这时我看到一个女孩穿着红舞鞋在舞会上跳舞,她要向右转的时候,鞋子却向左边跳。当她想要向上走的时候,鞋子却要向下跳,要走下楼梯,一直走到街上,走出城门。她舞着,而且不得不舞,一直舞到黑森林里去。一个很小的姑娘睡在一个光得发亮的漂亮胡桃壳睡床上,她的垫子是蓝色紫罗兰的花瓣,她的被子是玫瑰的花瓣。五个人鱼手拉手在海洋里歌唱,他们看着美丽的人鱼公主化成冰冷的泡沫,深蓝色的花朵火焰一样地绽放,海底的细沙闪烁着耀眼的蓝光。
  我骑着扫帚在天上晃悠,我唱我自己编的歌,有只黑猫叫咕噜咕噜,他喜欢唱歌喜欢笑,喜欢看小孩子睡觉,喜欢深蓝的海水深蓝的天。
  我唱歌的时候听到了小妖们和着我的节拍跳起了舞,墙角里蜘蛛在网上弹跳,地窖里蝙蝠大声地争吵。我听到吧朵啦的声音从远处传来,她说咕噜咕噜你这只死猫又跑哪里去了?我大声说我我有很多朋友我和他们在一起唱歌我在跳舞我在大声地笑。好多小妖趴上来咬我耳朵,他们说,咕噜咕噜你是个骗子,你没有很多朋友你独自唱歌跳舞你知不知道你笑得很难看像是在哭。
  我回到了我那长满藤蔓的潮湿的小屋,吧朵啦依旧在捣鼓她的药水,猫头鹰停留在落满灰尘的魔法书架上,她的头发一点点地变长,纠结着缠绕。房间里的锥形瓶里装着各种颜色的药水,屋子中间有个铁锅,在一团蓝色的火焰下安静的燃烧,锅内的液体“咕噜咕噜”地冒着泡泡……
 
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