Towering buildings occupy half the sky. There is prosperity in the gap. A vivid mixture of salt, paper and desire.
In the corner, a simple tricycle with the words "Authentic Lingbao China Steamed Bun" is empty, and a middle-aged woman sitting on a bench is engrossed in playing with her mobile phone.
One evening more than twenty years ago, I passed by. At that time, the dim lights in the west had just gone out and there were no pedestrians on the road. There are no tall buildings. The clatter of pots and pans and the smell of vegetable rice, through the courtyard wall, chased the dust in the street. The city is just around the corner. Bicycles scattered under the dim street lamp brought a lively atmosphere. The whole town dozed off.
Do everything possible to find the 40-year-old "old fat meatball soup", which is easy to solve with the demolition, reconstruction and expansion. In the middle of the bright pedestrian street, it still maintains its former appearance. A long table placed at random, porcelain bowls piled on the chopping board at random. In front of the window, meatballs and mutton offal rolled in two cauldrons. The fat grandson "Gener" greets the guests skillfully. A bowl of meatball soup, a dozen meatballs, and an oversized sesame seed cake, seven dollars. Send a message to a friend: "Finished: it still smells like that, except for poor hygiene, there is nothing wrong with it!"
The once deserted Guandi Temple was crowded with people. Cars and bicycles are often jammed into unmanageable bumps. The food on the tricycle selling all kinds of snacks on the street has to withstand the double test of dust and noise. Outside the facade stood an anxious shopping guide. The floor of the pile of bicycle houses at the door is dotted with colorful waste.
There are many men and women in new clothes, and their young faces show a sense of fatigue, as if they were deliberately matching this emerging city.
After returning home, I saw that the outer wall of the community was covered with a large slogan to carry out the decisive battle of "Chuangwei". The wind blew, and I quickened my pace.
(2)
The first frost showed his weight. It has become a symbol of a small town. Grass is hard to find, only the appearance of people is left.
The sun casts mottled shadows in a pale and powerless way. Like Nietzsche's loneliness, unspeakable strangeness. Nietzsche said that his words were addressed to people two hundred years later. He cried bitterly with the horse whipped by his master, and then he went crazy. We don't need sympathy. We don't deserve his lightning and dazzling light.
Go along the widened street, walk through familiar and unfamiliar scenes, turn into the old barber shop for many years, and try to cover up the years with black with peculiar smell. The boy I met last year welcomed me warmly. Sit down and get dressed. The mirror smells of rust. Boys talk to me while applying thick hair dye to my head.
"I'm getting married."
"You? ! You are only eighteen years old! "
"Well, the old man is in a hurry."
The "old man" in the boy's mouth may be his 1977 father.
The boy who washed my hair told me that the boy's girlfriend was six years older than him. "The two are free to fall in love and have been together for almost a year."
There were mixed feelings at that time. What kind of emotions should I look at? I can hold a jigsaw puzzle engraved with the imprint of the times, or I can have inertia regrets and sighs endowed by knowledge. For each other, who is qualified to control their private happiness, and who can really control it? It seems that no one deserves it, and no one can.
Flaubert said: "If people spend some time, such as studying the matter in physics and dealing with the human soul selflessly, we will definitely take a step forward." . Putting yourself outside yourself is the only way for human beings. "This applies not only to Nietzsche, the immortal God, but also to all sentient beings.
Our eyes affect too many emotions. Our role in this world is much smaller than we thought. However, we often regard the ideas in our minds as the center of the universe. As a result, it accumulated into a torment that never gave up, and ran to the end with suffering.
(3)
Finally, I summed up an endless experience from repeated lessons: do what comes to mind. One cannot step into the same river twice. This simple dialectics also applies to the whole process of life.
Busy day. Watching the scenery with your baby in your arms, eating leisurely, sleeping with the sun on your pillow, wasting time in constant triviality. Although everything is very detailed, I seem to remember every detail. These details are enough to support the life of sunrise and sunset.
But in addition, life also shows its other side: the doctrine of the mean, the doctrine of the mean, responsibility and social role. It is in this respect that I show selective amnesia, which is not based on will or priority. I remember trivial things, but it is easy to forget the distinctive signs related to another dimension, thus causing such irreparable losses.
Sherlock Holmes said: The human brain is like a small attic, and some furniture should be put into it selectively. This sentence sounds unreasonable, but it is a wise saying. Memory is a gift, and forgetting is an ability. Compared with remembering, people learn to forget all their lives.
People often tell forgetful friends that you think too much. In fact, maybe he just lacks the ability to forget. He always tries to impress the convergence, surging, eruption and extinction of a trickle in his mind, but he doesn't know that the space in the attic can only accommodate huge waves.
Cherish the opportunities that have happened and are happening, do what you have to do now, and then learn to forget. In this way, maybe I can save my memory that faded with the passage of youth.
(4)
Facing the misty fog, I suddenly remembered the dusty kindle. Just take it out, with the meaning of ridicule, while walking aimlessly, while watching slowly.
In this way, we crossed the river flowing to Beijing from the South-to-North Water Diversion Project, bypassed the demolition site, visited the statue of the heroine * * * in The Book of Songs White Boat, and paid tribute to the scarred Shanji Tower of Tianwang Temple.
In this confusion of thoughts, I actually finished reading a novel called A Simple Heart intermittently. When I read the last chapter, I was walking on a noisy pedestrian street. A sudden sympathy made me not ready to leave this bustling crowd.
Flaubert has unparalleled exquisiteness and simplicity. In this short story, he created a female image of humble origin, love, forbearance, faithfulness, diligence and selflessness. The hero Quan Fu first fell in love with a man, then the children of her housewife, then a nephew, then an old man who was well taken care of, and finally her parrot. She gave all her love except herself. Her image often reminds people of many mothers who have dedicated themselves without themselves. In fact, her life is like a mother's ignorance of her children and her life without regret for death.
Strictly speaking, a simple heart is a dull story. But through Flaubert's skillful hands, it is endowed with a simple and moving power. This power can pry open the tightly wrapped shell of readers, make people temporarily abandon the hardness of years of experience, and thus touch the softest soul. This is very valuable today.
Ugliness also has moral density. The problem is that if a society tends to show its loftiness to the humble, it will really become a problem. Fortunately, there is light ahead.
(5)
Walking south along the road, the sun shines from the still lush tree-lined room, and the weather is so warm that people doubt rationality.
I walked on this leafy sidewalk and enjoyed the gifts brought by the autumn tail. Continuous buildings are stacked like mountains, showing a crowded prosperity.
I walked from the upper floor to the lower floor, followed by villas, and at the end of the road was a row of facade houses.
Two men stood at the corner, their dark faces wrinkled into stiff lines, and the dust at the ends of their hair was like a dying grassland. They are smoking. In the bright sunshine, the smoke is very cold. "It will be ten years after 80, hey!" The tall man vomited a mouthful of smoke and said. The thick smoke swirled in the air and finally disappeared.
I didn't pause, but inadvertently picked up a trace of desolation. Peach and plum spring breeze, a glass of wine, ten years of night rain. Time is as fragile as delicate flowers. Twenty years ago, it was deserted here, but now it is too busy to find loneliness. The top of the villa is overcrowded, and several facades are happy and worried. Time has fixed some people in the happy village, and it has also made some people struggle.
I pressed the play button, and Chen Fei's deep voice came from the earphone: "You are harvesting, and I am harvesting. Beauty is better than harvest, there are raindrops. " As the music flows, I seem to see time spinning at a high speed like a top, exquisite and ruthless.
The autumn wind has just started and winter is coming again. Bless those two strangers who meet by chance. Bless me, too.
(6)
While the clear autumn is still far away, let's meet for dinner at a place called Zhuyuan at the foot of Guanshan Mountain. A few side dishes, a glass of sake, bamboo shadows on a sunny day, and Haruka, the breeze, clearly hide dreams and attempts to get drunk.
Nietzsche compared dreams and drunkenness to the presentation of phenomena and will in the secular world. I moved here rashly to decorate my rude behavior and expression.
The deepest inner essence of human beings, as Lao Tzu said, is "Tao", "as deep as the ancestor of all things" and "looking to Xi, it seems to be there or there". It is hidden under the complicated appearance, and there is no trace to be found. Congratulations. Only in the state of "drunkenness" can we break away from the shackles of form and show the desire of naked children. His madness and confusion dragged him into chaos. He abandoned himself and gradually became simple and comfortable. In the end, everything is one.
Of course, a noble soul cannot tolerate endless depravity. Then, the dream came and injected hope and strength into his soft body. He staggered to his feet, admired the yellow flowers and bamboos in his eyes, and then ate the food enthusiastically, drank the wine gracefully and thought about the distance and the future.
Dreams and drunkenness are intertwined, like an old couple who have quarreled all their lives, and no one can live without anyone. They live together. The world is colorful because of it.
So, after dinner, they dispersed. We drove for dozens of miles, enjoying colorful layers of forests on dusty and extremely bumpy dirt roads, and overlooking the drifting mountains on the dry riverbed. After returning to the city, I dragged my tired legs and walked back and forth five times in a street, just to find the food I had been longing for for for a long time.
This colorful everything!
When I got home, I suddenly thought of two poems by Haizi: Like all poets who take dreams as horses/Finally, I was carried into the immortal sun by the gods at dusk. I guess Haizi must have met Nietzsche at some sacred moment. He found the sun that made him crazy.
Before I lay down, I dug out this song "Dreams Like Horses" and read it word by word.
(7)
The wall of the old city collapsed on the side of the road like a baked sweet potato.
The yellow-green shrub is its skin stained with slag, the cave carved by birds is the poison that erodes it, and the broken wall is the masterpiece of the farmer who reclaimed the land.
It opened its steaming mouth and sucked the tail gas of the speeding car with its tongue.
I walked from the turbidity to it.
I looked, and it was silent. I touched it, very simple and ignorant.
I walk and walk, close and close.
I seem to look at my elders. I have never been so meticulous. Her deep pain numbed me for years. I forgot that her bones will wear away, her muscles will relax and her body will deform. Her forbearance gave me the illusion that my youth will last for three thousand years.
My eyes look inward and my body embraces the distance. I wandered the Jianghu, but I forgot the most selfless one who gave everything.
Time is not bad, but the years pass faster and faster. Occasionally, it feels like years have passed. I hate the beautiful scenery of the layman Liu Yong, and I am impressed by the vain sadness of the poet Liu Yong. What I want to do hard is not to eliminate sighs and seize incomparable happiness.
People began to give limited care. I hope it won't suffer any more, and she won't be more and more vicissitudes.
Awakening touches pain. Even at the cost, it's worth it.