听/看/写

没有理由一直重复听同一首歌。


毕竟路还是要走，视线还是要往前放。


K想。


这是他坐在17寸宽的电脑荧幕前观看Roman Polanski最新的影片：The Ghost Writer的结尾时弹出来的感想。


不得不把漫画里对话框泡泡放入这里吧。


影片里影子作家在把一张写有前首相夫人秘密的纸条递给本人后，远远cheers了前首相夫人，抱起600多页的草稿步出酒店。


然后他就被撞了，早已等候多时的汽车看到他后加速。


观众听见汽车离去，听见汽车撞人。


草稿飞满地。


结尾。


（警察：这次真严重...)


K渺茫。事情像流沙从沙漏的一端缓缓地漏到另一端，但却无力把它倒转过来。


难道沙漏尽后，等待K的是永无句点的肃静？


K无法打开抽屉翻开排列整齐的机密文件然后一一打开阅读，培养如同偷看裸体女人浴澡的雅兴。


更不是两人共懒在同一个浴缸里,泡泡浸到肩膀上，两人面对面躺着，双脚各交叉在对方的颈，时而抚摸，时而吹泡泡。


浪漫是培养的，是慢慢生出来的。


人的思想还真简单。有时。


只要像做数学方程式一样一个步骤一个步骤慢慢地嗅，通常会得到自己期望的结果。


通常。


K擦了擦油光光的脸孔，随手关闭了日本AV女优网站。质量越来越差了，K笑，可能无聊的点子已经被前辈用完了吧。


时间是凌晨3点59分。


太阳公公，等下见。


K的滑鼠图标停留在Shutdown的Button。


早安。
Cheers darlin'，影子作家说。

What Happen To The Rational Part Of My Brain

I am staring intensely at this beautiful scenery with busted full of serenity and tenderness.


The subject I am looking at is a mother cat breastfeeding her little kitten,both of them lazing on the abandoned sofa, ground floor of my dorm, 5 minutes to strike 7pm, sunlight gasping faintly with tiredness of a work-loaded day.


The kitten chew and bit his mother's tits and trying to suck fluid out of her mother's breast.


Furs smoothly combed to 1 side,the kitten inherited brownish tiger stripes from his mother.


I do wonder when the subject grow 2 hands and walk with backbone upright and with clothes on, what's the reaction from the public.


I squat down and duckwalk towards them,slowly, not to interrupt the calmness which is floating freely in the atmosphere.


The mother cat seems to enjoy the breastsucking.


She close her eyes and lay down on her front legs, while the kitten rolls as he drink and successfully hold his mother's tits with his tiny paws.


Almost the same response from a human baby.


His almond eyes reflects his hunger and dependence on her mother kindness.


Night is the time to herd the sheep back,
I assumed.

3 Poems On Roses

One Perfect Rose by Dorothy Parker

A single flow'r he sent me, since we met. All tenderly his messenger he chose; Deep-hearted, pure, with scented dew still wet One perfect rose. I knew the language of the floweret; 'My fragile leaves,' it said, 'his heart enclose.' Love long has taken for his amulet One perfect rose. Why is it no one ever sent me yet One perfect limousine, do you suppose? Ah no, it's always just my luck to get One perfect rose. The Sick Rose by William Blake O Rose, thou art sick! The invisible worm That flies in the night, In the howling storm, Has found out thy bed Of crimson joy: And his dark secret love Does thy life destroy? The Rose Family by Robert Frost The rose is a rose, And was always a rose. But the theory now goes That the apple's a rose, And the pear is, and so's The plum, I suppose. The dear only knows What will next prove a rose. You, of course, are a rose - But were always a rose.