午后

午后，一杯热咖啡，些许奶沫，不加糖。苦苦的，并不宜口，没有一丝甜味。只是喜欢从透明玻璃杯里缓缓升腾的咖啡香，弥漫整个办公室，和空中漂浮的音乐萦绕纠缠，洒下一张安逸颓唐的网。

电脑旁的仙人球，愈长愈旺的架势。短短的根茎浸在半满的椭圆透明玻璃瓶里，瓶底彩色玻璃珠，在水下独自斑斓。小小的黄刺遍布全身，不经意间，刺破了我的手指，有血珠渗出，在我感觉到疼痛之前，一下子染红了手指尖，微怔。

办公桌对面的墙上，两支蠢蠢的星巴克布艺香蕉依旧饱满鲜艳，没有保质期，因其没有生命。假的东西总是看起来很美，虽然上面会沾满灰尘。犹豫是否该把它们拿下来，时至今日，黄灿灿地，是个刺眼的讽刺。

一切都很平静，一切都安好，熟悉而陌生，礼貌而客套，赫然横亘的沟壑，无法逾越的城池。如此的遥远，远到让我不禁怀疑，曾经有过的近在咫尺。

睡眠依旧，只，夜夜有梦。不记得时间，地点，内容。但清楚地知道，梦里漂浮的，有同样的一张脸孔，还有同样的浓浓悲凉，化不开，逃不掉，幻成梦魇，以不同的形式，一次次攻击，直到要我把扎紧的口袋，颓然松开，放它出来。

这样的安静，无法习惯，要安心，要释然，真的很辛苦。

微笑

明白了这许多种种，百转千回，所有的过往和心绪，都只是一个人的事。
这厢哀叹风雨萧条苦情愁，那厢只道天高气爽好个秋。
除了微笑，别无选择。

胆小鬼

最近买来了安妮宝贝的书来读，朋友劝我不要看，因为她的书里充满了绝望，似噬人的泥淖，会让人越陷越深，连挣扎的力气都失去。我笑了，处在绝望中的人，看看这个世界还有同类，甚至更甚，终究是一件能够自我安慰的事。

她的文字，似一颗颗诡异的灰尘，愈在阳光下，愈清晰刺眼，让胆小的人不敢呼吸。
她笔下的女子，看似无情而遗世，但在冷峻的“我爱你，与你无关”的背后，是最深最深的自卑，是最低最低的花开无声。

不敢与自己赌一个明天，不敢等待让事实去证明结果，所以，在一开始就以逃离的姿态，去拒绝任何期待。

口口声声说与你无关的女子，随时准备好独自承担的女子，其实都是胆小鬼。

失去的东西

他喜欢让她坐在他的膝头，亲她的脸颊。她总是找各种借口躲开，不喜欢这因她逐渐长大而觉不适宜的动作，更不喜欢他的胡渣和口里的烟草味道。当他不再坚持，她便会觉松一口气，躲过一劫。
后来她碰到了其他的男人，年轻的，年长的，只是，她不知道为什么，最喜欢做的事情，竟然是坐在他们膝头，抱着长满或浓密或柔软头发的温暖的头，用脸摩挲他们的胡渣，数他们心跳的频率。

他走的那天她和他吵了一架，并赌气离开。那个寒冷冬天的午夜时分，天边偶尔传来喜庆的节日烟花，她从温暖被窝任人牵着赶到医院，他已经不再睁眼看她。她没有如他人期望般大声哭泣，甚至都没有走到搁着他冰冷身体的白色床边，只是不肯走出蜷缩的那个远远的冰冷角落，嘴微张着，目光投向他的方向，脑中有狂风呼啸，耳朵轰鸣，但没有眼泪。

她发现可能从那一天起，她就得了流泪障碍症。就像今晚，独自在初冬萧瑟晚风中回家的路上，哭泣的酸楚又缠上了她的胸腔，微微张开嘴巴，却只能大口大口地呼吸，身体因流不出眼泪而悲哀地战栗。

从地铁出来她没有直接回家，而是抱着刚买来的安妮宝贝拐进了一家装帧体面的按摩养生店。
常去的一家，她从来不会固定选择自己的按摩师，只是顺从地接受别人的安排，无论是好是坏都是一种体验。
是一个年轻的男子，脸上还有清涩的神态。隔着衣服，他的手在她的身体上粗暴而礼貌地揉搓游离，很疼，她趴着，一声不吭。这样的疼痛和陌生的触摸让她感到了真实的存在。

依旧习惯性地拿出手机，按任意键后它就会发出微弱的光芒，蓝盈盈的屏幕。
一种习惯，如一颗牙齿，舍弃就意味着疼痛，且，无论怎样地试图忘却，都有一个突兀的洞在那里不时提醒你它曾经的饱满。
这款索爱的手机已在她身边三年，喜欢它的名字，索爱，只是，向谁而索，若人已离开？
或许早已该丢弃，但她包里靠外的那个位置，她无法想象用另一个陌生的金属机器去填满。手机里已经没有了短信，也没有了照片，按钮上的字母也已经模糊，残缺不全，但，她的手指曾经在那些按钮上欢快地跳过华丽的舞蹈，汇成过那么多美丽的文字，还有那么多在期望中翩翩而至又万分不舍下毅然消失的文字。。。虽然已遍寻不到了它们的痕迹，但抚摸它光滑屏幕的时候她仍能感受到它们的余温，存在过又消失，和从未存在，是完全不一样的。

喜欢漫无目的在熙熙攘攘的大街上飘荡，喜欢这种在路上的感觉，却又没有勇气真正走远，独自到一个陌生的城市，只好把自己置身于陌生的人群中，让新鲜的面孔扑面而来，好让自己忘却一些事情，然而到后来自己都无法分辨，她到底是在努力忘记，还是在枉然寻找，那些失去的东西。

Thanksgiving Night

Had an appointment with a friend at 8:00, so killed my time in a coffee & sandwich shop, with a book until we met.

Saw a lot of people gathering in front of CITIC Building, driven by curiosity, we joined the crazy group. It was later when I found out from a young hippy girl that it was the grand opening of Mont Blanc’s flagship shop, and a few celebrities would show up.

God knows why I decided to stick around, waiting for those pretty faces being fashionable late, in such a windy cold night. I was never a big star fan. And for a moment, a thought splashed through my mind: if WG happens to be here, see me stretching my neck waiting, he will probably laugh at me for a whole year. Luckily he is not here….
But why isn’t him here?

We didn’t have to wait for long, 10 minutes later, just before I got impatient; they started to arrive, one by one, in fancy cars, in beautiful dresses or suits, with delicate makeup, with skillful smiles, in graceful steps. People around us were all screaming out their idols’ names, and I hated to admit, I screamed too.

Our enthusiasm lasted for 5 celebrities, and we decided to carry on with our own business----drinking, instead of watching other people’ show.

Carmen was quiet as usual, just the way we liked it to be. We took our old spot, in the corner, beside the glass wall, and started to try all the cocktails on the list, one from the top to the end, the other from the end to the top. I would get drunk soon, I knew, clearly. But it was OK, it was Thanks Giving.

And I did.

Never really admitted drunk before, little dizzy that makes me smile silly, was not regarded as drunk.
So I tested, to reach my bottom line, and after last night, I knew, I could only reach the 5th cocktail on the list, that was how far I could go.

And it was good to try being totally trashed, another tick on my to-do list. Couldn’t sit up, couldn’t walk in a straight line, couldn’t help laughing, and couldn’t help knocking into tables, stairs.
And of course, couldn’t help running into legendary hang over this morning. Didn’t take Tylenol, I wanted to fully experience it.

My curiosity will get me into trouble one day, I know for sure.
Always get myself into some trial, and then unexceptionally get addicted. Before it was coffee, now looks like it’s alcohol, and sooner or later, I will finally try cigarrate. And what else? what's next? Who knows.

Too much curiosity, is a sign of immaturity,
Not enough self continence, is another sign of immaturity.
Indeed WG, you have every reason to laugh at me.

Panda & Grace

Grace: “what shall I wear tomorrow?”
Panda: “Clothes”
Grace: “Thanks, That’s very helpful.”

Grace: “What shall we eat for lunch?”
Panda: “Food”
Grace: “What kind of food?”
Panda: “The kind you can eat”

Grace: “What shall we eat for dinner?”
Panda: “Hot Pot”
Grace: “We have two options…”
Panda: “A, hotpot, B hotpot. I will take the first option”
Grace: “I will take the second then.”

Grace: “What kind of milk shall we buy?”
Panda: “Oh, Dear, it’s going to take another half an hour, isn’t it!”
Grace: “This brand is pretty good, I will take this box”
Panda: “Surprising, only 3 minutes this time”
Grace: “Hold on, the other milk looks fresher judging by the date”
10 minutes later….
Grace: “So, Which kind shall I get?????”

In the supermarket:
Panda: “Here, get some pistachios”
Grace: “Nope”
Panda: “Thought you liked this”
Grace: “Y, but the pleasure they give me is smaller than the misery of giving up 35 kuai”

Grace: “I want some Baileys”
Panda: “so for Baileys you don’t think its too expensive? ”
Grace: “Y, but the pleasure it gives me can’t be judged by money”

Grace:"I want you to say you love me everyday from now on."
Panda: "I already do, everyday before you leave"
Grace: "Oh, you did?"

Panda & Fly

Haunted by terrible headache, after 2 hours of Die Hard Ⅲ I just couldn’t see myself handle Ⅳ, so decided to tuck myself in bed, despite it was only 8:00.
Soon I found I was not alone, there was a giant fly circling under the roof, which immediately reminded me of the bat under my grandma’s roof long time ago that I mistook as a cute little bird and tried to capture, almost terrified to death when told it was a blood sucker. Since then I couldn’t bear the sight of anything black circling inside. I screamed for Panda to join the fly banishing battle, well, actually, not join, but to fight alone, because being a woman + having a headache gave me plenty of excuses to relax in bed, watching the male warrior showing his masculineness.
That was a stubborn mother f***er, Panda tried everything, with his coat, his pillow (He tried to use my pillow but of course I didn’t let him), but it just wouldn’t leave. Lying in bed, pretending to be a cute weak girl, I actually knew exactly how to get rid of it--- only need to turn off the light, and it will fly away. But somehow I didn’t tell him immediately. After all, it was so sweet to watch a man fighting for you, even it was only against a fly.

简单的道理

在茫茫人海中，遇到那么些不同的面孔，不同的眼睛，空中杂乱漂浮着，不同的信息。有那么一缕向你射来，躲躲闪闪，而你恰巧因有触动和感知，捕捉到这闪烁星火，遂循着这温柔的目光去寻它的主人。对上一双依稀熟悉的眸子，如水，霎时，自己也化了，跟随他去流淌。

所以，你的目光，只是在与他对视，只因他最初，把它向你投来。而当它不只为你而温柔，当它不只以你为焦点，你也会游离，转向别处。情牵是一条线段，以你们为各自终点，而不是一条射线，从你的眼睛出发，永远没有着落点。

你们最爱的，其实是你们自己。
如此简单的道理。
如此而已

二三话

一直是个怕输的人，害怕到不敢把结局托付给事实和时间去证明，索兴宁愿在一切还未成定局之前自己认输，不管怎样，留给自己和别人一些猜想，“说不定….也许不是这个结局”。自己放弃的，总是有面子些，再不济，无论什么，有了心理准备，一切都可以承受。

周末，朋友们又聚在了一起喝酒，我却在家啃数学，仿佛在从事一项很崇高的事业，仿佛又回到了在学校的日子，学习就是最正确的事情，因而任何其他的事情都没有丝毫理由让我感到罪恶。这样的正确感，让我暂时心安。

花在电视上的时间越来越少，少到和别人都没了共同语言，只因那些低级趣味的节目和剧情让我决定要尊重自己的智商，广告插播电视的营销让我决定要尊重自己的情商。在自己得到了充分的尊重的同时，发现一不小心不知不觉已变成了个愤怒的蝴蝶，色彩斑斓，却不屑于挥动翅膀。

用。

用晨报把上班旅程填满，不给自己时间发呆
用博客把工作间隙填满，不给自己时间顾盼
用书本把漆黑夜晚填满，不给自己时间期待
用聚会把心慌周末填满，不给自己时间倦怠

用阳光把阴霾驱赶，不给它空间蔓延
用音乐把心海抚平，不给它原因波澜
用笑容把泪水承载，不给它机会满面
用美丽把遗憾释怀，不给它理由泛滥

生活因此得以平淡
终于几近心安

Lust。Caution

听纪如瑾的《脆弱》，连续一整天，一遍一遍，重复，不停歇，懒得去换，耳朵已经适应了旋律，在这样疯魔的音符中，越来越安静，越来越沉，静到连呼吸，都是那么地轰鸣。

天气预报说这几天的温度会稍有回升，只，拖着沉默的身体一个人走在夜晚霓虹耀眼的街头，裹紧风衣，还是没有暖意。

有多久没有这样了，一个人，一个大大的肩包，星星火火的夜晚，去看一场关于爱情的电影。电影院里零零落落坐了些或并肩或窃语的情侣，男人温柔地拿着 水和两人的大衣，女人没心没肺地吃着爆米花，很美的画面，依旧熟悉得恍如昨日。而我这个一身黑衣，提着肯德基，独自坐在角落里看《色.戒》的女人，毋庸置 疑，在他们的甜蜜眼眸里，定是个失意人。

在黑暗的角落里，在别人的悲哀里，无声地，安全地，理直气壮地，泪流满面，泣不成声，或者嚎啕大哭，迷糊了妆容也不怕，哭成丑八怪也不怕，哭得像弱 智白痴也不怕，这是我来时的打算。只，从始至终，我都却是那样的冷静，易先生的眼神，王佳芝的小曲，还有那硕大的丢失了主人的粉红戒指… 故事结束了，一声叹息，没有哭泣，只，那蛇一样往心里钻的压抑，欲加蔓延，缠绕，纠结，终于，安然驻扎。

Fragmentation--- The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

T. S. Eliot is an outstanding author and one of the represents of Modernism. “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock was one of T. S. Eliot’s first published poems, and remains one of his most famous. Eliot utilizes this poem not only to illustrate the psychological aspect of a person, but also to reveal the psychological aspect of his time. The speaker of this ironic monologue is a modern, urban man who, like many of his kind, feels isolated and incapable of decisive action. Prufrock would like to speak of love to a woman, but he does not dare so hesitates all the way there. In this poem, the outstanding feature is fragmentation, which we can see from the whole structure, the writing style (the rhetorical devices, the rhyme scheme, the stanza etc.), the use of space and time, and the last but not the least, the personality of Prufrock, which, gains most of my attention.

"The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" depicts the consciousness of a single character, a timid, middle-aged man. Prufrock is talking or thinking to himself. The epigraph, a dramatic speech taken from Dante's Inferno", provides a key to Prufrock's nature. For the first forty-eight lines of the poem, he contemplates the aimless pattern of his divided and solitary self. He is a lover, yet he is unable to bring himself to declare his love. He is both the "you and I" of line 1, pacing the city's grimy streets on his lonely walk. He observes the foggy evening settling down on him. Growing more and more hesitant, he postpones of the moment of his decision. Should a middle-aged man even think of making a proposal of love? "Do I dare / Disturb the universe?" he asks. In lines 49-110, Prufrock wrestles with his desire and his doubt. And, in lines 87-110, he imagines how foolish he would feel if he were to make his proposal only to discover that the woman had never thought of him as a possible lover; he imagines her brisk, cruel response: "That is not what I meant, at all."

Finally, in lines 111-131, Prufrock decides that he lacks the will to make his declaration. "I am not Prince Hamlet," he says; he will not, like Shakespeare's character, attempt to shake off his doubts and "force the moment to its crisis." He feels more like the aging, foolish Polonius, another character in Hamlet. He is able only to dream of romance. Thus, in the youthful fashion of the time (around 1910), he will have his trousers tripped with cuffs at the bottom. He will "walk upon the beach," though he probably will not venture near the water. He has had a romantic vision of mermaids singing an enchanting song, but assumes that they will not sing to him. Prufrock is paralyzed, unable to act upon his impulses and desires. He will continue to live in a world of romantic daydreams - "the chambers of the sea" - until he is awakened by the "human voices" of real life in which he "drowns."

Prufrock is a man with many contradictive, fragmental characteristics. One part of himself would like to startle them out of their meaningless lives, but to accomplish this he would have to risk disturbing his "universe," being rejected. The latter part of the poem captures his sense defeat for failing to act courageously. The relation between “I” and “you”, namely, the alter ego, is neither friendly nor aloof. The "you" that is "I"'s counterpart stands in two places at once, both inside and outside Prufrock's mind and inside and outside scenes that can with difficulty be imagined based on the minimal details provided. “I” am talking on and on, but “you” are quiet all the time. “I” am sentimental but “you” are nonchalant. “I” am angry about being nothing but neither “I” nor “you” will or can do anything about it.

J. Alfred Prufrock , with all the fragmental personality, is not just the speaker of one of Eliot's poems. He is the Representative Man of early Modernism, and the fragmental modern world. Shy, cultivated, oversensitive, sexually retarded, ruminative, isolated, self-aware to the point of solipsism, as he says, "Am an attendant lord, one that will do / To swell a progress, start a scene or two." Nothing revealed the Victorian upper classes in Western society more accurately, and nothing better exposed the dreamy, insubstantial center of that consciousness than a half-dozen poems in Eliot's first book. The speakers of all these early poems are trapped inside their own excessive alertness. They look out on the world from deep inside some private cave of feeling, and though they see the world and themselves with unflattering exactness, they cannot or will not do anything about their dilemma and finally fall back on self-serving explanation. They quake before the world, and their only revenge is to be alert.

Prufrock epitomizes the frustration and impotence of the modern individual. He seemed to represent thwarted desires and modern disillusionment. Such phrases as "I have measured out my life in coffee spoons" (line 51) capture the sense of the unheroic nature of life in the twentieth century. Prufrock feels that he is isolated from the modern society, that he is only a fell apart piece of fragment of the society. He longs for being one part of the society. He feels shameful and depressed to hear the women talking of Michelangelo while he can’t. He wears in the same style as that of the upper class:
42 My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
43 My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin –
But in the sentences:
70 Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets
71 And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
72 Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows? ...
He imagines himself to be an onlooker and sees others’ life but only to find that others are in the same situation as him. Everybody are the same. He is a fragment of the society, he is isolated and lonely but actually the other people are the same. The whole society is made up with thousands and hundreds of single fragments.

Eliot's use of bits and pieces of all sorts of fragmentation suggests that although anxiety-provoking, fragmentation is nevertheless productive. He has his own theory of fragmentation, which we can see from the kinds of imagery Eliot uses. They suggest that something new can be made from the ruins: The series of hypothetical encounters at the poem's center are iterated and discontinuous but nevertheless lead to a sort of epiphany (albeit a dark one) rather than just leading nowhere. Eliot also introduces an image that will recur in his later poetry, that of the scavenger. Prufrock thinks that he "should have been a pair of ragged claws / Scuttling across the floors of silent seas." Crabs are scavengers, garbage-eaters who live off refuse that makes its way to the sea floor. Eliot's discussions of his own poetic technique (see especially his essay "Tradition and the Individual Talent") suggest that making something beautiful out of the refuse of modern life, as a crab sustains and nourishes itself on garbage, may, in fact, be the highest form of art. At the very least, this notion subverts romantic ideals about art; at best, it suggests that fragments may become reintegrated, that art may be in some way therapeutic for a broken modern world. In The Waste Land, crabs become rats, and the optimism disappears, but here Eliot seems to assert only the limitless potential of scavenging.

However fragmental and unallocated the whole poem is, it is disordered but not messy, and it is pleasingly asymmetrical. The all sorts of contents of the poem are not linked by the logic but by the emotion. Associated meditation is the clue that runs through the poem and compounds the things that seem to be unconnected but actually express the same feeling. The fragments vividly and adequately convey to us the great theme of this poem, namely, the spiritual debility and fragmentation of the modern individual and the society. The apparently messy and disordered fragments produce the great charm of the poem. This works in concert with T.S.Eliot’s literature theory.

坠

对着白惨惨的电脑屏幕，目光没有焦点，幽幽荧光笼罩在自己没有光彩的脸上，又一次感到了那宿命般的坠落，在那个不知到几维空间的隧道，不知道存在于 哪个世界的隧道，接着昨天，接着前天，以更快的速度和更无力挽回的姿态，继续坠落。但我能感觉到，那个自己一直相信存在的底正离我越来越近，越来越清晰。

坠落的隧道四周，一直充斥着各式各样叫做回忆的画面，灵动的，鲜活的，喜的，悲的，每一幅画里都有自己的影子，每一个影子都潜伏着悲哀的形状，勾画 着同样的答案，指示着同一个方向。任性地闭上双眼，在幻象中独舞，只去感觉风在身边疾驰。幻象是罂粟，美丽而罪恶，不知不觉早已将它染上了面颊，别在了发 髻，披在了身上，它们因着我血液的营养而愈发娇艳无比，我因着它们汁液的迷幻而愈发沉沦快乐。但，真实还是无法抗拒地呼啸而至，耳边的靡靡之音也嘎然而 止，娇艳的花瓣变成了荆棘，锦绣华衣还原成了一袭破败的袍，终于相信了一切曾经逃避的事实，无力而虚脱。

无论是下坠还是飞翔，对终点的不确定总是让人惶惶不安又惴惴期待，这样的心绪，终究比一切尽在眼前的心安要刺激一些。虽然没有喜悦的飞翔，虽然坠落 的过程让人悲伤，可，当最后一丝悲伤被耗尽，在月光下消融，遗憾的枯藤早已缓缓爬满全身，毒汁透过皮肤渗到血液，流向每一个细胞，不断死亡，不断复制， 我，终究还是，不得超脱。

方式

在肮脏的菜场，买来听说很有营养的鸭，加上萝卜，枸杞，煲上一锅滚烫的汤，小口小口喝下，这是我能想到的爱自己的方式。

回到家中，看到他躺在沙发上安然熟睡，呼吸有力而均匀。轻轻和衣躺在了他身边，手指一下一下穿过他的黑色卷发，掠过他长而浓密的睫毛，这是我能想到的爱他的方式。

S邀周末见面，我没有犹豫，欣然应允。虽然明知，这样的聚会，暧昧披着粉色的薄沙，在霓虹下清晰可见。他能看到，我能看到，他的她更能看到，所以她 采取了我永远没有勇气采取的方式，将竖起的锋利倒刺隐藏在看似平和的目光背后，凛然加入。我本无心，又何惧应战？可，我的居心，虽无意伤害，却仍卑鄙到不 堪：借用他的存在，放任加热这个温暖的光环，让它的光彩绚烂到能让自己从无边深海奋游到安全彼岸，这是我能想到的自我救赎的方式。