和自己不一样


没听过你拉完一首曲子,小提琴声总是一段段,在我想象中连接起来。然而你扎实的音色,如一块沉重的大石沉淀海底,连着那一段段音乐,随重重波浪荡漾。今早你说:艾琳你说得对,thoughts get darker into the night。

夜它是会吞噬脆弱的情感,你或许会因它沉沦,因它上瘾,或许会畏惧下一个夜深沉的魔掌。偏偏天一黑你就活了起来,思绪不断在魔掌里纠缠。

我怕了胡思乱想,虽然创意绵绵。终于明白为何有个朋友坚持早睡。我封闭了那一个感觉的门,锁上余存的知觉。

你说你尝试把恐惧写下来,可是手始终比不上放肆的思绪快。幸好。你一写你就往感觉里钻,越钻越深,越钻越真。

我告诉你关于梅兰芳的孤独。三哥找小冬说话,说梅兰芳是梅兰芳因为他有孤独的一面,要是和小冬一块,没了孤独就没了梅兰芳。

可艺术偏偏就是这样折腾人。你选择创意,还是选择理性?朋友告诉我,我们“活在虚妄的社会道德和残存的封建思维压制之下,视而不见,逃避一生。”就如今早听到的大提琴声震撼了我。你说拉大提琴这人比较含蓄,音乐不够放。我说我听到压抑,可感情激动得如你沉淀海底的深情。

你爱上了诗我当然明白,诗和音乐一样隐晦得教人想狠狠地捏一把。这种夜这种逃避或放纵这种爱这种恨我帮不上忙,只能送你一首喜爱的诗,希望我们活得和自己不一样。


The Road Not Taken
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveller, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference

...Robert Frost

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