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2016 年 6 月 20 日 星期一  |
| pencil an in the paper |
分類: 未分類 |
Next day the police came. Paul heard the car and then heard Annie running down the corridor to his room. He put the pencil carefully down on the paper he was covering in his untidy handwriting. Annie ran into the room. 'Get out of sight.' Her face was tight. She already had the bag with the gun around her shoulder. 'Get out of s-' She paused and saw that he had already rolled the wheelchair away from the window. 'Are you going to be good, Paul?' 'Yes,' he said. Her eyes searched his face. 'I'm going to trust you,' she said. She left the room and went outside to meet the policemen He'd be alive now and there would be none of this horrible mess to clean up..
Paul moved so that he could sec out of the window without being seen himself. The policeman who had come three days ago had been hardly 76 more than a child; these two were completely different. One was in uniform and one was a detective. Both were old and experienced. The detective looked tired, but his eyes were watching everything. The other policeman was large and obviously extremely strong. They got out of the car and stood close to Annie while they asked her some questions which Paul could not hear, He thought about breaking the window again, but two things stopped him. First, the detective had his coat buttoned, so he would not be able to get his gun quickly. If he had noticed that, then Annie certainly had too. She would shoot the other policeman first and then the detective. The second thing that stopped him was his desire for revenge.
The police would only put Annie in prison. He himself could hurt her, and he wanted to do that. The big policeman pointed towards the house and Annie led them in through the kitchen door. Paul could now hear the conversation. The policemen were asking her about Officer Kushner, which was the young man's name, and Annie was telling them her story. She sounded very calm, but Paul thought he noticed some signs of suspicion in the policemen's voices. They left and Annie came into Paul's room. She stared at him for a full minute. 'Why didn't you shout?' she asked. She couldn't understand it. In her world everyone was against her, so why hadn't he shouted?
Annie refused to let them on to her laud and fired a shot into the air to warn them off. Afterwards she said, 'You know what they want, Paul? This is what they want.' She scratched her forehead viciously with her fingernails, so that blood flowed down her face. 77 'Annie, stop it!' ''This is what they want too.' She hit herself on the cheek. 'And this.' She hit her other cheek, hard. 'STOP IT!' he screamed. 'It's what they want!' she screamed back. She pressed her hands against the wounds on her forehead and then held her hands out to him so that he could see the blood. Then she left the room and he took up his again. The next day two different policemen came, to take a statement from her. She told them the story about Kushner and the Pepsi-Cola bottle. They asked her about the scratches on her forehead. 'How did you get those?' 'I had a bad dream last night.' 'What?' 'I dreamed that people remembered me after all this time and started coming out here again,' Annie said. When they had gone Annie came into his room. Her face was distant and she looked ill. 'How much longer. Paul? When will you finish the book?' 'Tomorrow,' he said. 'Next time they'll have permission to search the house,' she said, and left before he could reply. It didn't take him long to get back to work. His swollen fingers were still locked tightly on to the pencil. Now more than ever he needed to finish the book.'Because I want to finish the book,' he said. 'Because I want to finish it for you, Annie.' She looked at him uncertainly, wanting to believe. Finally she did believe him. It was the truth, anyway. Three days later the local TV news programme sent a crew to Annie's farm.
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| 2016 年 6 月 17 日 星期五 |
| like the last time |
分類: 未分類 |
His next actions might seem heroic, he imagined, if someone looked at just the actions without seeing inside his mind. In immense pain he rolled the wheelchair over to the door. He slid down in the chair so that his hands could touch the floor. This caused him so much pain that he fainted for a few minutes. When he woke up he remembered what he was trying to do. He looked at the floor and saw the hairpins which he had noticed earlier. They had fallen out of Annie's hair when she had rushed at him. Slowly, painfully, he managed to pick them up .
There were three of them. Sitting up again in the chair brought fresh waves of pain. While writing Past Cuts he had taught himself to open locks with things like hairpins. It had helped him write abour a carthief. It was surprisingly easy. Now he was going to open the door and go out into the house. What made him overcome all his pain and do this? Was it because he was a hero? No, it was because he needed some Novril tablets and was afraid that Annie would not return for hours or would not give them to him when she did return. And he felt he needed an extra supply, to help him during those periods when she was too angry with him to give them to him. It was an old, heavy lock. One pin sprang out of his hands, skated across the wooden floor and disappeared under the bed. The second one broke - but as it broke, the door opened. 20 Thank you, God,' he whispered Tell me how to do to live in your heart .
A bad moment followed - no, not a bad moment, an awful moment - when it seemed as if the wheelchair would not fit through the door. She must have brought it into the room folded up, he realized. In the end he had to hold on to the frame of the door and pull himself through it. The wheels rubbed against the frame and for one terrible moment he thought the chair was going to stick there. But then he was suddenly through the door. After that he fainted again. When he woke up, the light in the corridor was different. Quite some time had passed. How long did he have before she returned? Fifty hours, or five minutes? He could see the bathroom through an open door down the corridor. Surely she would keep the medicine there. He rolled down the corridor and stopped at the bathroom door. At least this door was a little wider. He turned himself round so that he could go into the bathroom backwards, ready for a quick escape if necessary.
Inside the bathroom there was a bath, an open cupboard for storing towels and blankets, a basin - and a medicine cupboard on the wall over the basin! But how could he reach it from his wheelchair? It was too high up the wall. And even if he could reach it with a stick or something, he would only make things fall out of it and break in the basin. And then what would he tell her? That Misery had done it while looking for some medicine to bring her back to life? Tears of anger - and of shame at his need for the medicine - began to flow down his cheeks. He almost gave in and started to think about returning to his room. Then his eye saw something in the towel cupboard. Previously his eye had only quickly noticed the towels and blankets on the shelves. But there on the floor, underneath all the shelves, were two or three boxes. He rolled himself over to the cupboard. Now he could see some words printed on one of the boxes: MEDICAL SUPPLIES. His heart leapt. 21 He reached in and pulled one of the boxes but. |
| 2016 年 6 月 16 日 星期四 |
| feelings in writing |
分類: 未分類 |
Words like these, proceeding from a mind so different from the poet’s own, form perhaps as satisfactory a testimony to the value of his work as any writer can obtain. For they imply that Wordsworth has succeeded in giving his own impress to emotions which may become common to all; that he has produced a body of thought which is felt to be both distinctive and coherent, while yet it enlarges the reader’s capacities instead of making demands upon his credence. Whether there be theories, they shall pass; whether there be systems, they shall fail; the true epoch-maker in the history of the human soul is the man who educes from this bewildering universe a new and elevating joy.
I have alluded above to some of the passages, most of them familiar enough, in which Wordsworth’s sense of the mystic relation between the world without us and the world within—the correspondence between the seen and the unseen—is expressed in its most general terms. But it is evident that such a conviction as this, if it contain any truth, cannot be barren of consequences on any level of thought. The ommunion with Nature which is capable of being at times sublimed to an incommunicable ecstasy must be capable also of explaining Nature to us so far as she can be explained; there must be axiomata media of natural religion; there must be something in the nature of poetic truths, standing midway between mystic intuition and delicate observation the beginning of operations which are not measured by our hurrying time.
How rich Wordsworth is in these poetic truths—how illumining is the gaze which he turns on the commonest phenomena—how subtly and variously he shows us the soul’s innate perceptions or inherited memories as it were cooperating with Nature and “half creating” the voice with which she speaks—all this can be learnt by attentive study alone. Only a few scattered samples can be given here; and I will begin with one on whose significance the poet has himself dwelt. This is the poem called The Leech-Gatherer, afterwards more formally named Resolution and Independence.“I will explain to you,” says Wordsworth, “in prose, mythat poem, I describe myself as having been exalted to the highest pitch of delight by the joyousness and beauty of Nature; and then as depressed, even in the midst of those beautiful objects, to the lowest dejection and despair. A young poet in the midst of the happiness of Nature is described as overwhelmed by the thoughts of the miserable reverses which have befallen the happiest of all men, viz. poets.
I think of this till I am so deeply impressed with it, that I consider the manner in which I am rescued from my dejection and despair almost as an interposition of Providence. A person reading the poem with feelings like mine will have been awed and controlled, expecting something spiritual or supernatural. What is brought forward? A lonely place, ‘a pond, by which an old man was, far from all house or home:’ not stood, nor sat, but was—the figure presented in the most naked simplicity possible. The feeling of spirituality or supernaturalness is again referred to as being strong in my mind in this passage. How came he here? thought I, or what can he be doing? |
| 2016 年 6 月 15 日 星期三 |
| 看不見的美好 |
分類: 未分類 |
佛說，今生無論遇見誰，他都是我們生命中該出現的人，沒有人是因為偶然進入我們的生命，每個在我們周圍，和我們有互動的人，都代表一些事，也許要教會我們什麼。無論發生什麼事，那都是唯一會發生的，我們所經歷的每一種情境都是絕對完美的，即便不符合我們的理解和目標。每一件事都正好是在對的時刻開始的，不早也不晚。如此說來，這輩子和誰路遇，和誰接踵，和誰相親，和誰反目，都是命定，掙扎不出。生命中該發生的已經發生，該結束的也已結束。已經發生的事情已無法改變，只能完整接受，最好放下並持續前進。餘下的人生，盡可能要把握機緣，掌控未來。
今生，我將用有限的餘生不斷仰望高山，高山離太陽更近，離平原更遠，像是地球上最勇敢最孤獨的犄角。在忙碌中疏漏下的休閒時光裏，習慣性的把自己淹沒在書堆裏，在文字裏賞一季花開，斟一盞清茶，守一份在喧囂世界裏僅剩的一絲安暖它經歷了最殘酷的折疊，也贏得了最高聳的榮譽。雄壯巍峨，大美不言，令信仰慕。山的存在讓我們永葆謙遜和恭敬的姿態，知道在這個世界上有一些事物必須仰視。
今生，我將用餘生不倦地凝望綠色，這人間最滋潤的色彩，好似虛幻縹緲的夢境，是生命最美麗的歸宿，有了它生命才得以繁衍和興旺。今生，我還要去瞻望大海，欣賞大海的廣闊和包容，海納百川，滋養無數生命，感受大海平靜時的溫柔和憤怒時的咆哮。我要去看花，百花綻放，繽紛絢爛，美不勝收。今生，我還要用餘生目不轉睛地注視人群。站在明亮的窗前，看到朝氣蓬勃的青年，慈祥可親的老人，歡快活潑的少年，還有那天真無邪孩童，我心生歡喜。如果有來生，我希望自已還能成為這芸芸眾生中的一員，而不是其他的什麼動物和植物。儘管我知道人類有那麼多可怕的弱點和缺陷。我還是為 這個物種的智慧和勇敢讚歎。
看這世間萬物皆有情，體味這喜憂參半的世界，內心依然要保持柔軟安寧，無論這個世界對我怎樣，我都將一如既往地對她充滿希望，與她溫柔相擁。
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| 2016 年 6 月 14 日 星期二 |
| 煎熬成一個不朽的魂 |
分類: 未分類 |
自打小我就對你情有獨鐘，那樣喜歡你，和愛著你。終於老天不負有心人，你和我終於圓了那個夢，就象老天給了我們這樣美好的機會，我能心安理得的去愛你和癡 情的喜歡你，就象一對苦命的鴛鴦終於能走到一起。那時我們愛得如膠似火，仿佛世間的一切，沒有什麼能阻止我們之間的愛，我是那麼的投入，你也是那麼的精心 的付出。把那段的 美麗佳話愈演愈烈，甚至達到愛得不能自拔的地步。 
你那時對我情有獨鐘，就象離開了我的美麗，你就象丟失了一件最寶貴的東西，會叫你心疼的想，哭著去找。如 同我是你的身上掉下的一塊肉，那樣疼痛得難以自拔。愛叫你難以自持，你象一刻看不到我的美麗，就象缺少了什麼？就象你的靈魂早已被我的美麗帶走，你象發了 瘋的去想，去愛。那時的你，把握不了自己，就象你的思想不受你的支配，你就象被我吸引過來的羔羊，那樣的聽話，依從。仿佛我就是你愛的魂魄，你的精神早已 被我的美麗左右，你走不出那美麗愛的誤區。我就象毒你的藥，你喝下去，就那麼的聽話，乖巧順從的依偎我，離開了我，你就象無藥可就的病人，散了架子的相 思，甚至達到了膏肓的地步。你喜歡在我的身上畫畫，寫字和做你喜歡的遊戲，你天真得象一個頑皮的小孩，那樣的把持不了自己。你說我的筆硬，拿來毛筆在我的身上畫，我的身上就象一張白的 宣紙，你不蘸墨的畫，那毛絨絨的毛尖，象梳理著我愛的體魄，我在為你敏感的疏放，甚至跳蕩。你象在用筆尖輕觸描畫每一個最搶眼的部分，你不想什麼耶穌和什 麼教條，你在此時就懂得什麼是愛。你是那麼的舒放自如的描畫，你把最喜愛的美麗都描畫在我的身體上，你把相思美麗的夢鐫刻。就象你完成了中最大的使命一樣，那樣的投入。
我就象你清歡的夢，一輩子也不願醒。也許愛是你豐盛宴席的甜味，我就是你美麗的糖果。你的眼神始終充滿了饑渴，對我是那麼的垂涎欲滴，愛不完。那是一個多麼美麗的夜晚，昏黃的燈光下，柔摸著那癡心感觸的愛。你輕輕的呼吸，那輕喘低吟的美，一次次饞透了我的心，喜歡安靜的日子，喜歡樸素的生活。掌心裏的煙火如何繁華，終難逃內心的寂。人生是不斷的前行，青春，我們能消耗的已經不多。用韶華傾負流沙落落，究竟是對是錯？浮生彈指老，幽夢寂笙歌我是那麼的歇斯底里的投入，我在你 粉白的脖頸上聞著你的發香，我是那麼心愛的摟抱著你，那軟綿綿的感觸，那心蕩神搖的愛，在一次次的投入，一次次的回贈。你亢奮到了極點，隨著你呼吸的緊 張，那跳動的脈搏一次比一次狂歡，就象要跳出嗓子眼，那樣投入的愛。你急喘著顫音，象亢奮到了極點，在我就要投入時，你一下抓住我的手，那樣的可憐的看著 我，像是在祈求，叫我終止對你的行動。也許此刻的你心有靈犀般的清醒，明白，愛的所在了，就靦腆的把自己閉塞，那樣害羞的看著我，紅紅的臉看著我，低下羞 澀的頭，表示對我愛的饋贈。
在你學生時代的夢裏，有哪些美麗花樣的年輪，就象我每天都在捧著你那朵玫瑰花在笑，你就象喜歡上了一個最美麗最帥氣的小夥子，每天都會騎著那輛愛的自行車來接送你上下學，你坐在他的車把前，他就象車把上插著一朵玫瑰花，邊騎著自行車邊聞著玫瑰花的香。那時真的好，好美麗。你就象出污泥而不染的荷花蓮子，在我愛的荷塘裏款擺悠蕩。直到現在，我還是無法忘記那美麗的氣息，就象我的愛漸漸的蘇醒，而你卻離我遠遠的，那樣的難以相見。就象那愛的面紗隱隱的飄拂，就象我的愛被帶象美麗的 遙遠，我就象每夜都在為你鎖定那美麗的愛，那樣歇斯底里的想，當初那愛的情景，是那麼的油然而生。就象這無邊的愛裏，隱藏著我哀嚎啼哭的聲音，那都是為了 想你。
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