我只是想要永垂不朽的爱
Jul. 24th, 2014 05:04 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fatima忘记是谁说的了：要写东西很容易，你只需要划破一根动脉让血流出来。对此我曾深以为然。
应该说，现在也仍深以为然。不过我开始发现，让它成立的前提也并不是那么容易做到。我想，我近年来觉得写东西越发困难，就是因为不再希望把情感割裂出来给人看，哪怕是藏在别人的故事里面也不行。曾经打算写一个白蛇与法海的长篇故事，但也还是不行。一想到别人可能看出的蛛丝马迹，我就害怕起来。
也许是回过神来了，发现我的情感不是艺术大师的绝世之作，做不到无论粗制滥造拷贝出多少周边版本都总有真迹在高堂之内流光溢彩。这种心态有点像上个世纪初人民群众对于照相机的普遍误解，觉得被咔嚓照一次灵魂也就被偷走那么一点。我怕把真实藏在虚假里太久了，它会不复是真实。
这几天被一个无比时泪且无比纠结且就没有几篇文的真人CP击中，读了得以存留的几篇故事。其实从“同人”的角度来说它们都不能算太“好”，因为作者明显太偏心把一方多少塑造成了堕入凡尘的精灵，简单来说就是OO了那个C。然而我仍然如同着了魔似地一页又一页看了下去——因为有一篇文的开头几行字让我差点没泪如雨下，因为另一个系列其中的细节让我能感到心脏在绞动。
不论如何，它们让我想起了那些柔软而没有防备的东西，那种村上春树笔下的“心灵震颤”——“它类似一种少年时代的憧憬，一种从来不曾实现而且永远不可能实现的憧憬。这种直欲燃烧般的天真烂漫的憧憬，我在很早以前就已遗忘在什么地方了，甚至在很长时间里我连它曾在我心中存在过都未曾记起。”
It finally hit me some dozen or so years later. I had come to Santa Fe to interview a painter and was sitting in a local pizza parlor, drinking beer and eating pizza and watching a miraculously beautiful sunset. Everything was soaked in brilliant red—my hand, the plate, the table, the world—as if some special kind of fruit juice had splashed down on everything. In the midst of this overwhelming sunset, the image of Hatsumi flashed into my mind, and in that moment I understood what that tremor of the heart had been. It was a kind of childhood longing that had always remained—and would forever remain—unfulfilled. I had forgotten the existence of such innocent, all-but-seared-in longing: forgotten for years to remember what such feelings had ever existed inside of me. What Hatsumi had stirred in me was a part of my very self that had long lain dormant. And when the realization struck me, it aroused such sorrow I almost burst into tears.
前一阵在林肯中心和某阿姨聊天的时候说起《挪威的森林》，说它是一本我差不多每年都会读一次，而且几乎每次都会发现新的共鸣之处的书。上面这一段，却是让我从第一眼起便念念不忘的。Tremor of the heart, all that is true within, and all that which never can be true without. Yet God still causes rain to fall on everyone, the true an the untrue alike.
应该说，现在也仍深以为然。不过我开始发现，让它成立的前提也并不是那么容易做到。我想，我近年来觉得写东西越发困难，就是因为不再希望把情感割裂出来给人看，哪怕是藏在别人的故事里面也不行。曾经打算写一个白蛇与法海的长篇故事，但也还是不行。一想到别人可能看出的蛛丝马迹，我就害怕起来。
也许是回过神来了，发现我的情感不是艺术大师的绝世之作，做不到无论粗制滥造拷贝出多少周边版本都总有真迹在高堂之内流光溢彩。这种心态有点像上个世纪初人民群众对于照相机的普遍误解，觉得被咔嚓照一次灵魂也就被偷走那么一点。我怕把真实藏在虚假里太久了，它会不复是真实。
这几天被一个无比时泪且无比纠结且就没有几篇文的真人CP击中，读了得以存留的几篇故事。其实从“同人”的角度来说它们都不能算太“好”，因为作者明显太偏心把一方多少塑造成了堕入凡尘的精灵，简单来说就是OO了那个C。然而我仍然如同着了魔似地一页又一页看了下去——因为有一篇文的开头几行字让我差点没泪如雨下，因为另一个系列其中的细节让我能感到心脏在绞动。
不论如何，它们让我想起了那些柔软而没有防备的东西，那种村上春树笔下的“心灵震颤”——“它类似一种少年时代的憧憬，一种从来不曾实现而且永远不可能实现的憧憬。这种直欲燃烧般的天真烂漫的憧憬，我在很早以前就已遗忘在什么地方了，甚至在很长时间里我连它曾在我心中存在过都未曾记起。”
It finally hit me some dozen or so years later. I had come to Santa Fe to interview a painter and was sitting in a local pizza parlor, drinking beer and eating pizza and watching a miraculously beautiful sunset. Everything was soaked in brilliant red—my hand, the plate, the table, the world—as if some special kind of fruit juice had splashed down on everything. In the midst of this overwhelming sunset, the image of Hatsumi flashed into my mind, and in that moment I understood what that tremor of the heart had been. It was a kind of childhood longing that had always remained—and would forever remain—unfulfilled. I had forgotten the existence of such innocent, all-but-seared-in longing: forgotten for years to remember what such feelings had ever existed inside of me. What Hatsumi had stirred in me was a part of my very self that had long lain dormant. And when the realization struck me, it aroused such sorrow I almost burst into tears.
前一阵在林肯中心和某阿姨聊天的时候说起《挪威的森林》，说它是一本我差不多每年都会读一次，而且几乎每次都会发现新的共鸣之处的书。上面这一段，却是让我从第一眼起便念念不忘的。Tremor of the heart, all that is true within, and all that which never can be true without. Yet God still causes rain to fall on everyone, the true an the untrue alike.
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Date: 2014-07-31 12:25 am (UTC)