Who can give me a tragic article?

Author: Jian Zheng

The gobbledygook in March was misprinted, but no one knew it.

The hills in the suburbs are covered with snow, and the rhododendrons and thin cherries on the mountainside are still naively waiting for spring. There is no doubt that in March, only I care about the debate between Xue Rui and the flower season, just as I care about whether the water of life can make life burn. However, if people are tired of living and turn to a penny, wine, or a century-old river, can they afford a crab? So, I also boldly exhausted myself. After the speech killing meeting, I praised the timbre of western Western jackdaw: "How promising this world is!" Then go.

Until a strange collection of poems caught my eye and printed a cold poem that was still in the first edition for one year. (We are the descendants of poetry! The preface of this poem was written two years ago. If we go back to the prison term, it should be four years. If you restore the poem to the first pregnancy, it may be 68. So, I did the first happy thing in my life and bought all the collections decorated by three bookstores-forgive my recklessness! Strange poet, all lives that are not cherished should be proudly out of print!

However, when I turned all the collections to the last page at the same time and named the last love poem, the afternoon rain just crawled out of the curtain. The camel cloud in March overturned Shui Gu in February, just like a thin poem boat full of years of chaos.

So, I smiled gently, and literature is really an endless exile! Those who are embarrassed come to confess and make their own vows without explanation, because this is the only place where criminals can complain slowly and then sentence themselves, and the only place where they would rather indulge than kill by mistake.

Forgive me for cutting the cold and quiet official robe into a suit looking for the sun, your silk embroidery into a safe secret bag, and your skillful three-line rhyme and business style into a patchwork picture in my hand. Quiet, rainy in March, I want to rob boxes and boxes, and then tear a towel handkerchief without sweat to wipe tears.

I have been wandering because I am afraid of a imprisoned heart. Finally, I came to this rainforest for many years. Nothing is easier than answering the letter I have written to you for seven years.

Meet at the hospital gate and have a good meal. Your skirt still has a pungent astringency. This should be the most sterile date. Unfortunately, the bleak night makes you pale, as if the interpretation of life and death still lashes your thin and slender body. The highest record is to see 13 children die within one week. You often say that you have learned to leave your mind blank in the face of a patient's death and continue to be a person who doesn't care about eating, bathing and sleeping. In the early days, in your poem Egret, you asked heaven and earth to give you this white dress. In White and Red, you wrote in Guandu Manuscript a few years later: I am afraid that I am your corpse, and my clothes are not wedding clothes. I quietly remember: "Every time a patient is in critical condition, we know it is useless, but we still manage to do some first aid work."

Its purpose is not to save patients, but to comfort their families. "

You stop writing poetry, and your wrist is broken just to weave more beautiful lies to feed the desperate eyes of dying patients.

It is better to immerse yourself in the beauty of lies all the time and quietly forget the reality of being besieged. You are getting thinner and taller, and your letters to me are getting shorter and shorter. I can't see you shivering behind the trip to the emergency room and cancer ward, refusing to discuss the principles of life.

Finally, we came to this moment. We met not to lie, but to save face. For seven years, we have woven our own lies in different ways, and we have indeed avoided reality without any harm. Only at this moment will you be honest with me, just as I don't want to hide my face in front of you. Then, how unfortunate it is that we can't be deceived by indifferent dreams, and how lucky it is to go to the meeting alone after the robbery.

Through the new park, all the charm wandered in the black forest. Someone must be diligently looking for A Midsummer Night's Dream, and some people are imitating string fishing in the swimming pool. We parted ways quietly, as if to visit two close friends, one was you seven years ago, and the other was me seven years ago, as if dying in the intensive care unit, waiting for relatives to identify the body.

"Why do you walk so fast?" You shout.

"cold! And it's going to rain. "

The lights are floating and the piano music sounds like a careless person kicking down a bucket of glass beads. The aperitif is served by a clean white waiter. Where did Jesus begin to eat his last supper?

"Bring it, what you want to give me."

You shyly gave me a heavy bag with a hesitant gesture.

"Can you open it now?" I asked cunningly.

"No, you can go back and have a look, not now."

"What is it? Books? Is it the Bible? ..... or ... really heavy! " I weighed the weight of seven years.

"You ... go back and see, the only and only requirement."

So, I pretend I don't know anything and continue to have dinner with you. I hate my sensitivity, just like I'm tired of always smiling on the needle felt. And I can't bear to kiss xiu, how precious this dinner is. I'll leave you space for the last time. Don't worry, I'll keep out the wind and rain, and you can speak slowly.

"Later, I met a second girl. She understands what I write and think. No one has ever liked her ... "You said.

"I noticed that in an unknown place there are some things that seem out of reach and close at hand; It seems that there is something inside and outside, which has always attracted me. I can't describe what it is-maybe it's the unknown power that makes the scenery beautiful; Perhaps it is an irresistible force that has pushed me forward since I was a child; Perhaps it is a call, a joy and a dream in the deepest part of my heart at all times; Perhaps Coleridge's Nature, in his literary biography, affirmed in advance the "connection" between nature and human soul in a higher sense ... Thinking, thinking, Guandu Manuscript was written in this state of mind. ……"

The young practitioner wrote in the letter.

"Does she know you as well as you know yourself?" I asked.

"I tried to let her know what I live for." You say.

"I have been here for more than two weeks, seeing patients every day, just like in the hospital. With more space, watching the sea and stars has become a pastime of forgetting myself. I'm glad to walk into' time' to experience the throb of time. According to the Bible, if life passes through the fire of an alchemist and spreads people's alkali, it will taste overflowing glass, so that I can better understand the groans of dying patients and truly walk through the wave of Hong Tao in the deep water of the sick eye. On the occasion of' your waterfall, the abyss responds to the abyss', although the night is still long, I am still waiting for the patient's side, waiting for the bud in the wind and rain, waiting for the shining morning star ... This is what I really want to tell you ... "

In the military camp at the seaside of Dongyin, there is a letter that reads.

"I refused all her contacts. I told another girl that I was waiting for someone; She got married crying. "

You're depressed.

"ah!" I said, "This girl is really an iron wall! Can't you accept her as a non-Christian, or can't she accept your Lord? "

"I used to be a beginner who only loved compassion, but now I am almost a medical craftsman who mainly makes money. I even fell into the desire to satisfy my inner ambition through research and academic lectures, and even feared that I would die suddenly for some reason (many doctors were too tired to work and dozed off to death). At present, I am studying an endogenous factor similar to foxglove. I am eager to analyze it and make it public within two years to satisfy my temporary pleasure ... I don't know who I am? "

"I am eager for marriage, but I am also afraid of the role change brought about by marriage. I am an empty city in pain. Until then, I met a' female writer', and I liked making friends with her very much, but my intuition, the church and everyone thought I couldn't marry a non-Christian. I believe I have the ability to be her good friend, but I don't know if I can be her good husband. I can't accept any conflict between husband and wife because of their beliefs. I really hope this woman writer can live a happy life. Of course, I hope that the object of marriage is also a Christian ... I may choose to be single, I am a contradictory person. "

The forty-second letter wrote.

"Indeed," I sipped my hot coffee, "the father in heaven must choose his daughter-in-law on earth, just as an ordinary woman wants to choose her father in heaven."

"I don't know what she's thinking. She is an iron wall! " You say.

"She may understand your persistence, but you may not be able to enter her stubborn infield. You are all sailing in the sea of truth, along different whale paths. You just want her on your boat. Do you know how her boat was empty-handed? She loves her boat more than you do, just as you love your boat more than she does. If you give up the boat for her, you will no longer be honored in her eyes. If she gives up this boat for you, she will exhaust herself with lifelong regret. Indeed, there is a reality that exists far beyond the cover of love. If it is not based on the sincere pursuit of eternal life, then there is no pride. You have been amazed and found that each other is sailing in the same ocean; Now, they argue with each other just to be in the same boat. Suppose she is willing to tie your rope to her boat and doesn't ask you to abandon it, then can you accept her rope and don't ask her to capsize? If your religion doesn't allow you to sail side by side, you will lose her forever. "

"I am a failed witness!" You are sighing.

"no!" I said, "If you hadn't successfully opened your heart, she would have been your miserable wife. When you recite psalm 23 to her, "The Lord is my shepherd, and I will never want. He makes me lie down in the green grass and leads me to the quiet waters. He revived my soul and guided me on the path of justice for his name's sake. "You have to believe that she promised to find another beautiful land in Canaan that no one has ever been to. If she is still beautiful in your heart, it's because erin brockovich's exploration and the innocence of daring to fight are beautiful enough. She has never served any Lord in her life. When she praises you, she praises God. If you believe in the Lord, you must look forward to it all your life. Since you live in the temple of the Lord and enjoy the food he has given you, why do you need to find another empty shell of marriage? I only heard that someone tried every means to turn his hut into a palace, but I didn't hear that another hut would be built in the palace. You helped her walk on her own path of justice, which is the greatest gospel you gave her. She lives in her shabby mill, carrying a yoke and grinding grain every day. You have to understand, not for herself, but for all things that you can't agree with and insist on-let vanity be filled with glass pearls, let the days after the Tenth Five-Year Plan be a good day, and let a life be willing to die; Because you live to glorify God. You have to watch her secretly love, just as she has watched you for seven years. "

The last letter was written like this: "In my mind, you have always been a noble soul, and I admire you. The longer I know you, the more I feel that you are the happy Shui Ze in my life. "

"For you, I have suffered a lot, not to mention these. I am too aware of the difficulties between us, so I dare not wait. I want to forget this world several times, and always meet quietly at the end of my tether. It is a disappointment. "

"I know, I can't be your partner and go with you. In this world where our eyes can see and our ears can hear, God will not put my hand in yours. I have already promised these. "

"For so many years, I have the honor to be your biggest sharer. Every time we meet, you don't hesitate to pour your inner interest into my cup. Joshua and others cut down a vine from the valley of Ishcol, with a bunch of grapes and some pomegranates and figs ... You kept me from becoming a blind follower, and you inspired me to pursue the highest free will. If one day I can finally find my land of Canaan, I have to thank you for giving me wings. "

"Please believe that I respect your choice, and you have got the news. My stubbornness is not because I blame you for any reality, but because I am loyal and trustworthy to myself. You are beautiful, and you have always been beautiful to me. "

"You also wrote a poem. You know, the mill of creation is lonely and barren all the way Not a day goes by without my humble spirit to work and study here. If I have any desire for comfort, I will be abandoned. I am used to eating poor sand, eating coarse grains, and I feel like honey when I swallow it. Maybe this is my land of Canaan. "

"Don't fantasize about the future. If you meet a lovely sister, I should pray for you. You are really a likable person, and your cup should not be empty for me. "

"Let's just say goodbye. Believe it or not, you can't bear a yoke. "

Let's drink bitter tea all night.

Tell stories for half your life.

We are all persistent and unrepentant.

Wandering as a destination

In your small and weak life, I recorded this volume of grovelling scriptures, hoping that one day, you can explain it to me.

I calculated that if the memories in the pen can be traced back to my hands, when we learn from the young Bhikuni begging for food in Shewei City, begging for food in his city and returning to this place, I will feed you the biggest and most beautiful food in the bowl, and you are not allowed to throw a piece of ice heart into my pot without preparation as before.

We really know each other because we usually drink water.

It was supposed to be a thin summer afternoon, and I still remember some wind fibers on my short cuffs. During the talk between classes, I went to the teahouse next to the courtyard of the College of Literature to pour a cup of wheat tea and lean against the brick arch to enjoy the scenery. A line of cherry blossoms is thin and green, which makes me miss the beauty of the frozen lips of cherry blossoms in winter. Although it is sad, I would rather choose peerless sadness than plain and graceful. By the door wall, the old trees are shaded and dragging the wind; Grass green glass, butterflies shuttle in twos and threes. I sighed lightly, feeling that there was an unknown world in front of me. Sometimes it was a lost poem, sometimes it turned into a faint smoke, and sometimes it was a pity-it came from the most exquisite thinking in one's life ... These staggered feathers were finally pecked by a bird's cry, and then another voice asked, "Are you Jian Zheng?"

I'm nervous, you know, I often forget my name and refuse to admit myself in front of everyone. I must be at a loss that day! It took a long time to say, "Yes." He asked in a very clumsy dialogue, "So, who are you?"

Knowing that you still learn Chinese and write poems is like looking for four cloves of lucky grass in three cloves of rice paste everywhere: "Yo, there's another one hiding here!" " "I eat people when I am happy:" It turned out to be a junior, so let's call it a junior! "You don't want to reveal the distance from the school of science to the literary palace, which is more than two years longer than me. I think you are gentle and friendly, obviously a brother next door, deliberately bullying you at the end: "I don't care about age!" " "Your grin has greatly curbed my arrogance and careless temperament.

I came back that afternoon, inexplicably, with a kind of pain and happiness that was tightly embraced by life. I think that arch must contain the memory of a world.

In the final analysis, I am only good at language hegemony. Only by exchanging letters with you in the future can I find out how many magnificent and tragic things are condensed under your thin body, and you know how to hide your strength and bide your time. You are only willing to dig a small hole and let the contemplative life come to my eyes in a childlike manner. We don't talk about life, just talk about life. More often, we meet on the campus road, and we just say goodbye with a smile, but I firmly believe: "This person is a lonely person!" "

At that time, your face was slightly tilted because of latent lesions. Anyway, it's been cut. It's a chronic tumor. Don't worry about it. Only when your heart is tired will you be haggard. I told you to be careful. Your reply innocently said, "This morning, when I saw you floating away with a book in your arms, I suddenly felt embarrassed. Once I went to a verse class and went to class, I was surprised to see you lying on your desk tired.

I remember meeting you unexpectedly in the middle of the night. You told me the general plan and went back to the dormitory. In the dark, your steps are firm, but you look pale after weakness and fatigue. I didn't greet you much, but you saw my haggard. "You always don't want to call me' Jian Zheng', saying that this word is too strong and sonorous, with a little firm but gentle, and you would rather solemnly write down' Min Wei', saying that with the word' min', it will be fluent and not taboo. I was deeply moved. You are covered with lotus flowers, and you cherish your life for me. what can I do for you? The poetic careless temperament in my character always puts me against the people closest to me. It is rare to have a quiet party. When he left, he inadvertently jumped out of the beast and the ungrateful raptor: "Take care, when we meet next time, it may be nine days or nine years. "Your quiet face swept a trace of autumn, and you accepted these opportunities with a broad mind. Your peace letter usually ends like this: "Write, talk and be happy day after day. See when you are free to chat. I'm worried that one sentence will become a prophecy. "

After that, I left the college, hungry day after day, drunk and starry night. Only when I have an immortal poetic heart will I write some sad letters to my close friends. You always reply quickly: "I went out for three days and came back in the rain in the middle of the night, and a small stack of letters appeared in front of the eaves." With your kind handwriting in it, your letter naturally makes me like it. ……

My condition, good or bad, can only be known once with a knife. In the past two months, I have been sticking to myself, and I know that I have to pay endless love for the endless flow of life. I think, just like your Mercedes, he should do the same. One step at a time is nothing more than practice. At this point, I am still deeply optimistic and hope to be together in the future. I hope your career will be settled by then, and I'll take a shower, too. "

We are deeply optimistic about the future, high-fiving several times, secretly encouraging ourselves by creating new styles, and disdaining to attack the tune. Anger makes a talent like me gush with ink, as if to fight with thousands of people.

You see I'm abnormally thin, just tell me not to be too tired at night. I said aggrieved, "just live this once, I want to be overbearing!" " "You said earnestly," It's hard to enjoy life at the beginning of wisdom, and it's always been like this. "

You value my stubborn life more than your own. On that birthday, you went to find jade to send me, and there was a phoenix around a dragon net bottle (ah! Could it be a pure bottle of Guanyin? ), you said that the old man who killed the jade said that the texture of the jade was fake. On his way home, he passed Nanhai Road. You went to the lotus pond in the Botanical Garden and gently soaked the jade again. ...

You said: "Life always feels prosperous, but it doesn't touch the mud!" "

The disease is playing tricks on you, your eyes begin to shed tears unconsciously, and it is often difficult to sleep in the middle of the night because of wiping tears. You said modestly that this is due to your karma. In the remote mountains where you live, you are like a virgin talking to life and death, living alone with a sick letter and not changing the trickle of handwriting: "One day I couldn't sleep well in the middle of the night and went out to the balcony. The sky is clear in the mountains and the moonlight falls on the ground. Suddenly, I saw my own shadow under the moon, thin and timid, very familiar, but obviously not' me' in the sun. I just thought about it, ah, yes-it's' I' in fairy tales! I moved to look at the figure, and then led him to sleep. I once realized that I want to be like Zhuang Zhou, between being sick and not being sick. "

Your second operation removed the sudden change of sarcoma in your right face. I gave you a string of amber rosary, which was given to me by a master in the temple, and suddenly I took it off. I am glad of the "sudden" image in my life. You put it on your wrist solemnly, close your eyes weakly and lie in the hospital bed. I am naive again, like a spy. I'll give you the antidote before you fight hand-to-hand on the battlefield, and then you can meet the poisonous arrow boldly and fearlessly. After illness, you said, "I am gradually willing to reduce all sadness, ignorance, great pain and ignorance to a simple optimism. I think this is the ultimate realm of life." You know me. "

The most precious and beautiful thing is the six months before I went to Hong Kong to study comparative literature.

You write few poems, and you are only interested in devouring the classics of literary criticism. You joked that this is an "anti-American" project, but I must pay attention to it. It's not that you don't love beauty. I said, "No matter what beautiful woman in your family, she reads the original documents every day and treats a person like bean sprouts. This beautiful woman is simply a bastard!" " "You always go back to Chang Gung Memorial Hospital every week to follow up the illness. We meet at noon, and when I get off work, you teach me to study. Often in a small coffee shop with a bustling market, you take out a stack of white paper and a pen. After a sip of cold black tea, you began to call me "michel foucault" in a hoarse and muddy voice. I quietly tuck my knees and listen, entering the most magnificent and feminine space that my heart can touch. Your words floated: "... now, writing has been associated with sacrifice." The examination and excavation of knowledge is usually transformed into the examination and excavation of creation. I am a rusty knife and treat you as a whetstone. I thought you said my life was too much and I wouldn't listen to you after all. In fact, you are a distant peace. For you, I must keep fighting.

Once, when the tea was cold, you showed me a yellowed black-and-white photo: a 10-year-old boy leaned against a desk rented by a comic shop, white and timid, with a mysterious attraction and a slightly burning sadness and joy in his eyes, quietly looking at the world.

I exclaimed, "How beautiful! Is that you? " You said happily, "Yes!"

That time, you sent me back to work in the newspaper office, and along the brick road where kapok high-five machinery dropped ink, you sighed slightly: "Oh, my God! Give me time! "

After staying in Hong Kong for a year, you finally dropped out of school because of massive bleeding due to illness, and went straight to Linkou Chang Gung from Zhongzheng Airport. The doctor has issued a notice of critical illness. You wake up in a faint, watching the friendly classmates coming and going by the bed, or you are still waiting. When your parents are dead, your biological parents will be found soon. At that time, I couldn't eat. Sarcoma blocked my breath and I couldn't talk.

When you came to see me, you got out of bed and took out a piece of delicate soap from the messy luggage. Many years ago, I said that bathing three times a day is more than happiness. You wrote on the paper: "Take more baths!" At that moment, which can only happen once a year, I want to kill you severely.

In the past six months, I have been resisting to see you again, trying to go back to the 7749 times I recited to you, and finally I can't finish reading it. I suppress every thought of you. There are only two dreams, one is that you pass through the air as a naked child, and I look up and disappear; Once you came with money and a clean face, I was overjoyed and asked, "Are you ready?"

You just laughed and didn't answer. It took a long time to say, "I haven't started to get sick yet!" " "After waking up, I deeply hate myself. Isn't it enough that the great joy and beauty in this world have been deconstructed? Even in the illusion that you can be your own master, you should timidly disarm. After all, I'm a coward and I don't deserve to listen to a hero.

So, dear brothers, let's recall that afternoon. All dead ghosts and gods should sit quietly and listen to me.

That day, I borrowed a wheelchair and pushed you to the lake outside the hospital building. The autumn sunshine is scattered into a ball, the wheels are empty, and occasionally the grass on the brick embankment is beaten. I feel that your bones are like a long river sunset, and my floating thoughts are like lonely smoke in the desert.

When we sit quietly by the lake, we are about to forget the existence of this life. Suddenly, a line of egrets jumped out of the lake bank in the distance, which was swept away and found nothing. The lake is still there, such as after the shipwreck, on the calm sea, there is no wind, and clouds are piled up on the horizon.

You asked me on paper, "How many?"

I replied, "Twelve." You can rest assured to nod.

Perhaps, there will be no more hard-working grovelling scrolls for you and me. When you always conquer the sadness of life with the sadness of poetry, I try to disintegrate the cliff of fate with the cliff of novels; When I can't comfort you, or you no longer care about me, please remember that in our meager time, twelve egrets flew over the autumn lake.