Saturday, 24 March 2018

三月, 2018

我爱你。
我爱我自己。
我真的很爱你。
我爱幻想中的你。
我不想爱了。

这是我们的五年,我们的一年,我的四年,我的三月。

你的呢?


Fall For You 正在播放中,那感觉依然那么真实、美好,我哭了,因为我疯了。



我不再为你疯狂了,因为你让我觉得恶心了。

该结束的就到此为止,将幻想与梦想划清界线。


I've done falling in love for you, and I know where the door is.

I love you
but til next time, pctm



Sunday, 28 January 2018

not a dream

maybe people is right  I am still keeping distance.

I guess I don't wanna start anything new because I have hope, I still have hope, hoping that there's a we in the future, no matter how long I have to wait for, I just want it to happen, I really need it to happen, so desperately.

I would have said yes, you know, if you were him.

Wednesday, 17 January 2018

Saturday, 26 August 2017

脆弱有极限么?

最近一而再 再而三地 甚感脆弱

=晚上九点=家庭手术室=
用意志告诉自己,无论如何都不可以被那麻痹药征服。
看着针筒里的液体缓缓被注入,皮肤也渐渐失去知觉。那微微几毫升的液体,竟阻止我的皮肤给大脑传送紧急讯息,而任由外人随意在上操铁动刀,毫无反抗能力。直到液体决定被身体系统打败的时候,才歇斯底里地感受刀割,为从自己皮肤底层流出来温热的鲜血感到疼痛。


=早上六点= 失眠 =
一大白天为自己做了很好的心理建设,对下周怀抱着乐观。
看着分针一拐一拐地移动,目睹漆黑黑的天空渐有曙光,至眼眶里的高楼都被晨光照耀,见证了一个对睡眠的谋杀。这眼睁睁的两百四十分钟,不慎构造了很多恶毒的想法画面,几乎已经在脑海里看到了落魄噬魂的自己。



亲手将爱情放入花圈相框,用无数的回忆来哀悼

Sunday, 7 May 2017

看了七月与安生

婚纱我穿上了,头纱我戴上了,
你怎不来了?

从此以后,我的视线永远都隔了层纱,看不清楚远方;
又或者,我的视线永远都隔了层纱,似乎看到了华发苍颜的我们依偎在摇椅上。

一辈子好像真的太长了

你让我爱你的那二千五百一十九天,
是二千五百一十九个满空繁星的夜晚,
是二千五百一十九个出光赫赫的早晨,
是二千五百一十九个姹紫嫣红的春天。


后来夜幕低垂,年深日久,却尽是无止境的痴心妄想。
那纱,我怎么舍得给自己掀起来呢?









Wednesday, 3 May 2017

I Don't Paint

Everyone is retarded in certain ways.
And I don't paint, I cant.

It's not about "don't be humble, it can't be that bad" or "everyone can paint, just look at the pictures and follow".
I just... can't...

I would look at any pictures, any objects,
imagining to have this tenuous relationship with it,
and I would pick up my pencil.

I could feel it, I could feel the energy that comes through creating with my hands,
the urge to discover,
the urge to capture,
the urge to create,
the urge to convey,
that I could express so much by starting to leave lines, colors and shades on the paper.

But...
it got stuck, the energy would just not be released,
it all got stuck at my wrist.

I do no have the ability to wisely twist my wrist to know where to place the first dot;
I do not have the ability to artistically flex and extend my fingers to make sensible connections between inks;
I do not have the ability to... make any sense out of this...

Frustratingly, tonnes and tonnes of images would play and play and replay in my head;
All the flawless images that could help to better express my flattened emotions, would only be obsessively painted in my head.
I, can never get it out.

I am retarded, that I can't paint.
I do not have the privilege to connect with people through this gestural doing of art.