Dwight_

像是做了一个关于奔跑的梦,我的心脏狂跳着,血液在空调房里不合情理地缓慢沸腾起来,“喂,这意象代指什么”“这章节要表达什么”“他为什么要这样写,时代的背景是什么”“他难道有过爱人?”,虽然读过了一章又一章,人物的名字一个又一个落进我大脑皮层的间隙,但我似乎一个也回答不出这些问题,只能口齿不清地在奔跑中伸出手,试图拽着发问的另一个我一起进入这场被文字围剿,漫无目的的盛大逃亡之中。

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A picture lives by companionship, expanding and quickening in the eyes of the sensitive observer. It dies by the same token. It is therefore risky to send it out into the world. How often it must be impaired by the eyes of the unfeeling and the cruelty of the impotent.
——Mark Rothko
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