Scene 3

That afternoon was cozy, gorgeous, nostalgia and whatever. The peep through another place in town another form of life pierced into me self-complacency and disgust. And yet, my attitude towards life was, somehow, further torqued for a better change, a change that I still cannot explicitly utter. People were kind, they were devoted, indulged, abused. No borderline between dream and reality, passion and slavery, wonder and confirm. Living, as they did, formed a total split-free unity, ignited tons of derisive tides around my body.

THIS IS GOING NOWHERE. YOU ARE PLANTING MASOCHISM AGAIN.

Alright. What do you want me to write about, the food, the tides, the beats and the moon? There you go, dare-free nuts, he said, that’s somethin’ I wanna hear. See how people get numbed and materialized without a slight complaint?! That’s the most devastating tragedy of our age, same thing as expressed in “About Schmidt”, and yet people likewise laughed and didn’t give a D. Let me tell you how all this was possible, how all the joy was created by a bunch of dare-whatever nuts, how a crappy car can encapsulate a universe of beauty, and how a Sunday can prove your bastard mind wrong!!

CALM DOWN BABY. THERE’S NO NEED TO GET PISSED.

YOU KNOW WHAT, I THINK YOU ARE GETTING CLOSE TO SPLIT.

HEY WHY DON’T YOU CONSIDER SWITCHING YOUR MAJOR?

I WANNA HEAR NO MORE FROM YOU.

Anyways, that was a wonderful time I spent, for the first time indulging myself to express freely and nobody around was arrogant enough to criticize. Wearing the science mask I attempt to probe deeply into their world, their emotions, their joys and sorrows. And wicked as I am, they won’t notice my GD ambition because hey, I’m a scientist, and that washes away all the suspicions. Because I don’t deal with feelings, because I live with theories and phenomena, because I can babble for a whole day with jargons I can simply generically create. Because I can mess up your brain not with colors or shapes or objects but numbers. SHUT THE F*** UP. You are acting out the most hateful thing called stereotype, and you don’t even realize. But can’t you see my sarcasm?

I played for a long time, “Auntie” and “Farmer”, two lovely pieces from 陈升. Warming my eyes with the deep blue lyrics book and soaring through the soft and heavy, strange and homesick, curing and hurting chords. My fingers yelled out in hunger, my voice familiar and weird, and he has the most beautiful eyes and eye lashes. And I’d be happy just to remember that.