A Dream-like Week Without Any Dream

It's Saturday morning now, and I haven't slept for almost a day. It's not really a big deal, but for a night owl it's rather uncomfortable, seeing the sunshine before noon, wide awake.
Nothing serious was done in this week. The translation was sort of carried out, day by day, pages after pages, slowly. I went to Morelex almost everyday, as if I am a devout believer and the cafe a sanctuary. Nor have I seen my friends for days. Phone calls kept non-stopping, yet I knew that of course didn't mean that so many are eager for me working for them. I don't really care really.
The emotional roll was mitigated, and for most of the day, as long as I was not in bed or in my room, I generally felt alright. Maybe that's the reason why I can't fall asleep. I can now pay attention to my walking, to people in the tube. I can look around now, more or less.
Only two things in this week is worth of noting down. Tow novels I read. The first one, Norwegian Wood, by Murakami Haruki, and The Insulted and Injured, by Fyodor Mikhaylovich Dostoevsky. I just finished reading the second one minutes ago.
Somehow reading these novels reminded me my time in my postgraduate study. It was fine days really. In a way it's even better now: no essays. Well, yes, it's actually better. Reading without living it means differently.
Norwegian Wood is much more enjoyable then the author's first novel, which I read years ago. The story is simple, more structured and focused. That's also the case for The Insulted and Injured. I couldn't even believe that's by the same writer who wrote complex stories like Crime and Punishment and The Idiot. I almost had the picture of the whole story before getting through the first part of the novel, which has four parts in it. However, something moved me. I haven't gasped or palpitated while reading for quite a while. Not surprised yet moved, that's new. Does that mean that I am not that intelligent now? Or does that mean I now turn my focus on the tinier details, the slim emotional and affectional depiction that stirred up the more acute reaction in me?
One more note. I don't realise how a story like The Insulted and Injured could make one shed tears. Maybe I was too tired, or maybe too anxious to get to the end. Same thing happened two nights ago when I was watching 火垂るの墓 (The Resting Place of Fireflies). All my friends told me that they sniveled over that film. Luckily the second nights I found two who didn't.
Oh, I need to sleep...God.

Kevin the Blue

I wept this evening. It was quite odd, crying and laughing at the same time. Over an old movie called Trois Couleurs: Bleu. We all know this film, don't we? At least seeing the poster with the heroine, Julie (Juliette Binoche), looking away, like she's leaving but not quite.
I heard of this film from my favorite Chinese writer, Liu Xiao Feng's book The Unbearable Body, one which matronised me for years.
I do, but rarely, cry over movies. The Priest was the first the I cried for. However, I have never had what I had this evening, cryingly laughing, laughingly crying.
In Liu Xiao Feng's book, the movie was re-told for the purpose of, on the one hand, remembering the great Polish director Krzysztof Kieslowski, and questioning the idea of liberty on the other. Liu, in his big project presented in his book to depict the shift from the Ethics of the People to the ethics of freedom taking place now in Mainland China, cleverly recognised that the Three Colours Trilogy of Kieslowski, Bleu, Blanc, and Rouge, are in fact an attempt to re-examine the political ideas raised in the great revolution in France, Liberty, Equality, Fraternity, in a personal dimension. Translation: could we really love? Is there equality in love? could one be set free in love?

Julie(,) (is) me and she
I was quite aware that it was not the story that touched me. I know the story by heart, and it was quite a simple one. Yet it was the simple plot that enabled the film to move me. Seeing Julie enduring the tragic happeninng, suppressing her feelings, destroying her current life trying to start a new life, for the first time I felt it was me that go through this, doing this, living this. And at points I felt is was also she going through this, doing this, living this. For the first time I had a chance having a glimpse of what she'd been through last winter, spring, and summer.
"No past! She decided to erase it all. Even if it re-emerges, it would be only in the music. It seems you can't really be freed totally from what has happened. You can't, because there comes the moments feelings of fear, or loneliness, or, like Julie, being deceived, penetrate your mind. Julie changed so much over the sense of being lied to that she realised no way she could live a life she wanted, nontheless it was in the catagory of personal free will. To what extent can we liberate ourselves from feelings? Is love a prison, or a freedom?" (my BAD translation)
Kieslowski said so in an interview, yet he did not know me, did he? Nor did he know her. Funny enough, my first time seeing this film, it was her besides me. I didn't cry, how could I? This time it be me only, yet I for the first time seemed to be really with her. And I cried.

My Fantasy
The movie is a story of a woman's quest from the most dislocated situation to the new place in her life. But it is also a story of the once left aside musical composition called "Symphony of Europe" being complished. It ends with the passsage from Corinthians I, 13, New Testament, "Though I speak with the tongues of angels, If I have not love, My words would resound with but a tinkling cymbal. And though I have the gift of prophesy, And understand all mysteries, and all knowledge, And though I have all faith So that I could remove mountains, If I have not love, I am nothing. Love is patient, full of goodness; Love tolerates all things, Aspires to all things, Love never dies, while the prophecies shall be done away, tongues shall be silenced, knowledge shall fade."
Sung in Greek at the end of the film, with the screen showing every character in the story having realisation, confort, or rest, and Julie making love to her finally-accepted lover. Never had I seen any filmmaker representing the act in such a beautiful way, using the choir chanting the prayer about love in its source language as the background music in a sex scene.

Just for a Kiss of an Unknown Girl
Kieslowski noted down two petit stories. Once in suburb of Paris, a teenage girl recognised him, came forwards and told him that since seeing his La Double Vie de Veronique, she realised that soul does exist. The other one, on the street of Birlin, an old matron came to him, cryingly holding his hand. For this woman lived with her daughter yet they hadn't spoken with each other for many many years. But after seeing his Dekalog, the daughter gave the woman a kiss on the cheek. "For a young girl to accept that soul exist, and another to kiss her mom once, that's worth of all the hard work," Kieslowski said latter in an interview. Although he also knew that the passion of that kiss wouldn't last for any longer than five minutes.

Maybe some of you would like it

(Wrote it for a friend's book, but I simply like the song.)

9.歌聲淚痕The Rose　　
這是一部關於搖滾樂史上最偉大的女性，詹妮斯?喬普琳（Janis Joplin） 的傳記電影，製片人找了一位外形相似，並同時是一名歌手的貝蒂．米德勒（Bette Midler）來出演這位傳奇女星短暫的一生。影片中引用了大量喬普琳的歌曲。原聲專集十分暢銷，其中出現了一首也許是搖滾樂史上最動人的歌曲，就是〈玫瑰〉(The Rose)。　　
喬普琳是搖滾樂史上永遠屹立不搖的女性形象，沒有人不被他歌聲中的爆發力和表演時的叛逆精神所震撼。他的吶喊能讓妳全身震顫。《美國流行音樂通史》記載這位在唱片工業短短出現幾年便離開人世的白人女歌手：「他不僅是位歌手，更是一種原始的力量…他唱歌的時候，他會憤怒地踱腳，奮力地甩他的黑髮，髮絲就像鞭子一樣抽打他的臉頰。有時，她抖動全身，讓他粗糙的藍調嗓音表現的極端痛苦迸發出激烈的呼喊和尖叫，有時又呻吟耳語，呢喃不絕，但卻表現了更深刻強烈的情感。很難讓人相信，一個在台下其貌不揚的人，當歌曲抓住他的時候，竟蛻變成如此的美麗；或者說，一個這麼年輕的人，唱歌時，竟變得如此地老成，而又筋疲力竭。」　　
很難相信嗎？看看台下的喬普琳生活的痛苦。詭譎的唱片工業，只會用「性，毒品，搖滾樂」的口號騙人上床的男人，精神上的徬徨與孤獨，在在都把喬普琳推向毒品的懷抱中，好從一個沒有愛的世界中逃離。1970年10月3日喬普琳過世，死因是海洛因過量。那時喬普琳才27歲，和搖滾史上的其他傳奇人物，如吉米?漢醉克斯（Jimi Hendrix），門戶合唱團（The Doors）的吉姆?莫里森（Jim Morrison），以及後來的超脫合唱團（Nivarna）主唱克特?寇本（Kurt Cobain）一樣，死於傳奇的27歲。　　
所以，當以喬普琳掙扎的一生為藍本的《歌聲淚痕》以〈玫瑰〉作為主題曲，沒有人能不潸然淚下。有如禱告一般的旋律，配上歌詞中懇切的追問－－名為〈玫瑰〉的曲子，卻以「有人說，愛是…」開頭，這還不清楚嗎？

玫瑰
有人說，愛是條河流，淹沒游移的人
有人說，愛是把利刃，讓血從靈魂滴落
有人說，愛是種飢渴，永遠疼痛的渴求
我說，愛是種花朵，而你，是唯一的種子
就是那害怕破碎的心，永遠學不會起舞
就是那害怕醒來的夢，永遠讓機會錯過
永遠無法付出，因為從不願被佔有
害怕死亡的靈魂，也無法真正活過
每當長夜如此漫漫，路途迢迢
你以為，只有強者和幸運兒配得摯愛
別忘了，深藏在冬雪底下的種子，
在春陽的愛中
長成了玫瑰

The Rose
Some say love it is a river that drowns the tender reed
Some say love it is a razor that leaves your soul to bleed
Some say love it is a hunger, an endless aching need
I say love it is a flower, and you, it's only seed
It's the heart afraid of breaking that never learns to dance
It's the dream afraid of waking that never takes the chance
It's the one who won't be taken who cannot seem to give
and the soul afraid of dying that never learns to live
When the night has been too lonely, and the road has been too long
and you think that love is only for the lucky and the strong
Just remember in the winter, far beneath the bitter snows
lies the seed that with the sun's love in the spring
becomes the rose

For all friends restless at night.

Chapter 10 In the Desert

It is said that whenever a man was called by the almighty, he would be totally alone. And the extremest situation of such would be, one couldn't even feel the presence of God. Of course it is always a question: could one ever be in company of the one above? However there always come times in which one could only call onto God, no matter one knows what he's actually calling for. "Oh my god," don't we say that all the time? Well, hold your tongue, because when you really need to call, you might not be able to.

Because of her I realised what heartache is. It is not a metaphor, it is physical. Yet I believe it has no biological explanation. You just lie in bed, grabbing your chest, where nothing seems to be different. But you have to do it, to feel. to be a bit eased. Yet it doesn't work.
Ever since I know it's not a literary tactic saying heartache.

My friend kid said all the time that she is a prophet. She also said all the time that all called by God to be prophet are miserable. Being after by disbelieving mass, rocked and killed. "My kingdom be not this world." I don't say that's self-indulgence. But I hardly had that sense of vocation. But that day, after one night grabbing my chest, leaving a red mark on it, I needed fresh air. I needed going out. So I walked, from Zone Two towards Zone One in London. It a long walk, normally people take tube or bus. But physical labour was preferred at that moment. I couldn't think. I couldn't talk to people. So I walked. I recalled a line from a cheesy movie, adapted from Graham Green's novel, The End of the Affair, goes that "I walked into a desert without Morris." Well, hell with it.
From morning to the afternoon, I walked and walked. I got bored easily, normally. But that day I wasn't. Well, I was bored from the beginning, only I couldn't care less about it.

"A church," I thought. I needed a church, to sit down, to rest, to pray. Better a Catholic one. The Catholic Church is unbelievably stupid in their formal document, but the architecture and music was nice. Better with a small confessing room. I always wonder how does it feel talking to a priest, knowing that he might ask you to repant, and not squeel on you.

For three hours I walk trying to find a church. Maybe it is bacuase that Britain is the first country with a monarch turned his back on the Roman Catholic Church only because he wanted to have another wife, I found nothing. (Yet still they sing "God Save the Queen") The night falls. It was late November, the night fell, which was quite early, at around six or five.
"One church, in the name of love, one church." (I always liked Bono.)

To a point, I gave up.
"Fine, you can't even gave me one, I don't want it."

Right after I thought that, I got my church, right at the corner of the street, next to China Town.

Bloody humour. God learned the British way?

An attempt to convince myself, and a slap on great scholars' face

From Man of La Mancha, a musical. Cervantes' line, speaking to his fellow prisoner who charged him as a bad poet, and idealist, and an honest man. In his defence, he called on all prisoners to put on stage his last work "Don Quixote". The deal: if the play pleased the prisoners, they had to let him keep his play. During intermission, the prisoner asked why "you poet always so facinated with mad man, and never see things as it is." He replied--

I have lived nearly fifty years and I have seen life as it is.
Pain, misery, hunger. . . cruelty beyond belief.
I have heard the singing from taverns and the moans of bundles of filth on the streets.
I have been a soldier and seen my comrades fall in battle . . .
or die more slowly under the lash in Africa.
I have held them in my arms at the final moment.
These were men who saw life as it is, yet they died despairing.
No glory, no gallant last words . . . only their eyes filled with confusion,
whimpering the question: "Why?"
I do not think they asked why they were dying, but why they had lived.
When life itself seems lunatic, who knows where madness lies?
Perhaps to be too practical is madness.
To surrender dreams- this may be madness.
To seek treasure where there is only trash.
Too much sanity may be madness.
And maddest of all, to see life as it is and not as it should be.

Chapter 9 Emily

Emily was the last person Kevin met before everything crumbling down, before the actual beginning of our little tale. So it is necessary writing her down, only to provide my beloved readers something that normally not given in a story. In most stories, you have a beginning, and you have an ending. The author might offer things happened before the opening, yet these have always been the background information, flashback, supplements to the stories. But rarely things before the story itself. I mean, you would never hear a pastor talking about things before the Genesis, would you? A narrative is a frame, making things meaningful within it.

Reality Bites

"Welcome back."
"......"
"It has been a while...ever since picking you up ...in Heidleberg...on your 20th birthday."
"Pick me up? You come to destroy everyone. Our dad and mom, our god parents, everyone nice to us... were killed! By you!"
"So...are you gonna do what you did...shoot me, again?"
"Yes...I am gonna end all these."
"End..... What is the end anyway?...... Again, and again, I've seen the world of the end several times...... But what is the end?"
URASAWA Naoki, Monster, Vol. 16, Chapter 10, "Welcome Back".

Another story my chinese literature tutor told us in high school. Confucius had a stupid student. He once had a argument with Confucius, which made him want to kill his respected tutor. Prepared and waited, he had his chance. Yet he wanted to make sure his victory a definite one, so he asked Confucius, without revealing any attempt of his fatal plan, which is simply a rock.
"What is the way the best man kills?"
"With his tongue."
Disappointed, ZiLu kept on for the second best. "What about the second best man?"
"With his pan."
Now ZiLu was left with no choice, but to go on for the worst. "What about the third?"
"With a rock." Confucius said. ZiLu set down his rock and never say against Confucius again.

20 years after 1984, Winston met Julia.
"I sold you out," She said, carelessly.
"I sold you out," Winston replied.
She returned a despising gaze.

Jean Val-jean: The world will never change.

The Nameless Monster

Once upon a time, on a humanless corner of the earth, lived a nameless monster.
It wanted a name so badly, so it started to travel to look for a name. But the world is too big, so it divided itself into two monsters, one headed east, and the other west, to look for a name.

The eastbound monster met a blacksmith called Otto.
"Can you give me a name?"
"How can I give my name to another people?"
"If you give me your name, I will get into your body and make you strong as a gift."
"Well, if you give me the strength I'll give you my name."
So the monster allowed itself into the blacksmith's body. Ever since then the blacksmith was getting stronger and stronger.
And Otto became the strongest man in town.
"Look, the monster inside me is growing so big," the blacksmith paraded himself to the countrymen.
Yet the monster got hungry, so he ate the blacksmith from inside.
"Kalikalikolakola....."
And he ate the blacksmith out. Everybody was terrified and ran away.
No one was left there to call it Otto. Again it turned nameless.
So the monster marched on to his trip, questing for a name.

Same with carpenter Hans.
"Kalikalikolakola....."
Again it turned nameless.

Same with hunter Thomas.
"Kalikalikolakola....."
Again it turned nameless.

The monster came to a castle to look for a name.
"I will make you strong if you give me your name?"
"If you can make me not sick I'll give you my name."
So the monster got into John the ill prince's body. Day by day John was getting better. The King and the Queen were grateful to the monster.
Yet the monster got hungry, so he ate everything in the Palace.
"Look, the monster inside me is growing so big!" John told his parents.
Yet the monster was still hungry, so it ate everyone in the palace.
"Kalikalikolakola....."

So now there's no one else to call the monster John, even though it was still in John's body.

One day John met the westbound monster.
"Look, I've got a name, my name is John."
"We don't need a name, we are monsters."
So John ate the westbound monster. Now there's nothing on earth that can call it by the name--John, what a beautiful name.

URASAWA Naoki, Monster, Vol. 9.