寧波的午後
今晨醒來，看到友人在網頁上介紹的一位英國藝術家，貼一篇他寫的文章，思潮起伏，至今還未可反應過來。
If you're lonely...
Work... this is work. This is hard work. Talking about work is work.
Thinking is work. Words are work. Words are things, shapes. It's hard to compose them, to put them in any kind of order. Words don't add up. Numbers add up! Things are everywhere. Everything is something, everything has something, but not everyone has someone. It's hard to distinguish between things, to separate things. I'm in a soup of thoughts, feelings and things, and words. Actually, it's more like a purée... or thick and stiff, like a paté. I'm in a paté and it's hard to move. It needs a lot of work to get out of it — or to separate it and find something in it. Thoughts, thoughts, sometimes I want to stop them, but it's hard to stop them. It's work. Dealing with thoughts, that's work.
Thoughts, thoughts, don't come! Stop! Please! When you're going to sleep and you can't stop thinking, thoughts queueing up, that's when you need drugs — or a notebook.
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5 則留言:
nice pick.
u know what, u are a natural born artiste bounded by edgy thoughts.
never get settled, unrest ur body and soul.
(love die ur blog, i mean it!)
my darlingbud, i want to tell you that you are always my engine to thinking ecstacy without u i m almost a living dead with extravagent flowery thoughts from most common eyes.
lovely...burst out! thoughts can be sometimes too much to handel. i have a pen i have a bottle of wine...then they keep me up all night. build as much that you can with your work, it's lovely work.
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