地方與中央

正在看許倬雲教授的萬古江河. 有一個地方讓我突然很注意. 他講到說, 自從秦以後, 中國在政治制度上, 地方制度上, 最多三級制, 大多數都是二級制, 也就是郡縣制. 我最近看過的葛劍雄教授也提到這一點.

在封建的時候, 似乎很不一樣的. 因為封建是世襲. 而郡縣, 則是由中央選派官員到地任職. 官員多半不是當地人. 封建即使一開始不是當地人, 幾代下去也就變成當地人. 這是很有趣的事情. 因為, 拿美國來說, 各州, 這鄉鎮縣市, 都是當地人選出來的. 這情況更像封建, 而不像中國秦以後的地方制度.

中國這秦制度, 因為地方長官是中央選派的, 他應該是向中央負責嘍, 他對於地方上的責任是哪些呢? 美國各級地方首長是向地方人民負責, 不知道他們是否要向中央某些責任? 現在台灣的各級地方官員也都是地方選出來的. 大陸的各級地方長官書記好像是中央委派, 他們在行政上的利弊還有和其他台灣不一樣的地方不知道有無研究? 另外, 這樣比可能也不公平, 因為, 台灣各級地方縣市長似乎要受到地方議會的牽制(這點我不是很確定, 我是比照美國的制度). 而我在想, 受到中央委派的大陸地方官或許比較不需要受到地方議會的限制. 但是, 我也不是很確定.

由中央委派的官員到地方去, 我想好處應該是中央可以作巨大全國性的財務, 人員, 資源, 等等的變動. 但是, 因為是中央的人, 地方的聲音不見得能夠傳達. 而中央委派的地方長官在面對地方的要求時, 他的權限和職責似乎也很難分配. 地方和中央如果鬧起來, 這些官員要站在哪裡呢? 如果說, 仍是中央委派地方官員, 但是, 有一個類似美國的地方議會. 那這個官員和地方議會的關係應該是怎樣的呢? 地方議會一定是為地方著想, 中央官員呢?

由地方選出地方官員, 則這個地方官員必然會需要為地方服務. 那可是, 如果地方作出了違反中央的政策時, 那怎麼辦? 如果是由地方選出自己的官員, 那這些官員對於中央的權責是怎樣的呢?

這是一個很可怕的問題. 中國歷史上的分合在我現在看這是核心問題. 每一個朝代一開始, 中央都強. 可是, 越到後面, 中央總是愈來愈弱, 到了一定的時候, 一場大亂, 於是地方割據開始. 周朝就是這樣, 漢朝也是一樣, 晉更不用說, 唐也是一樣, 宋朝似乎沒有這樣, 但是我現在看宋朝和他的時代好像魏晉南北朝, 元朝只有一百年多一點, 明朝的話, 就象我在金庸茶館上看到的, 明朝南遷一下就煙消雲散, 清朝的話, 他的地方割據則要民國後才正式擴大顯現. 就算是現在的美國, 中央和地方的權責似乎仍然有很多問題! 再拿歐盟來說, 愛爾蘭, 希臘等國的破產, 造成西歐各國的慌張, 甚至有傳言說, 歐盟要分裂... 他們也有中央和地方的問題. 在二戰結束之前, 英帝國也有中央和地方緊張的形勢. 這是全世界政權的問題.

地方與中央的首要問題應該是, 到底是啥形成中央和地方? 是啥, 維繫了中央和地方. 即使是小如台灣, 也應該要問這個問題! 是否有實質利益問題? 是否有歷史問題? 是否有感情問題? 是否有利害關係? 是否因為志同道合? 是軍事力量? 因為, 這些還有其他的問題, 應該是決定地方制度的原因.

For augument's sake

A debate was scheduled
Teacher announced
Come one, come all
Whoever excellent in words
Whoever clever with a mouth
Come!
A debate is here

Those excellent in words
Those clever with their mouths
gathered around the teacher
He said, good
Now choose your side
Here's pro and
Here is con

Clever mouths chose their side
Excellent words picked their seats
Teacher then said,
commence

Mouths were clever
they finished their term
Words were excellent
came up with a burn
Mouths were loud and clear
Words were sharp and smoother

Each side were high
Each side were confident
Arguments were made
Points were countered

Mouths controlled their breath well
Words had great poise
At the end
Teacher seem'd swell

At the end
One side won, the other failed
Teacher announced
It's not a matter of win or lose
for argument's sake, please
for argument's sake, only.



in memory of any debate...

和莉君的一個討論

今天和一個認識的人討論了一下真誠的問題. 那人是個 ABC, 所以我就用 sincere and genuine 來討論. 討論到最後, 他說他得要回去查字典...

一開始,他認為 sincere 和 genuine 是一樣的. 兩者都是要求真. sincere 和 genuine 就是內心發出來的感覺, 顯現在外表. 後來, 我說了鄧教授舉出的 中國人比較 sincere(真誠), 外國人比較真實(genuine). 他想想, 好像有道理. 他舉了一個例子. 他說假設美國人看到一個胖子, 他會說, you are beautiful. 但是, 一個中國人看到個胖子, 他的反應很可能是, 你怎麼那麼胖?! 你需要減肥! 他說, 美國人是 not genuine, but sincere. 而中國則是 genuine but not sincere. 我說可是這樣一來, sincere 除了內心和外表一致外, 還要加上令人舒服嗎? 那中國人的 genuine 似乎他心裡也是那樣感覺啊... 我們就從這裡開始糊塗了. 後來的討論越來越奇怪, 之後一片沉寂... 可以聽到烏鴉的聲音... lol

在討論中, 他有說過, 如果那個美國人說, you are beautiful, 可能他是從另一個角度說的, 譬如說他是說性格很美麗...而不光是表面. 如谷這樣那或許美國人還是可以說是 genuine... 在討論中, 我也曾把美國人的講話定位為 polite. 而這個朋友認為中國人的回答用 genuine 不見得合適, 可能 honest 更好. 這裡讓我想到很多很多.

首先, 美國人說的那一句話, 似乎真的在表演. 而中國人的那一句話, 也真的很像一個天真的小孩嘴裡說出來的話... lol

再來, 剛開始的時候, sincere 和 genuine 不經過那麼多轉折, 似乎分不出來有啥不一樣. 即使後來感到有不一樣, 我和他仍然無法在言詞上說出不同處在哪兒. 只有在把 sincere 換成 polite 來形容美國人的答案並且同時把形容中國人的那一個辭從 genuine 轉變成 honest, 之後, 我才感覺踏實了...

第三, 美國人那樣說, 如果有人指為不真實, 他還可以辯論說, 他是從另一個角度去看那胖子. 而不是向那個批評他的人膚淺的只看到胖子肥而已. 而中國人的答覆, 是...反覆不得啊... 美國人那樣說, 比較令人舒服. 而中國人那樣說, 比較衝... 美國人是否表演, 外面的人其實很難指責. 中國人的直, 卻很明顯可以指責為沒有禮貌...

第四, 好的演員, 能夠引起觀眾感同身受(empathy). 但是, 這時候, 演員不見得鐵定有這個感受. 演員實際上可以有真感情, 但是也可以是假的. 這個真假, 只有演員可以知道. 在戲劇裡, 觀眾只求那一時之間的感同身受, 因為感覺就是看戲劇的最大原因而不是考驗理智. 而感覺也並不一定要演員的表現, 音樂, 場景, 導演的其他安排都可以造成觀眾有所感動. 但是在生活上, 人如果只有外在的假裝, 而完全沒有內在的相應, 在長時間下, 原形幾乎必露!

第五, 我覺得我們一定不能把古人和今人看成不一樣. 他們也同樣有相同的要求, 以真誠來說, 孔子說過一句話: 子曰：“論篤是與，君子者乎？色莊者乎？”　［譯］孔子說：“聽到人議論篤實誠懇就表示贊許，但還應看他是真君子呢？還是偽裝莊重的人呢？” 這裡似乎是在找尋 sincerity...

第六, 但是, 這裡似乎也出現另一個問題. 那就是, 禮. 我們通常把 polite 翻譯成禮貌. 我聽過很多禮貌的玩笑. 譬如說, 一個日本人送客到門口, 主人鞠躬如儀, 客人也跟著鞠躬. 但是當主人鞠躬結束一抬頭, 夷, 客人還在彎腰鞠躬, 主人再次鞠躬, 客人一抬頭, 赫, 主人還沒行禮完畢, 客再鞠躬... 於是乎, 兩人鞠躬不停... 我看過另一個真事, 有一個人在網上抱怨, 他說, 我們現在總是說喜歡天真爛慢. 但是, 昨天我打電話去一個辦公室, 接電話的大概是一個廿歲的小姐, 一接電話就是, 幹啥麼?! 我跟他說了來意後, 他大落落的說, 這不關我們的事! 啪, 掛上電話. 這個人氣的... 如果有所謂的表演性, 在現在看, 其實就是古代的禮... 而那個美國人的答覆就是禮的一種體現.

第七, 但是, 當我在講禮的時候. 我卻往往要說, 我們提到禮. 是要分很多層次的. 就像鄧教授提到語言學. 我覺得, 我們提到禮就不能只用禮這個字. 而要分出禮儀, 禮貌, 法律, 制度... 原因是, 就像我前面提到的 sincere 和 genuine 在一開始的還沒正式討論前, 似乎無啥不同. 但是, 在討論後, 雖說我和我朋友說不出來不同處, 但是, 我相信他和我一樣感覺到有不同處. 而我必須要說, 以前的禮的觀念是寬廣的. 在孔子後的兩千五百多年, 禮的討論必須要以禮儀, 禮貌, 法律, 制度, 等等禮生出來的枝葉來進行討論. 而不能再用單字, 禮... 所以, 我和朋友的討論如果在繼續僵在 sincere 和 genuine, 必定不行. 因為 sincere 和 genuine 的意思之後可能變質. 還不如討論 politeness 和 honest 之間的微妙關係...

第八, 大多數人都是有時候真誠, 有時候假仙(台語, 假裝的樣子), 但是, 禮貌就是平時的潤滑劑. 我們有時候, 可能有很多時候, 心裡並不樂意和某人接觸的時候, 禮貌, 就是一種表演. 但是, 當我們真正悲傷或快樂的時候, 禮貌卻是一種舒發的管道. 那個胖子聽到美國人說他美的時候, 他可能心裡仍不這麼覺得, 但是, 和中國人一比起來, 我想信大多數的胖子, 一開始都會比較願意接近美國人而非中國人... 這種表演, 就算不能使人真正接近, 但是減少摩擦.

第九, 我看到一個胖子決對不會說, 你好胖得減肥... 大多數的美國人的確也不會這樣說, 至少我感覺... 我卻不能知道我一定會說啥... 我那朋友舉的例子實在有趣啊... lol

到此, 我已經不知道我自己在說啥了... 我這個人太簡單, 只要是長篇的文章, 我往往就失去文章的主題, 不知道文章到底想說啥... 我對自己寫的東西也一樣... 哈哈哈...

Enoch Arden by Alfred, Lord Tennyson

ENOCH ARDEN

Long lines of cliff breaking have left a chasm;
And in the chasm are foam and yellow sands;
Beyond, red roofs about a narrow wharf
In cluster; then a moulder'd church; and higher
A long street climbs to one tall-tower'd mill;
And high in heaven behind it a gray down
With Danish barrows; and a hazelwood,
By autumn nutters haunted, flourishes
Green in a cuplike hollow of the down.

Here on this beach a hundred years ago,
Three children of three houses, Annie Lee,
The prettiest little damsel in the port,
And Philip Ray the miller's only son,
And Enoch Arden, a rough sailor's lad
Made orphan by a winter shipwreck, play'd
Among the waste and lumber of the shore,
Hard coils of cordage, swarthy fishing-nets,
Anchors of rusty fluke, and boats updrawn,
And built their castles of dissolving sand
To watch them overflow'd, or following up
And flying the white breaker, daily left
The little footprint daily wash'd away.

A narrow cave ran in beneath the cliff:
In this the children play'd at keeping house.
Enoch was host one day, Philip the next,
While Annie still was mistress; but at times
Enoch would hold possession for a week:
`This is my house and this my little wife.'
`Mine too' said Philip `turn and turn about:'
When, if they quarrell'd, Enoch stronger-made
Was master: then would Philip, his blue eyes
All flooded with the helpless wrath of tears,
Shriek out `I hate you, Enoch,' and at this
The little wife would weep for company,
And pray them not to quarrel for her sake,
And say she would be little wife to both.

But when the dawn of rosy childhood past,
And the new warmth of life's ascending sun
Was felt by either, either fixt his heart
On that one girl; and Enoch spoke his love,
But Philip loved in silence; and the girl
Seem'd kinder unto Philip than to him;
But she loved Enoch; tho' she knew it not,
And would if ask'd deny it. Enoch set
A purpose evermore before his eyes,
To hoard all savings to the uttermost,
To purchase his own boat, and make a home
For Annie: and so prosper'd that at last
A luckier or a bolder fisherman,
A carefuller in peril, did not breathe
For leagues along that breaker-beaten coast
Than Enoch. Likewise had he served a year
On board a merchantman, and made himself
Full sailor; and he thrice had pluck'd a life
From the dread sweep of the down-streaming seas:
And all me look'd upon him favorably:
And ere he touch'd his one-and-twentieth May
He purchased his own boat, and made a home
For Annie, neat and nestlike, halfway up
The narrow street that clamber'd toward the mill.

Then, on a golden autumn eventide,
The younger people making holiday,
With bag and sack and basket, great and small,
Went nutting to the hazels. Philip stay'd
(His father lying sick and needing him)
An hour behind; but as he climb'd the hill,
Just where the prone edge of the wood began
To feather toward the hollow, saw the pair,
Enoch and Annie, sitting hand-in-hand,
His large gray eyes and weather-beaten face
All-kindled by a still and sacred fire,
That burn'd as on an altar. Philip look'd,
And in their eyes and faces read his doom;
Then, as their faces drew together, groan'd,
And slipt aside, and like a wounded life
Crept down into the hollows of the wood;
There, while the rest were loud in merrymaking,
Had his dark hour unseen, and rose and past
Bearing a lifelong hunger in his heart.

So these were wed, and merrily rang the bells,
And merrily ran the years, seven happy years,
Seven happy years of health and competence,
And mutual love and honorable toil;
With children; first a daughter. In him woke,
With his first babe's first cry, the noble wish
To save all earnings to the uttermost,
And give his child a better bringing-up
Than his had been, or hers; a wish renew'd,
When two years after came a boy to be
The rosy idol of her solitudes,
While Enoch was abroad on wrathful seas,
Or often journeying landward; for in truth
Enoch's white horse, and Enoch's ocean-spoil
In ocean-smelling osier, and his face,
Rough-redden'd with a thousand winter gales,
Not only to the market-cross were known,
But in the leafy lanes behind the down,
Far as the portal-warding lion-whelp,
And peacock-yewtree of the lonely Hall,
Whose Friday fare was Enoch's ministering.

Then came a change, as all things human change.
Ten miles to northward of the narrow port
Open'd a larger haven: thither used
Enoch at times to go by land or sea;
And once when there, and clambering on a mast
In harbor, by mischance he slipt and fell:
A limb was broken when they lifted him;
And while he lay recovering there, his wife
Bore him another son, a sickly one:
Another hand crept too across his trade
Taking her bread and theirs: and on him fell,
Altho' a grave and staid God-fearing man,
Yet lying thus inactive, doubt and gloom.
He seem'd, as in a nightmare of the night,
To see his children leading evermore
Low miserable lives of hand-to-mouth,
And her, he loved, a beggar: then he pray'd
`Save them from this, whatever comes to me.'
And while he pray'd, the master of that ship
Enoch had served in, hearing his mischance,
Came, for he knew the man and valued him,
Reporting of his vessel China-bound,
And wanting yet a boatswain. Would he go?
There yet were many weeks before she sail'd,
Sail'd from this port. Would Enoch have the place?
And Enoch all at once assented to it,
Rejoicing at that answer to his prayer.

So now that the shadow of mischance appear'd
No graver than as when some little cloud
Cuts off the fiery highway of the sun,
And isles a light in the offing: yet the wife--
When he was gone--the children--what to do?
Then Enoch lay long-pondering on his plans;
To sell the boat--and yet he loved her well--
How many a rough sea had he weather'd in her!
He knew her, as a horseman knows his horse--
And yet to sell her--then with what she brought
Buy goods and stores--set Annie forth in trade
With all that seamen needed or their wives--
So might she keep the house while he was gone.
Should he not trade himself out yonder? go
This voyage more than once? yea twice or thrice--
As oft as needed--last, returning rich,
Become the master of a larger craft,
With fuller profits lead an easier life,
Have all his pretty young ones educated,
And pass his days in peace among his own.

Thus Enoch in his heart determined all:
Then moving homeward came on Annie pale,
Nursing the sickly babe, her latest-born.
Forward she started with a happy cry,
And laid the feeble infant in his arms;
Whom Enoch took, and handled all his limbs,
Appraised his weight and fondled fatherlike,
But had no heart to break his purposes
To Annie, till the morrow, when he spoke.

Then first since Enoch's golden ring had girt
Her finger, Annie fought against his will:
Yet not with brawling opposition she,
But manifold entreaties, many a tear,
Many a sad kiss by day and night renew'd
(Sure that all evil would come out of it)
Besought him, supplicating, if he cared
For here or his dear children, not to go.
He not for his own self caring but her,
Her and her children, let her plead in vain;
So grieving held his will, and bore it thro'.

For Enoch parted with his old sea-friend,
Bought Annie goods and stores, and set his hand
To fit their little streetward sitting-room
With shelf and corner for the goods and stores.
So all day long till Enoch's last at home,
Shaking their pretty cabin, hammer and axe,
Auger and saw, while Annie seem'd to hear
Her own death-scaffold raising, shrill'd and rang,
Till this was ended, and his careful hand,--
The space was narrow,--having order'd all
Almost as neat and close as Nature packs
Her blossom or her seedling, paused; and he,
Who needs would work for Annie to the last,
Ascending tired, heavily slept till morn.

And Enoch faced this morning of farewell
Brightly and boldly. All his Annie's fears,
Save, as his Annie's, were a laughter to him.
Yet Enoch as a brave God-fearing man
Bow'd himself down, and in that mystery
Where God-in-man is one with man-in-God,
Pray'd for a blessing on his wife and babes
Whatever came to him: and then he said
`Annie, this voyage by the grace of God
Will bring fair weather yet to all of us.
Keep a clean hearth and a clear fire for me,
For I'll be back, my girl, before you know it.'
Then lightly rocking baby's cradle `and he,
This pretty, puny, weakly little one,--
Nay--for I love him all the better for it--
God bless him, he shall sit upon my knees
And I will tell him tales of foreign parts,
And make him merry, when I come home again.
Come Annie, come, cheer up before I go.'

Him running on thus hopefully she heard,
And almost hoped herself; but when he turn'd
The current of his talk to graver things
In sailor fashion roughly sermonizing
On providence and trust in Heaven, she heard,
Heard and not heard him; as the village girl,
Who sets her pitcher underneath the spring,
Musing on him that used to fill it for her,
Hears and not hears, and lets it overflow.

At length she spoke `O Enoch, you are wise;
And yet for all your wisdom well know I
That I shall look upon your face no more.'

`Well then,' said Enoch, `I shall look on yours.
Annie, the ship I sail in passes here
(He named the day) get you a seaman's glass,
Spy out my face, and laugh at all your fears.'

But when the last of those last moments came,
`Annie my girl, cheer up, be comforted,
Look to the babes, and till I come again,
Keep everything shipshape, for I must go.
And fear no more for me; or if you fear
Cast all your cares on God; that anchor holds.
Is He not yonder in those uttermost
Parts of the morning? if I flee to these
Can I go from Him? and the sea is His,
The sea is His: He made it.'

Enoch rose,
Cast his strong arms about his drooping wife,
And kiss'd his wonder-stricken little ones;
But for the third, sickly one, who slept
After a night of feverous wakefulness,
When Annie would have raised him Enoch said
`Wake him not; let him sleep; how should this child
Remember this?' and kiss'ed him in his cot.
But Annie from her baby's forehead clipt
A tiny curl, and gave it: this he kept
Thro' all his future; but now hastily caught
His bundle, waved his hand, and went his way.

She when the day, that Enoch mention'd, came,
Borrow'd a glass, but all in vain: perhaps
She could not fix the glass to suit her eye;
Perhaps her eye was dim, hand tremulous;
She saw him not: and while he stood on deck
Waving, the moment and the vessel past.

Ev'n to the last dip of the vanishing sail
She watch'd it, and departed weeping for him;
Then, tho' she mourn'd his absence as his grave,
Set her sad will no less to chime with his,
But throve not in her trade, not being bred
To barter, nor compensating the want
By shrewdness, neither capable of lies,
Nor asking overmuch and taking less,
And still foreboding `what would Enoch say?'
For more than once, in days of difficulty
And pressure, had she sold her wares for less
Than what she gave in buying what she sold:
She fail'd and sadden'd knowing it; and thus,
Expectant of that news that never came,
Gain'd for here own a scanty sustenance,
And lived a life of silent melancholy.

Now the third child was sickly-born and grew
Yet sicklier, tho' the mother cared for it
With all a mother's care: nevertheless,
Whether her business often call'd her from it,
Or thro' the want of what it needed most,
Or means to pay the voice who best could tell
What most it needed--howsoe'er it was,
After a lingering,--ere she was aware,--
Like the caged bird escaping suddenly,
The little innocent soul flitted away.

In that same week when Annie buried it,
Philip's true heart, which hunger'd for her peace
(Since Enoch left he had not look'd upon her),
Smote him, as having kept aloof so long.
`Surely' said Philip `I may see her now,
May be some little comfort;' therefore went,
Past thro' the solitary room in front,
Paused for a moment at an inner door,
Then struck it thrice, and, no one opening,
Enter'd; but Annie, seated with her grief,
Fresh from the burial of her little one,
Cared not to look on any human face,
But turn'd her own toward the wall and wept.
Then Philip standing up said falteringly
`Annie, I came to ask a favor of you.'

He spoke; the passion in her moan'd reply
`Favor from one so sad and so forlorn
As I am!' half abash'd him; yet unask'd,
His bashfulness and tenderness at war,
He set himself beside her, saying to her:

`I came to speak to you of what he wish'd,
Enoch, your husband: I have ever said
You chose the best among us--a strong man:
For where he fixt his heart he set his hand
To do the thing he will'd, and bore it thro'.
And wherefore did he go this weary way,
And leave you lonely? not to see the world--
For pleasure?--nay, but for the wherewithal
To give his babes a better bringing-up
Than his had been, or yours: that was his wish.
And if he come again, vext will he be
To find the precious morning hours were lost.
And it would vex him even in his grave,
If he could know his babes were running wild
Like colts about the waste. So Annie, now--
Have we not known each other all our lives?
I do beseech you by the love you bear
Him and his children not to say me nay--
For, if you will, when Enoch comes again
Why then he shall repay me--if you will,
Annie--for I am rich and well-to-do.
Now let me put the boy and girl to school:
This is the favor that I came to ask.'

Then Annie with her brows against the wall
Answer'd `I cannot look you in the face;
I seem so foolish and so broken down.
When you came in my sorrow broke me down;
And now I think your kindness breaks me down;
But Enoch lives; that is borne in on me:
He will repay you: money can be repaid;
Not kindness such as yours.'

And Philip ask'd
`Then you will let me, Annie?'

There she turn'd,
She rose, and fixt her swimming eyes upon him,
And dwelt a moment on his kindly face,
Then calling down a blessing on his head
Caught at his hand and wrung it passionately,
And past into the little garth beyond.
So lifted up in spirit he moved away.

Then Philip put the boy and girl to school,
And bought them needful books, and everyway,
Like one who does his duty by his own,
Made himself theirs; and tho' for Annie's sake,
Fearing the lazy gossip of the port,
He oft denied his heart his dearest wish,
And seldom crost her threshold, yet he sent
Gifts by the children, garden-herbs and fruit,
The late and early roses from his wall,
Or conies from the down, and now and then,
With some pretext of fineness in the meal
To save the offence of charitable, flour
From his tall mill that whistled on the waste.

But Philip did not fathom Annie's mind:
Scarce could the woman when he came upon her,
Out of full heart and boundless gratitude
Light on a broken word to thank him with.
But Philip was her children's all-in-all;
From distant corners of the street they ran
To greet his hearty welcome heartily;
Lords of his house and of his mill were they;
Worried his passive ear with petty wrongs
Or pleasures, hung upon him, play'd with him
And call'd him Father Philip. Philip gain'd
As Enoch lost; for Enoch seem'd to them
Uncertain as a vision or a dream,
Faint as a figure seen in early dawn
Down at the far end of an avenue,
Going we know not where: and so ten years,
Since Enoch left his hearth and native land,
Fled forward, and no news of Enoch came.

It chanced one evening Annie's children long'd
To go with others, nutting to the wood,
And Annie would go with them; then they begg'd
For Father Philip (as they call'd him) too:
Him, like the working bee in blossom-dust,
Blanch'd with his mill, they found; and saying to him
`Come with us Father Philip' he denied;
But when the children pluck'd at him to go,
He laugh'd, and yielding readily to their wish,
For was not Annie with them? and they went.

But after scaling half the weary down,
Just where the prone edge of the wood began
To feather toward the hollow, all her force
Fail'd her; and sighing `let me rest' she said.
So Philip rested with her well-content;
While all the younger ones with jubilant cries
Broke from their elders, and tumultuously
Down thro' the whitening hazels made a plunge
To the bottom, and dispersed, and beat or broke
The lithe reluctant boughs to tear away
Their tawny clusters, crying to each other
And calling, here and there, about the wood.

But Philip sitting at her side forgot
Her presence, and remember'd one dark hour
Here in this wood, when like a wounded life
He crept into the shadow: at last he said
Lifting his honest forehead `Listen, Annie,
How merry they are down yonder in the wood.'
`Tired, Annie?' for she did not speak a word.
`Tired?' but her face had fall'n upon her hands;
At which, as with a kind anger in him,
`The ship was lost' he said `the ship was lost!
No more of that! why should you kill yourself
And make them orphans quite?' And Annie said
`I thought not of it: but--I known not why--
Their voices make me feel so solitary.'

Then Philip coming somewhat closer spoke.
`Annie, there is a thing upon my mind,
And it has been upon my mind so long,
That tho' I know not when it first came there,
I know that it will out at last. O Annie,
It is beyond all hope, against all chance,
That he who left you ten long years ago
Should still be living; well then--let me speak:
I grieve to see you poor and wanting help:
I cannot help you as I wish to do
Unless--they say that women are so quick--
Perhaps you know what I would have you know--
I wish you for my wife. I fain would prove
A father to your children: I do think
They love me as a father: I am sure
That I love them as if they were mine own;
And I believe, if you were fast my wife,
That after all these sad uncertain years,
We might be still as happy as God grants
To any of His creatures. Think upon it:
For I am well-to-do--no kin, no care,
No burthen, save my care for you and yours:
And we have known each other all our lives,
And I have loved you longer than you know.'

Then answer'd Annie; tenderly she spoke:
`You have been as God's good angel in our house.
God bless you for it, God reward you for it,
Philip, with something happier than myself.
Can one live twice? can you be ever loved
As Enoch was? what is it that you ask?'
`I am content' he answer'd `to be loved
A little after Enoch.' `O' she cried
Scared as it were `dear Philip, wait a while:
If Enoch comes--but Enoch will not come--
Yet wait a year, a year is not so long:
Surely I shall be wiser in a year:
O wait a little!' Philip sadly said
`Annie, as I have waited all my life
I well may wait a little.' `Nay' she cried
`I am bound: you have my promise--in a year:
Will you not bide your year as I bide mine?'
And Philip answer'd `I will bide my year.'

Here both were mute, till Philip glancing up
Beheld the dead flame of the fallen day
Pass from the Danish barrow overhead;
Then fearing night and chill for Annie rose,
And sent his voice beneath him thro' the wood.
Up came the children laden with their spoil;
Then all descended to the port, and there
At Annie's door he paused and gave his hand,
Saying gently `Annie, when I spoke to you,
That was your hour of weakness. I was wrong.
I am always bound to you, but you are free.'
Then Annie weeping answer'd `I am bound.'

She spoke; and in one moment as it were,
While yet she went about her household ways,
Ev'n as she dwelt upon his latest words,
That he had loved her longer than she knew,
That autumn into autumn flash'd again,
And there he stood once more before her face,
Claiming her promise. `Is it a year?' she ask'd.
`Yes, if the nuts' he said `be ripe again:
Come out and see.' But she--she put him off--
So much to look to--such a change--a month--
Give her a month--she knew that she was bound--
A month--no more. Then Philip with his eyes
Full of that lifelong hunger, and his voice
Shaking a little like a drunkard's hand,
`Take your own time, Annie, take your own time.'
And Annie could have wept for pity of him;
And yet she held him on delayingly
With many a scarce-believable excuse,
Trying his truth and his long-sufferance,
Till half-another year had slipt away.

By this the lazy gossips of the port,
Abhorrent of a calculation crost,
Began to chafe as at a personal wrong.
Some thought that Philip did but trifle with her;
Some that she but held off to draw him on;
And others laugh'd at her and Philip too,
As simple folks that knew not their own minds;
And one, in whom all evil fancies clung
Like serpent eggs together, laughingly
Would hint a worse in either. Her own son
Was silent, tho' he often look'd his wish;
But evermore the daughter prest upon her
To wed the man so dear to all of them
And lift the household out of poverty;
And Philip's rosy face contracting grew
Careworn and wan; and all these things fell on her
Sharp as reproach.

At last one night it chanced
That Annie could not sleep, but earnestly
Pray'd for a sign `my Enoch is he gone?'
Then compass'd round by the blind wall of night
Brook'd not the expectant terror of her heart,
Started from bed, and struck herself a light,
Then desperately seized the holy Book,
Suddenly set it wide to find a sign,
Suddenly put her finger on the text,
`Under a palmtree.' That was nothing to her:
No meaning there: she closed the book and slept:
When lo! her Enoch sitting on a height,
Under a palmtree, over him the Sun:
`He is gone' she thought `he is happy, he is singing
Hosanna in the highest: yonder shines
The Sun of Righteousness, and these be palms
Whereof the happy people strowing cried
"Hosanna in the highest!"' Here she woke,
Resolved, sent for him and said wildly to him
`There is no reason why we should not wed.'
`Then for God's sake,' he answer'd, `both our sakes,
So you will wed me, let it be at once.'

So these were wed and merrily rang the bells,
Merrily rang the bells and they were wed.
But never merrily beat Annie's heart.
A footstep seem'd to fall beside her path,
She knew not whence; a whisper in her ear,
She knew not what; nor loved she to be left
Alone at home, nor ventured out alone.
What ail'd her then, that ere she enter'd, often
Her hand dwelt lingeringly on the latch,
Fearing to enter: Philip thought he knew:
Such doubts and fears were common to her state,
Being with child: but when her child was born,
Then her new child was as herself renew'd,
Then the new mother came about her heart,
Then her good Philip was her all-in-all,
And that mysterious instinct wholly died.

And where was Enoch? prosperously sail'd
The ship `Good Fortune,' tho' at setting forth
The Biscay, roughly ridging eastward, shook
And almost overwhelm'd her, yet unvext
She slipt across the summer of the world,
Then after a long tumble about the Cape
And frequent interchange of foul and fair,
She passing thro' the summer world again,
The breath of heaven came continually
And sent her sweetly by the golden isles,
Till silent in her oriental haven.

There Enoch traded for himself, and bought
Quaint monsters for the market of those times,
A gilded dragon, also, for the babes.

Less lucky her home-voyage: at first indeed
Thro' many a fair sea-circle, day by day,
Scarce-rocking, her full-busted figure-head
Stared o'er the ripple feathering from her bows:
Then follow'd calms, and then winds variable,
Then baffling, a long course of them; and last
Storm, such as drove her under moonless heavens
Till hard upon the cry of `breakers' came
The crash of ruin, and the loss of all
But Enoch and two others. Half the night,
Buoy'd upon floating tackle and broken spars,
These drifted, stranding on an isle at morn
Rich, but loneliest in a lonely sea.

No want was there of human sustenance,
Soft fruitage, mighty nuts, and nourishing roots;
Nor save for pity was it hard to take
The helpless life so wild that it was tame.
There in a seaward-gazing mountain-gorge
They built, and thatch'd with leaves of palm, a hut,
Half hut, half native cavern. So the three,
Set in this Eden of all plenteousness,
Dwelt with eternal summer, ill-content.

For one, the youngest, hardly more than boy,
Hurt in that night of sudden ruin and wreck,
Lay lingering out a three-years' death-in-life.
They could not leave him. After he was gone,
The two remaining found a fallen stem;
And Enoch's comrade, careless of himself,
Fire-hollowing this in Indian fashion, fell
Sun-stricken, and that other lived alone.
In those two deaths he read God's warning `wait.'

The mountain wooded to the peak, the lawns
And winding glades high up like ways to Heaven,
The slender coco's drooping crown of plumes,
The lightning flash of insect and of bird,
The lustre of the long convolvuluses
That coil'd around the stately stems, and ran
Ev'n to the limit of the land, the glows
And glories of the broad belt of the world,
All these he saw; but what he fain had seen
He could not see, the kindly human face,
Nor ever hear a kindly voice, but heard
The myriad shriek of wheeling ocean-fowl,
The league-long roller thundering on the reef,
The moving whisper of huge trees that branch'd
And blossom'd in the zenith, or the sweep
Of some precipitous rivulet to the wave,
As down the shore he ranged, or all day long
Sat often in the seaward-gazing gorge,
A shipwreck'd sailor, waiting for a sail:
No sail from day to day, but every day
The sunrise broken into scarlet shafts
Among the palms and ferns and precipices;
The blaze upon the waters to the east;
The blaze upon his island overhead;
The blaze upon the waters to the west;
Then the great stars that globed themselves in Heaven,
The hollower-bellowing ocean, and again
The scarlet shafts of sunrise--but no sail.

There often as he watch'd or seem'd to watch,
So still, the golden lizard on him paused,
A phantom made of many phantoms moved
Before him haunting him, or he himself
Moved haunting people, things and places, known
Far in a darker isle beyond the line;
The babes, their babble, Annie, the small house,
The climbing street, the mill, the leafy lanes,
The peacock-yewtree and the lonely Hall,
The horse he drove, the boat he sold, the chill
November dawns and dewy-glooming downs,
The gentle shower, the smell of dying leaves,
And the low moan of leaden-color'd seas.

Once likewise, in the ringing of his ears,
Tho' faintly, merrily--far and far away--
He heard the pealing of his parish bells;
Then, tho' he knew not wherefore, started up
Shuddering, and when the beauteous hateful isle
Return'd upon him, had not his poor heart
Spoken with That, which being everywhere
Lets none, who speaks with Him, seem all alone,
Surely the man had died of solitude.

Thus over Enoch's early-silvering head
The sunny and rainy seasons came and went
Year after year. His hopes to see his own,
And pace the sacred old familiar fields,
Not yet had perish'd, when his lonely doom
Came suddenly to an end. Another ship
(She wanted water) blown by baffling winds,
Like the Good Fortune, from her destined course,
Stay'd by this isle, not knowing where she lay:
For since the mate had seen at early dawn
Across a break on the mist-wreathen isle
The silent water slipping from the hills,
They sent a crew that landing burst away
In search of stream or fount, and fill'd the shores
With clamor. Downward from his mountain gorge
Stept the long-hair'd long-bearded solitary,
Brown, looking hardly human, strangely clad,
Muttering and mumbling, idiotlike it seem'd,
With inarticulate rage, and making signs
They knew not what: and yet he led the way
To where the rivulets of sweet water ran;
And ever as he mingled with the crew,
And heard them talking, his long-bounden tongue
Was loosen'd, till he made them understand;
Whom, when their casks were fill'd they took aboard:
And there the tale he utter'd brokenly,
Scarce credited at first but more and more,
Amazed and melted all who listen'd to it:
And clothes they gave him and free passage home;
But oft he work'd among the rest and shook
His isolation from him. None of these
Came from his county, or could answer him,
If question'd, aught of what he cared to know.
And dull the voyage was with long delays,
The vessel scarce sea-worthy; but evermore
His fancy fled before the lazy wind
Returning, till beneath a clouded moon
He like a lover down thro' all his blood
Drew in the dewy meadowy morning-breath
Of England, blown across her ghostly wall:
And that same morning officers and men
Levied a kindly tax upon themselves,
Pitying the lonely man, and gave him it:
Then moving up the coast they landed him,
Ev'n in that harbor whence he sail'd before.

There Enoch spoke no word to anyone,
But homeward--home--what home? had he a home?
His home, he walk'd. Bright was that afternoon,
Sunny but chill; till drawn thro' either chasm,
Where either haven open'd on the deeps,
Roll'd a sea-haze and whelm'd the world in gray;
Cut off the length of highway on before,
And left but narrow breadth to left and right
Of wither'd holt or tilth or pasturage.
On the nigh-naked tree the Robin piped
Disconsolate, and thro' the dripping haze
The dead weight of the dead leaf bore it down.
Thicker the drizzle grew, deeper the gloom;
Last, as it seem'd, a great mist-blotted light
Flared on him, and he came upon the place.

Then down the long street having slowly stolen,
His heart foreshadowing all calamity,
His eyes upon the stones, he reach'd the home
Where Annie lived and loved him, and his babes
In those far-off seven happy years were born;
But finding neither light nor murmur there
(A bill of sale gleam'd thro' the drizzle) crept
Still downward thinking `dead or dead to me!'

Down to the pool and narrow wharf he went,
Seeking a tavern which of old he knew,
A front of timber-crost antiquity,
So propt, worm-eaten, ruinously old,
He thought it must have gone; but he was gone
Who kept it; and his widow, Miriam Lane,
With daily-dwindling profits held the house;
A haunt of brawling seamen once, but now
Stiller, with yet a bed for wandering men.
There Enoch rested silently many days.

But Miriam Lane was good and garrulous,
Nor let him be, but often breaking in,
Told him, with other annals of the port,
Not knowing--Enoch was so brown, so bow'd,
So broken--all the story of his house.
His baby's death, her growing poverty,
How Philip put her little ones to school,
And kept them in it, his long wooing her,
Her slow consent, and marriage, and the birth
Of Philip's child: and o'er his countenance
No shadow past, nor motion: anyone,
Regarding, well had deem'd he felt the tale
Less than the teller: only when she closed
`Enoch, poor man, was cast away and lost'
He, shaking his gray head pathetically,
Repeated muttering `cast away and lost;'
Again in deeper inward whispers `lost!'

But Enoch yearn'd to see her face again;
`If I might look on her sweet face gain
And know that she is happy.' So the thought
Haunted and harass'd him, and drove him forth,
At evening when the dull November day
Was growing duller twilight, to the hill.
There he sat down gazing on all below;
There did a thousand memories roll upon him,
Unspeakable for sadness. By and by
The ruddy square of comfortable light,
Far-blazing from the rear of Philip's house,
Allured him, as the beacon-blaze allures
The bird of passage, till he madly strikes
Against it, and beats out his weary life.

For Philip's dwelling fronted on the street,
The latest house to landward; but behind,
With one small gate that open'd on the waste,
Flourish'd a little garden square and wall'd:
And in it throve an ancient evergreen,
A yewtree, and all round it ran a walk
Of shingle, and a walk divided it:
But Enoch shunn'd the middle walk and stole
Up by the wall, behind the yew; and thence
That which he better might have shunn'd, if griefs
Like his have worse or better, Enoch saw.

For cups and silver on the burnish'd board
Sparkled and shone; so genial was the hearth:
And on the right hand of the hearth he saw
Philip, the slighted suitor of old times,
Stout, rosy, with his babe across his knees;
And o'er her second father stoopt a girl,
A later but a loftier Annie Lee,
Fair-hair'd and tall, and from her lifted hand
Dangled a length of ribbon and a ring
To tempt the babe, who rear'd his creasy arms,
Caught at and ever miss'd it, and they laugh'd:
And on the left hand of the hearth he saw
The mother glancing often toward her babe,
But turning now and then to speak with him,
Her son, who stood beside her tall and strong,
And saying that which pleased him, for he smiled.

Now when the dead man come to life beheld
His wife his wife no more, and saw the babe
Hers, yet not his, upon the father's knee,
And all the warmth, the peace, the happiness,
And his own children tall and beautiful,
And him, that other, reigning in his place,
Lord of his rights and of his children's love,--
Then he, tho' Miriam Lane had told him all,
Because things seen are mightier than things heard,
Stagger'd and shook, holding the branch, and fear'd
To send abroad a shrill and terrible cry,
Which in one moment, like the blast of doom,
Would shatter all the happiness of the hearth.

He therefore turning softly like a thief,
Lest the harsh shingle should grate underfoot,
And feeling all along the garden-wall,
Lest he should swoon and tumble and be found,
Crept to the gate, and open'd it, and closed,
As lightly as a sick man's chamber-door,
Behind him, and came out upon the waste.

And there he would have knelt, but that his knees
Were feeble, so that falling prone he dug
His fingers into the wet earth, and pray'd.

`Too hard to bear! why did they take me hence?
O God Almighty, blessed Saviour, Thou
That didst uphold me on my lonely isle,
Uphold me, Father, in my loneliness
A little longer! aid me, give me strength
Not to tell her, never to let her know.
Help me no to break in upon her peace.
My children too! must I not speak to these?
They know me not. I should betray myself.
Never: not father's kiss for me--the girl
So like her mother, and the boy, my son.'

There speech and thought and nature fail'd a little,
And he lay tranced; but when he rose and paced
Back toward his solitary home again,
All down the long and narrow street he went
Beating it in upon his weary brain,
As tho' it were the burthen of a song,
`Not to tell her, never to let her know.'

He was not all unhappy. His resolve
Upbore him, and firm faith, and evermore
Prayer from a living source within the will,
And beating up thro' all the bitter world,
Like fountains of sweet water in the sea,
Kept him a living soul. `This miller's wife'
He said to Miriam `that you told me of,
Has she no fear that her first husband lives?'
`Ay ay, poor soul' said Miriam, `fear enow!
If you could tell her you had seen him dead,
Why, that would be her comfort;' and he thought
`After the Lord has call'd me she shall know,
I wait His time' and Enoch set himself,
Scorning an alms, to work whereby to live.
Almost to all things could he turn his hand.
Cooper he was and carpenter, and wrought
To make the boatmen fishing-nets, or help'd
At lading and unlading the tall barks,
That brought the stinted commerce of those days;
Thus earn'd a scanty living for himself:
Yet since he did but labor for himself,
Work without hope, there was not life in it
Whereby the man could live; and as the year
Roll'd itself round again to meet the day
When Enoch had return'd, a languor came
Upon him, gentle sickness, gradually
Weakening the man, till he could do no more,
But kept the house, his chair, and last his bed.
And Enoch bore his weakness cheerfully.
For sure no gladlier does the stranded wreck
See thro' the gray skirts of a lifting squall
The boat that bears the hope of life approach
To save the life despair'd of, than he saw
Death dawning on him, and the close of all.

For thro' that dawning gleam'd a kindlier hope
On Enoch thinking `after I am gone,
Then may she learn I loved her to the last.'
He call'd aloud for Miriam Lane and said
`Woman, I have a secret--only swear,
Before I tell you--swear upon the book
Not to reveal it, till you see me dead.'
`Dead' clamor'd the good woman `hear him talk!
I warrant, man, that we shall bring you round.'
`Swear' add Enoch sternly `on the book.'
And on the book, half-frighted, Miriam swore.
Then Enoch rolling his gray eyes upon her,
`Did you know Enoch Arden of this town?'
`Know him?' she said `I knew him far away.
Ay, ay, I mind him coming down the street;
Held his head high, and cared for no man, he.'
Slowly and sadly Enoch answer'd her;
`His head is low, and no man cares for him.
I think I have not three days more to live;
I am the man.' At which the woman gave
A half-incredulous, half-hysterical cry.
`You Arden, you! nay,--sure he was a foot
Higher than you be.' Enoch said again
`My God has bow'd me down to what I am;
My grief and solitude have broken me;
Nevertheless, know that I am he
Who married--but that name has twice been changed--
I married her who married Philip Ray.
Sit, listen.' Then he told her of his voyage,
His wreck, his lonely life, his coming back,
His gazing in on Annie, his resolve,
And how he kept it. As the woman heard,
Fast flow'd the current of her easy tears,
While in her heart she yearn'd incessantly
To rush abroad all round the little haven,
Proclaiming Enoch Arden and his woes;
But awed and promise-bounded she forbore,
Saying only `See your bairns before you go!
Eh, let me fetch 'em, Arden,' and arose
Eager to bring them down, for Enoch hung
A moment on her words, but then replied.

`Woman, disturb me not now at the last,
But let me hold my purpose till I die.
Sit down again; mark me and understand,
While I have power to speak. I charge you now,
When you shall see her, tell her that I died
Blessing her, praying for her, loving her;
Save for the bar between us, loving her
As when she laid her head beside my own.
And tell my daughter Annie, whom I saw
So like her mother, that my latest breath
Was spent in blessing her and praying for her.
And tell my son that I died blessing him.
And say to Philip that I blest him too;
He never meant us any thing but good.
But if my children care to see me dead,
Who hardly saw me living, let them come,
I am their father; but she must not come,
For my dead face would vex her after-life.
And now there is but one of all my blood,
Who will embrace me in the world-to-be:
This hair is his: she cut it off and gave it,
And I have borne it with me all these years,
And thought to bear it with me to my grave;
But now my mind is changed, for I shall see him,
My babe in bliss: wherefore when I am gone,
Take, give her this, for it may comfort her:
It will moreover be a token to her,
That I am he.'

He ceased; and Miriam Lane
Made such a voluble answer promising all,
That once again he roll'd his eyes upon her
Repeating all he wish'd, and once again
She promised.

Then the third night after this,
While Enoch slumber'd motionless and pale,
And Miriam watch'd and dozed at intervals,
There came so loud a calling of the sea,
That all the houses in the haven rang.
He woke, he rose, he spread his arms abroad
Crying with a loud voice `a sail! a sail!
I am saved'; and so fell back and spoke no more.

So past the strong heroic soul away.
And when they buried him the little port
Had seldom seen a costlier funeral.

Afterthought about Che part 2

This one was very depressing from the beginning to the end. Everything was against Che, but most importantly he lacked the local support. I would hate to quote Mao, but one of his famous saying is incredibly suitable here!

"People are like water, and army a fish. The way army needs people is like the way fish needs water."

Che was claimed the great man behind Cuban revolution. He was also a theorist for guerrilla warfare. He had to know how important local support was. Sometimes, there are forces unseen. Che might have overestimated local support, and he underestimated USA's determination to not let second Cuba appeared in its own backyard.

To me, the movie was really detailed in recounting the events led to Che's death. Kind heart wrenching as seeing an idealist fall. That is the primary element for a good movie.

Afterthoughts about Che the movie 2008, part 1

Benicio del Toro started the film, Steven Soderbergh was the director. The movie was pretty good. del Toro was awesome. It does not matter to me what real Che looked like. Because when I was watching the film, I believed Che would act, speak, breath like del Toro's presence.

The ways the director present Che was quite interesting as well. It was like a question followed with an answer. The film started with an interview in black and white. After the interviewer asked a question, no matter if Che answered or not, the camera then moved into a segment where the answer was acted out in color in the time of revolution. By doing this, the director picked their favorite answer for the question. By doing this way, a hero emerged. Some of the accusations for being an assassin and butcher during revolution thus melted away.

For a person who knows so little about this part of history, I would rather be skeptic than trusting what I thought was presented to me. However, I cannot help being attracted to Che as a character presented in the movie. He was indeed a great personality. He was sharp in the interview, humble in front of Castro, respectful in front of the Cuban mass, but also knows how to lead them without losing principles.

I liked the film.

since the death

I cannot sing i cannot talk I cannot play i cannot stop bink eating i feel complete lost i even had hard time playing with my other cat i see dong dong everywhere i sometimes hear his voice i am increasingly irritated i could not put myself to move i am dead i am torn i cannot even feel my heartbeat i do not know what to do with my cat they were one but now two

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老殘遊記續集自序

　　人生如夢耳。人生果如夢乎？抑或蒙叟之寓言乎，吾不能知。趨而質諸蜉蝣子，蜉蝣子不能決。趨而質諸靈椿子，靈椿子亦不能決。還而叩之昭明。

　　昭明曰：「昨日之我如是，今日之我復如是。觀我之室，一榻，一几，一席，一燈，一硯，一筆，一紙。昨日之榻、几、席、燈、硯、筆、紙若是，今日之榻、几、席、燈、硯、筆、紙仍若是。固明明有我，並有此一榻，一几，一席，一燈，一硯，一筆，一紙也。非若夢為鳥而厲乎天乎，覺則鳥與天俱失也。非若夢為魚而沒於淵，覺則魚與淵俱無也，更何所謂厲與沒哉？顧我之為我，實有其物，非若夢之為夢，實無其事也。然則人生如夢，固蒙叟之寓言也夫！

　　吾不敢決，又以質諸杳冥。杳冥曰：「子昨日何為者？」對曰：「晨起灑掃，午餐而夕寐，彈琴讀書，晤對良朋，如是而已。」杳冥曰：「前月此日，子何為者？」吾略舉以對。又問：「去年此月此日，子何為者？」強憶其略，遺忘過半矣。「十年前之此月此日，子何為者？」則茫茫然矣。推之二十年前，三十年前，四五十年前此月此日，子何為者？緘口結舌無以應也。杳冥曰：「前此五十年之子，固已隨風馳雲捲、雷奔電激以去，可知後此五十年間之子，亦必應隨風馳雲捲、雷奔電激以去。然則與前日之夢，昨日之夢，其人、其物、其事之同歸於無者，又何以別乎？前此五十年間之日月，既已渺不知其何之，今日之子，固儼然其猶存也。以儼然猶存之子，尚不能保前此五十年間之日月，使之暫留。則後此五十年後之子，必且與物俱化，更不能保其日月之暫留，斷斷然矣。謂之如夢，蒙叟豈欺我哉？」

　　夫夢之情境，雖已為幻為虛，不可復得，而敘述夢中情境之我，固儼然其猶在也。若百年後之我，且不知其歸於何所，雖有此如夢之百年之情境，更無敘述此情境之我而敘述之矣。是以人生百年，比之於夢，猶覺百年更虛於夢也！嗚呼！以此更虛於夢之百年，而必欲孜孜然，斤斤然，駸駸然，狺狺然，何為也哉？雖然前此五十年間之日月，固無法使之暫留，而其五十年間，可驚、可喜、可歌、可泣之事業，固歷劫而不可以忘者也。夫此如夢五十年間，可驚、可喜、可歌、可泣之事既不能忘，而此五十年間之夢，亦未嘗不有可驚、可喜、可歌、可泣之事，亦同此而不忘也。同此而不忘，世間於是乎有《老殘遊記二編》。

　　　　　　　　　　　　　鴻都百鍊生自序

(http://open-lit.com/list.php)

point and lines

we are point and lines. we are both. points are us. lines are the relationship with others. each of us were born with a two basic lines, connected with parents, with siblings sometimes. these are the strongest link, especially with parents. it is usually the hardest link to disconnect. as we grow, the lines that connect us from other point(people) increased. That is, usually. but for the most part, the lines connected, they disconnected. to maintain the connection of the line is depend on many factors.

just some weird thoughts... for the boring mind.

Artist and his art

An artist sat in his room for a long time. A very long time. His mother was worried and came up to his room to check up on him. What are you doing? The artist looked away from the window and glanced at his mother in a dreamy state, obviously. There was no word. Do you need some food and water? Nodded slowly, the artist said yes. After she went out of his room, the artist closed the door.

For seven days, it went on like this. The door opened at last. there was a beautiful painting on the wall. The artist was so tired. His mom brought him some food and water like the past seven days. After the meal, the artist went on sitting in his room like the past seven days. His mother was worried. What happened to him? The artist stopped looking at the window. He now just stared blankly into the art he created. Still in a dreamy state. Do you want to go out? No. Would you like to watch a movie? No. It's Pete on the phone. Not interested. Don't you want to go out and bath in the sunlight? No. Why do you keep looking at the painting? ...

The hair grew, the bear grew, the nails were long. Mom was mad. She went into the room and smashed the painting! Why! What is it about the painting?! What are you doing to yourself? Look at you! You abandoned your friends, your life, you family, and yourself! Look at you! She stepped on the painting and stampeded on it! The artist was shocked by his mother's action! The sharp, high pitched voice shot through his ears! He jumped out of his seat and stood there. I was dreaming! Why do you shatter the only dream that I've ever had! But I don't understand! Your dream was to become an artist! No, No! My dream was to paint and die in it! What was that you were painting? Don't say another word! You ruined my dream, you ruined it! The artist sank on the floor, trying to recover the painting.

It was a girl on a sofa with a cat besides her. She was playing with the cat. The cat was so comfortable, he lied on his back and let her smooth through the soft belly. She sat side way on her lap and looked at the cat with a smile like there was no other person around. It was a red sofa, a yellowish wall with green curtain. A dim lit light, enough to show the colors but not enough to twist them. The cat was like purring. It almost felt like the purring sound was coming out of the painting.

chuck close

I watched the last episode of Charlie Rose's Brain series. Charlie Rose invited 2 artists to the table for the topic was about creativity. I was caught by one of the artists, Chuck Close saying that as an artist, he doesn't believe in inspiration. He said that artists cannot just wait for the inspiration to hit them like a lightening. He said that usually the way he works is to just start to work. Usually, along the way, something came up. It is like saying Action creates, doesn't matter if any idea formed beforehand or not. At the end, Charlie Rose asked, but there's still the question of why you guys are being you guys! There are tens of thousands artist out there. What makes you guys you? I do not remember a definite answer from all the people around that table. But I think does it matter? I do not see difference in these famous artists and a small child giddily creating whatever art. Other people's praise is some other people's business...

Something I feel I already know but lacked drive. I hate to say this. Rationality is useless for me here. I just want to be hugged to sleep and never get up again.

my borsch recipe

Preparation of the Stock:
Onion, 2 medium or 1 large
Bay Leaf, 1 piece
Any meat as you prefer, you can use bones as well.

Cook together for about an hour and half.
Pull out the meat, Onion, and bay leaf.
Or you could just leave the meat in there.
Cool it, so you could pick out fats.

Borsch:
Slice Beets.
Put Beets in the stock.
You can also add carrots, greased onions, tomatoes, and cabbage.
Few drop of vinegar, or lemon juice would be good too.
Finally Salt and Pepper to the taste.

It is served with some kind of cream like sour cream.
But I like the soup just the way it is.
Adding little bit of sour flavor is great though.

If I put in too many things besides beets, the color of the soup would not be as red, and the taste of beets would be compromised. Some may like it that way, But I prefer to have more beets flavor along with the deep dark red color of the soup. More pleasing to the eyes to me personally. I usually pull the Meat out after the stock is done. I am afraid of over cooked meat. Adding meat in later while the soup is hot is not a problem to me.