Red door

Luo Ye joined the reading club near the museum, and he can go there to read from 24:[-] in the evening to [-]:[-] in the evening, and there is about half an hour of discussion between [-]:[-] and [-]:[-].Because it is very suitable for showing off feathers, this low-class salon party also attracted a group of pheasants.

At first, he was tireless, until one time, because he needed to avoid the rush hour, he had to lie on the sofa like a dead fish and listen to a group of people who had never seen Hesse talk about Hesse.

He didn't quite understand Hesse either, but he knew they were definitely not talking about Hesse.

In order to attract the attention of a beautiful [-]-line female model at the banquet, several men in the discussion expressed their opinions in a loud voice, and secretly glanced at the lady during the discussion.

This is naturally hypocritical, but he discovered the sadness of eternal animal nature. They naturally admire this lady, and the brilliance of this lady makes them feel ashamed. They are lazy and impatient, and can only imitate the perfect image in their hearts to get the lady's attention.Then what?If one of them did get the lady, they'd be smug again, and the same pathetic hypocrisy would never change a bit.

It is not them who are sad and pitiful, but eternal reincarnation.

Luo Ye wanted to write a vulgar story about reincarnation and love.His view of love is sad and hopeless. He believes that love is a great force. Although the power is considerable, it is not enough to change people. better illusion.Also because he loves her she loves his stable triangular logic, this force destroys life a lot like a storm.

A cup came over and touched the square cup in his hand. The hand holding the cup was very slender, but the veins on the back of the hand were very obvious.When the rain was blown into the house, someone went to close the windows.

"My Greek god." He Yuan said, "Do you like this book club?"

As he spoke, he held a thick copy of "Lolita" and sat down next to Luo Ye. His expression was calm and indifferent, his brown eyes were very oriental, but his posture had an indescribable intimacy.

Luo Ye lowered his eyes not to look at his eyes surging with love, "I never thought Lolita was so thick."

He Yuan pursed his lips, lowered his head and turned over: "Yes, not only Lolita, but also Nabokov's short stories. To be honest, he is not my favorite short story author. I tried to analyze his texts. , it is obvious that it has failed miserably, and perhaps the cleverer the author, the better he can hide his fox tail."

"You make the communication between the author and the reader look like hide-and-seek." Luo Ye took over and flipped through a few pages, "Only low-level readers will look for the traces of the author in the text."

"..." He Yuan was silent for a while, then said, "Didn't you realize it?"

"Aware of what?"

"I realized that many authors are not because I tried my best to find them, but because they are stupid and exposed their traces." He pressed down with his right hand: "It's because they are not smart enough, and they don't understand the techniques, and they seem very clumsy."

Luo Ye was startled, "I think some writers are sincere, they sincerely put their inner—"

"My day is to eat, drink, and go to the toilet to defecate. This is the main plot, interspersed with various emotions and stories. This is life, and the story is idealized. You have to know how to choose. It is not a work of art that is loyal to reality, but It is a vassal of reality, how can a work of art be without artistic treatment? Since there is treatment, there is a distinction between subtle and ingenious treatment." He Yuan said: "How can someone accept mediocre works? What readers tolerate is never mediocre works, but mediocre authors."

Luo Ye couldn't say anything for a long time, he looked at He Yuan, and asked gently: "Pushing mediocre works to the altar is not an insult to other authors, but an insult to other works?"

He Yuan nodded, there was a kind of innocence in him when he was serious, he seemed radical and free.

"Your point of view is very interesting, but I can't fully agree with it. You know, in my opinion—"

"The author and the work cannot exist independently. The soul of the author endows the work with power and beauty."

"The author and the work cannot exist independently. The soul of the author endows the work with power and beauty."

The two said this sentence almost simultaneously.Luo Ye stared into his brown eyes and said, "Don't tell me you sneaked into my brain and stole it."

He Yuan nodded solemnly, but laughed again: "I've read your report, and I don't know who you want to persuade. You have to say this every time you are interviewed."

Luo Ye immediately understood, of course he knew that he was trying to persuade that person, and he was just trying to persuade this person in front of him.Their destinies have been intertwined, and they cannot be separated for a moment.

He is my muse, my muse.

Luo Ye gave birth to a passion that I wanted to write for him, which was like a cluster of wildfire, which became a prairie fire in an instant.

One fine day he bound the manuscript into a thick volume, and his muse would be born from it, he was sure.

Seeing that he was very busy, his mother asked, "Do you want to write a novel? You can ask your father, he was very good at love writing when he was in college, although—"

Luo Ye helplessly repeated the words his mother had told him thousands of times: "Although it was written for someone else, after you read it, you are determined to pursue him and ask him to write you a love letter."

The curly-haired woman covered her lips and smiled. She was old, but she still smiled young.Of course Luo Ye loves her, love her beyond measure.

But for his father, his feelings are very delicate.When he was very young, it was his father who taught him how to read and accompanied him. Compared with his mother who liked to dress up and socialize, he preferred his father's quiet temperament.When everything changed, when he said that I would become a writer in the future, my father, who thought he would be very supportive, changed his face.

"Don't you support me?"

"Of course I don't support you."

"Didn't you say that you also wanted to be a writer when you were young?"

"Yes, I did."

"Why then?"

"Because you can't make money being a writer."

"..."

"I'm not interested in being a writer, and you, you are not talented."

His mother didn't know about this conversation. She got married right after leaving school, and the person she entrusted to him was considered a good man. Idealistic thoughts lingered in her mind that didn't need to think a lot.When he told his mother that he wanted to be a writer, she almost wept with joy, God knows how much she wanted her children to have rich and delicate emotions.

"I will support you, and your father will certainly support you," she said.

After his mother left, he sighed sadly, thinking of his muse very much.

Diary of a Mental Hospital January 1

"I can't die, I can't die until you come to see me.

I love you so much, even in my dreams, I will never forget you, one day I will be led by the god of death to come to you, but not now, I can't see you when you are useless, that makes me feel ashamed.What you need to know is that I am not worshiping you, but loving you.You have not used the magic weapon of religion to win, such as threats and expectations, but you did capture me, this young man who has not experienced much in the world but bowed to fate. "

The religious homosexual doctor was terrified to read his notes, but he realized that this inhuman patient might bring him peace, and he chose to enter his ward again.

"You never read his books, why do you say you love him?"

He turned his pale face, benefiting from the fact that his face was too oriental, whenever he lowered his eyes, he always showed a kind of humility and meekness.But He Yuan was used to speaking meanly, he said: "Your question like this may violate the principle of subjectivity of psychological counselors, right?"

"No, you can just treat it as a small talk. I hope to have a proper conversation with you. I want to get to know you."

"Let me guess," he stood up, with his hands behind his back, staggering as if he was dancing, and walked to the doctor's side, "You think talking to me might lead to a peaceful life, don't you?"

The doctor started to back off.

He Yuan showed an indescribably displeased expression: "You are already peaceful and peaceful. Although you are stupid, you are a good person, maybe a good doctor. Are you really criticizing yourself because of your God? Gay status?"

The doctor licked his lips, "Yes."

"The devil doesn't dare to accept a good person like you." He Yuan took the complete works of Luo Ye, which had not been opened in plastic, and hugged it to his chest: "You will get what you want."

"Then what do you want?"

He smiled slightly, but his expression was dazed: "I want love, I want relief."

"Wow...you never read his books, why do you say you love him?" The doctor repeated his question again.

"When you fall in love with someone, do you understand him completely?"

The doctor shook his head.

He Yuan took a chair for the doctor to sit on, and sat by the bed himself: "I know a part of him, and then I fell in love with him, what's so strange?"

"I don't read his books for my own good," he concludes.

The doctor was puzzled and said, "For your own good?"

"In my mind, there is a memory, the memory of us being together. This memory makes it almost impossible for me to distinguish between delusion and reality." He Yuan index fingered his temple: "Both memories are real, but they lead to the future It is different. Or you can understand that I have two sets of experience in life. And the details are contradictory."

The doctor couldn't help recalling his keen observation skills. The two sets of experiences would indeed cause quite a bit of confusion in his mind, but... the doctor asked, "How do you confirm that the other experience is real?"

"Those who lie about having seen God say that his image is beyond human description." He said, "But I know the style and color of each pair of his leather shoes, and the feel of each of his shirts."