蠢男子之歌

   

    从冰凉冰凉的湖水中爬出来，我得意的笑～

    望着那大朵大朵的绚丽烟花，我得意的笑～

    握着温暖到心底的柔软双手，我得意的笑～

 

    我要赞美不讲道理的孩子气，让我突破怯懦的身体讪笑的目光，真诚表达自己。

    我要赞美春天来临前的最后一阵寒风，让我冻僵了的拳头得以找到栖息的口袋。

    我要赞美那无条件鼓励的目光与善意着质疑的声音，让我认清将要前往的方向。

 

    叫我傻子疯子蠢男子吧，我清楚地知道什么是我抛开一切杂念之后想要的，什么是我要鼓起勇气去不懈追求的，恩，还有，什么是我要去包容和忍受的。 :)

 

    嘿，生日快乐。这是一次新生。

 

我得意的笑，我得意的笑～

当当当当，哈哈：戴同学的22岁，包子庆祝！！

 

酒

什么酒最好喝？
A.啤酒 B.白酒 C.红酒 D.泡酒
我的答案是：
和朋友一起喝的酒。

实习

现在的李校长和曾经的康校长一样，每天都站在大门口迎接学生。
路过原来初一2班的教室，李老师还上着她的数学课，有板有眼。
苏老师好像是语文组的组长了，她没认出我来。胡老师无缘一见。

那在走廊上嬉笑打闹的孩子，不就是我么？
那斜眼视人走路带风的孩子，不就是我么？
那被老师捏鼻掐耳朵的孩子，不就是我么？
那上课瞌睡下课亢奋的孩子，不就是我么？

电话薄

双扣之夜，可惜三缺一，于是打开电话薄，逐一查找，合适的人没找到，却看到了许多似乎熟悉但又陌生和模糊的名字。
知道某某某某的电话号码又能怎样？反正从未拨出过。能让我有联系欲望的人，也就那么几个而已。
 

就像这样：hey, fuck you the pathetic loser!

 

Monty's Reflection: Fuck me? Fuck you! Fuck you and this whole city and everyone in it.
Fuck the panhandlers, grubbing for money, and smiling at me behind my back.
Fuck squeegee men dirtying up the clean windshield of my car. Get a fucking job!
Fuck the Sikhs and the Pakistanis bombing down the avenues in decrepit cabs, curry steaming out their pores and stinking up my day. Terrorists in fucking training. Slow the fuck down!
Fuck the Chelsea boys with their waxed chests and pumped up biceps. Going down on each other in my parks and on my piers, jingling their dicks on my Channel 35.
Fuck the Korean grocers with their pyramids of overpriced fruit and their tulips and roses wrapped in plastic. Ten years in the country, still no speaky English?
Fuck the Russians in Brighton Beach. Mobster thugs sitting in cafe, sipping tea in little glasses, sugar cubes between their teeth. Wheelin' and dealin' and schemin'. Go back where you fucking came from!
Fuck the black-hatted Chassidim, strolling up and down 47th street in their dirty gabardine with their dandruff. Selling South African apartheid diamonds!
Fuck the Wall Street brokers. Self-styled masters of the universe. Michael Douglas, Gordon Gecko wanna be mother fuckers, figuring out new ways to rob hard working people blind. Send those Enron assholes to jail for fucking life! You think Bush and Cheney didn't know about that shit? Give me a fucking break! Tyco! Imclone! Adelphia! Worldcom!
Fuck the Puerto Ricans. 20 to a car, swelling up the welfare rolls, worst fuckin' parade in the city. And don't even get me started on the Dom-in-i-cans, because they make the Puerto Ricans look good.
Fuck the Bensonhurst Italians with their pomaded hair, their nylon warm-up suits, and their St. Anthony medallions. Swinging their, Jason Giambi, Louisville slugger, baseball bats, trying to audition for the Sopranos.
Fuck the Upper East Side wives with their Hermés scarves and their fifty-dollar Balducci artichokes. Overfed faces getting pulled and lifted and stretched, all taut and shiny. You're not fooling anybody, sweetheart!
Fuck the uptown brothers. They never pass the ball, they don't want to play defense, they take fives steps on every lay-up to the hoop. And then they want to turn around and blame everything on the white man. Slavery ended one hundred and thirty seven years ago. Move the fuck on!
Fuck the corrupt cops with their anus violating plungers and their 41 shots, standing behind a blue wall of silence. You betray our trust!
Fuck the priests who put their hands down some innocent child's pants. Fuck the church that protects them, delivering us into evil. And while you're at it, fuck JC! He got off easy! A day on the cross, a weekend in hell, and all the hallelujahs of the legioned angels for eternity! Try seven years in fuckin Otisville, Jay!
Fuck Osama bin Laden, al-Qaeda, and backward-ass, cave-dwelling, fundamentalist assholes everywhere. On the names of innocent thousands murdered, I pray you spend the rest of eternity with your seventy-two whores roasting in a jet-fueled fire in hell. You towel headed camel jockeys can kiss my royal, Irish ass!
Fuck Jacob Elinski, whining malcontent.
Fuck Francis Xavier Slaughtery, my best friend, judging me while he stares at my girlfriend's ass.
Fuck Naturel Rivera. I gave her my trust and she stabbed me in the back. Sold me up the river. Fucking bitch.
Fuck my father with his endless grief, standing behind that bar. Sipping on club soda, selling whiskey to firemen and cheering the Bronx Bombers.
Fuck this whole city and everyone in it. From the row houses of Astoria to the penthouses on Park Avenue. From the projects in the Bronx to the lofts in Soho. From the tenements in Alphabet City to the brownstones in Park slope to the split levels in Staten Island. Let an earthquake crumble it. Let the fires rage. Let it burn to fuckin ash then let the waters rise and submerge this whole, rat-infested place.
Monty: No. No, fuck you, Montgomery Brogan. You had it all and then you threw it away, you dumb fuck! 

 

    在The 25th Hour里边,Monty躲在了厕所里边,镜子中的他愤怒地咒骂着每一个人,包括他自己,而在镜子的对面,垂头丧气,一脸熊样。似乎这样子的宣泄，只会让自己显得更加窝囊，让自己的忿恨更加纠结吧。

 

    按我的胃口来说，电影本身还算OK，除了上边自白的这一段看得我兴奋又心惊之外，其他的都不怎样。但是，有爱德华·诺顿在，我就觉得很好看，特别是当他鼻青脸肿的时候，哈哈。爱德华·诺顿真是太棒了，似乎有品不完的各种不知道怎么就吸引着人的味道。罗伯特·德·尼罗和阿尔·帕西诺就暂时并列第二吧，约翰尼·德普和布拉德·皮特就暂时并列第三吧。就目前来说，爱德华·诺顿无疑是我小本子里的第一号男演员。

 

    至于标题The 25th Hour，我的理解如下：这比人们“规定的”、“标准的”24小时制多出来的一个小时，是让我们——the fucking pathetic loser——逃离all sorts of shits或者all the fucking XXX...的一个时间和空间的交错体，The 25th Hour是Monty带着爱犬Doyle散步的早晨，The 25th Hour是Monty凝视自己旧日照片的那一刻，The 25th Hour是让Monty对着镜子发泄怨恨的厕所，The 25th Hour是载着Monty穿越沙漠的吉普车，The 25th Hour是让Monty安身立命的小镇，The 25th Hour甚至是Monty的关于逃亡的一个梦，醒来后，发现自己不过仍然处在前往监狱的路上而已...呼，其实结尾是一个open ending，不过我的pathetic性格促使我倾向于这样设想：在所有的所有的所有的一切一切一切之后，我们突然醒来，发现自己仍然走在前往监狱的道路上。而那个我称之为“24小时”的监狱，我们似乎永远都到不了。

 

    这让我想起了一句挺悲伤的话:归根结底，我们面对的总是时间。

 

    Oh, yeah. Do you know the answer to LIFE, the UNIVERSE and EVERYTHING?

 

    42? Holy...Shit...

 

    The answer is the TIME.

 

    另外一个细节也挺值得玩味，Frank、Jacob和Monty三人是挚友，Frank是出身贫苦一路摸爬滚打到华尔街的花花公子，Jacob是有良好家庭及教育背景的中学文学老师。他们二人之间有一段对于Monty即将行狱这件事的对话：

    F: Man, he's got three choices, and none of them are good. One, he can run. Two, catch the bullet train.

    J: Bullet train?

    F: I'm not saying what he's gonna do. I'm saying what his choices are. His third choice is he goes to prison, that's it.
    J: Yeah, and that's what he's gonna do. He'll go and I'll see him when he gets out.
    F: Maybe. I'll tell you what. After tonight, it's bye-bye, Monty.
    J: What does that mean?
    F: Man, if he runs, he's gone. He ain't coming home. If he pulls the trigger, they close the casket. He's gone. They lock him away, he's gone. You'll never see him again.
    J: I'll see him again.
    F: No, you won't.

 

    不管Monty的选择有多少种，最后都一样：He's gone. He's gonna disappear. He ain't coming back.

 

    以上，每隔几个月必然一次的发骚，发牢骚。