美丽南方，梦旅人......

昨天黄昏的时候，猫儿坐在我身边和我一块透过屏幕看梵高的这些画，
伴着这首stary stary night
猫儿哭不成声，一旁安慰的我记住她的呜咽

”灿灿，为什么有些人这么可怜，他好可怜哦 呜呜。。。“
"他画里的世界这么美丽，可是他内心多么寂寞荒凉啊“
”有些人也许本来就不该来到这个世界上，他们太孤单了”
"为什么天才都死得那么早呢”
”你知道么？他好苦，好穷的，他割掉了自己的耳朵，还得了精神病“
”这首歌很多人听的，但是真的写得好好哦，要梵高听到了也一定会觉得安慰的，可惜他听不到了“

Starry, starry night.
Paint your palette blue and grey,
Look out on a summer's day,
With eyes that know the darkness in my soul.
Shadows on the hills,
Sketch the trees and the daffodils,
Catch the breeze and the winter chills,
In colors on the snowy linen land.
Now I understand what you tried to say to me,
How you suffered for your sanity,
How you tried to set them free.
They would not listen, they did not know how.
Perhaps they'll listen now.

Starry, starry night.
Flaming flowers that brightly blaze,
Swirling clouds in violet haze,
Reflect in Vincent's eyes of China blue.
Colors changing hue, morning field of amber grain,
Weathered faces lined in pain,
Are soothed beneath the artist's loving hand.

Now I understand what you tried to say to me,
How you suffered for your sanity,
How you tried to set them free.
They would not listen, they did not know how.
Perhaps they'll listen now.

For they could not love you,
But still your love was true.
And when no hope was left in sight
On that starry, starry night,
You took your life, as lovers often do.
But I could have told you, Vincent,
This world was never meant for one
As beautiful as you.

Starry, starry night.
Portraits hung in empty halls,
Frameless head on nameless walls,
With eyes that watch the world and can't forget.
Like the strangers that you've met,
The ragged men in the ragged clothes,
The silver thorn of bloody rose,
Lie crushed and broken on the virgin snow.

Now I think I know what you tried to say to me,
How you suffered for your sanity,
How you tried to set them free.
They would not listen, they're not listening still.
Perhaps they never will.

（威廉。布莱克为米尔顿《失乐园》作的插画）
To see a world in a grain of sand
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand
And eternity in an hour.

一颗沙里看出一个世界
一朵野花里一座天堂
我把无限放在你手掌上
永恒在刹那间收藏
                          ----- 威廉.布莱克

他出生微寒，他是四岁时“看见上帝把头放在窗户”，
九岁时在乡间看见树上栖满天使的布莱克，他是10岁时开始做画家梦，
后来在印刷店做学徒的布莱克，他与文盲妻子结婚并教他读书画画相爱却膝下无子，
有人看见他与妻子一丝不挂的坐在树荫下读《失乐园》，
几乎不写长诗的布莱克是我钟爱的英国诗人，
钟爱他有如我钟爱海子以及李商隐，
这位才华横溢诗人以及画家在他生前无人赏识，多年以后他满怀哲思，
既神秘又单纯，既天真又深刻的诗歌才被世人重拾，
他的诗既不忧伤也不华丽，而他为《圣经》，《失乐园》，《坎特伯雷故事集》
画下的插画则被奉为那个时代经典深刻的艺术品。

下午的时候一个人在学校的湖边散步，默念着布莱克那首四行诗，微风轻拂的瞬间，
内心平静而惬意，回顾起前天纽约时报上那篇关于郭敬明以及当今中国流行文学的报道，
我下意识的给这个几乎和我同龄的写手预言，“你的作品或许用不了三五十年就会变成无人问津的废品”
你的作品用毫无原则的抒情来掩饰思想的苍白，在你所有主人公哭喊，忧伤，顾影，放纵
自虐的背后无非是你刻意营造的自怜以及爱情。你掌握了基本的写作技巧，
书可以买百万册做过剽窃犯的你永远是个三流作者，对于你的读者，
阅读你的作品是一场情感的猎奇以及自虐，
因为你知道孤独空虚敏感脆弱的他们有很多生活状态与你的主人公类似，
他们用你笔下的彷徨与忧伤唯美来暂时麻痹自己，至于你的工作室不过是个文字工厂，而你，
与其说你是个写手还不如说你是个娱乐明星。和韩寒的某些言论相比，你充其量是个文字贩子。

这个社会弥漫着精神荒芜的现象，麦田守望者们的苦闷空虚与彷徨被某些人滥用了，
启蒙的黄金阶段，我的许多同辈们再次断奶。这个国家哪天才能走出中世纪！

PS : Northern sky  by Nick Drake