The background image is synced across the devices; the theme color, Google Chrome bookmarks, even my blog dashboard remains the same, although I've changed a computer, from a desktop with GTX 460 which I asked my mom to buy years ago to a Razor Blade laptop with GTX 870m I purchased on JD.com, my grandma is still lying in the hospital, barely speaking and mysteriously making everyone around her cheered up by nodding, by uttering a few syllables, and by not notifying my aunts for shitting in her pants. Gao has broken up with his girlfriend he at first so actively dismissed and then so deeply missed; my VPN connection now upgraded to OVPN-UDP to deal with increasingly strict internet censorship - the only constant seems to be myself - I'm essentially doing the same thing in different ways and on different platforms - I look up to the world like I look down on the characters I typed on the webpages, due to an exorbitantly high resolution, scaled and blurred.
Although I have observed the construction site in front of my apartment from the beginning, I hasn't yet confirmed its purpose. At one of those few occasions when I crawl down the building to catch the bus to the hospital or to my now-hospitalized grandma's house, I certainly had the chance to take a closer look at it. But I didn't, maybe because I have begun to consider the construction of whatever building a manifestation of my inner life - prospering in a planned, steady rate while maintaining its sense of dullness. The finish of a building is a purpose of the construction, the act of building is merely a strenuous and redundantly laborious way to achieve that purpose - the so called enjoyment of the process is nothing but a whirl of human emotions so useless when seen individually. The longer I contemplate my eventual perish and my wish to survive eternally, the more I feel that I'm not living for the well-being of myself, or rather, not the well-being of my consciousness, identity, but for the continuation of my gene, and the progress of human society. Deceit, kindness, persistence, objectively, is to reduce the entropy of the universe more systematically, therefore, is destruction of our unawareness. The newly purchased, 3000 dollar-ish Razor Blade is the byproduct of that destruction - I need a sleek hull, a flawless screen, and there came with it more coarse and flawed materials to be disposed for my whim.
I won 13 Gigabyte data for my iPhone just before the world cup began, and shortly after the opening ceremony I exchanged my iPhone for some 500 dollars and a Nokia dumb phone. I fetched a 2 Terabyte portable hard drive which, like the 10000 mAh battery, I would never use. And no matter how many books I loaded into my computer, how many episodes of TV shows I stored, and how fascinated I am with them, when I perform a re-installation of operating systems, the only thing I'd think of preserving is the porn movies I accumulated over the years. The inspirations in me, the keenness of my ability to replicate the exact reality have been gradually grounded. I was an ant who took a look into the sky and dared to challenge the vulture and was procedurally neglected. Now I look for a hole so desperately like a bird look for a tree.
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A bright spot appeared in the lower part of my laptop screen - a LCD diffusion layer error as inconspicuous as it is mind boggling. I, incredulous of its imminent dysfunction, and it, unaware of mine, gaze through each other, laughing.
I have always told classmates, friends, all of those people who are close but not close enough to have me expose myself, of a fictional version of my father, that he moved out of the country during Cultural Revolution an returned home a successful business person. While in reality, he's one of the participators of that political movement, and has only gone abroad once, to visit clothes factories in Japan, a trip that he disliked till this day to assert himself. I could not explain my tendency to live in lies, and then when I told other people of the truth, the result reminds me that, well, I'm just a lame write who expects to materialize his delusion.
I've never had a girlfriend before. I was disgusted with the idea of having to sustain in an intimate relationship with a female. When the first female appear during my sexual renaissance, and was then obsessed with the likelihood of a close and thorough exploration of female structure, and when I did, I was again disappointed by the magnificence of its involuntariness and simplicity. She might moan, I might penetrate a squeezed, dark red whole with more energy and frequency, but at the meantime, I dismiss myself of being possessed by primitive, animalistic neurochemicals, to assert myself. Everyone now in their sleep is picking up MP7s and firing at zombies and bosses and travel to the edge of the universe just to visit an ice cream restaurant, and when they wake up the next day morning, they get dressed up, ensure that they're agreeable and not different from anyone else, and board on buses, bicycles, cars, plug in earphones connected with their electronic device strivingly purchased, and go to a place to do something that a machine some day in the future will do, and leave at an appointed time, reverse the same route they came, and turn in to the same bed they turn out. "The world is so boring." and immediately adjacent to the uttering of that sentence, myriad molecules, atoms, particles fiendishly collided with each other, obeying the laws of 2,000,000,000-body problem - yes, indeed, boring.
My sperm is drooping, somewhere out there, in the vagina of my potential girlfriend, cervical liquid is drooping - none of us realize it, we're preparing for reproduction - we're preparing for death.
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My grandmother will be allowed to get out of the hospital soon; I'm gradually getting accustomed to the LCD diffusion layer problem; I've reinstalled the operating system 3 times just to get the Optimus and illegal Office 2013 activation work - these are the only noteworthy things that have happened to me in these days. I have lost the ability to imagine what the colorful, enjoyable life one might lead outside of the apartment. I have even lost my interest in killing mosquitoes, with all of those battles I fought no different from an episode from the Grand Campaign of the Total War series and from the dusk of high school entrance examination my teacher told me all that matters, all could matter is the college entrance examination three years later which I have quit. One year ago it is insensible for me to imagine that I would be truly going out the country, or own a Razor Blade I so desperately adored and so incapable of affording. But just when all of these slide into reality, I'm, as well, automatically upgraded unto a higher level of desire and incapability. Not only that, but also I have begun to despise myself in the past for being parsimonious, naive, and awkward, as is evidenced by my attitude reviewing the emails sent to my brothers and an anonymous guy who claimed he's dying and he'd like to offer me 100 million dollar just because we believe in Jesus - I don't believe in Jesus - he didn't give me that money - I don't believe in Jesus. It's either my atheism or he's a fraud. Within all of these nonsensical, illogical crap, I cannot elaborate on anything without the help of imagination - and I hate imagination, because none of my imaginations seem to have the possibility to materialize - I don't like that.
Saturday, June 21
Thursday, June 5
6/6
I'm not good at writing about real, concrete things, because it stems from an urge to describe something, and in the face of such acute unfeeling, I hardly have an urge. What drove me, when I opened the computer, to type in my blog address into the Internet Explorer I don't know. It's just a subliminal impulse, an instinct, to put something on the page. I view it as an opportunity, an occasion I should grasp - my grandmother has a stroke, a cerebral infarction so severe that she's been in the emergency room for over a day and a half. Surprisingly, I'm not sad, or involved with anything negative - I'm just an observer, of her feeling so unknowingly painful, and of her innocent, colorless eyes gazing through me - I even took the leisure to kill 2 mosquitoes and play something Virtua Tennis and Leo's Fortune on my iPhone. I've certainly witnessed death. When I was 4 and my grandfather died, I said to him, why're you still around here; and when I was 14, and another of my grandfather died, I cried. Now, it's her turn, so unacceptably natural, even liberating as a wife finally finding out her husband cheating, and a soldier getting hit by a bullet. I pretend to care, and I'm convinced that my aunt has the same pretense as I do - when she's down, we sent her to the hospital and pay the fees, and in the hospital, we change the diapers, monitor the heart rate for her. But deep beneath this solicitude, there's indifference and chuckling that oh, this is not me, and this will never be me. My grandma gave me 5000 yuan for my studies abroad when she was still conscious weeks back, which presumably I have written about, 5000 yuan from her hard labor for the factories when she was 6. She's illiterate - there's no such thing as a word processor in her brain, but when she talked about her youth, the times when cannibalism and political deceit are rampant, an enthusiasm rarely seen in the eyes of an elder emerges - she was in northern Jiangsu when she started working, and she spent the rest of her life speaking in northern Jiangsu dialect to everyone coming outside of the Wuxi city - it's evident that the fact is not, and she's aware of it, but she persisted, as determined as an office worker seeking for promotion and a student seeking for acceptance - it's her creed, her mode of life, as trivial and pathetic as it virtually is, she's not inferior or superior to the rest of human beings. She smokes, coughs, urinates; she has adored, loved, suffered, copulated before; she will ruminate, memorize, and then, eventually, perish - that's the process of living, or dying, what's in between are irrelevant and doomed to be forgotten - she's enjoyed this process; she's got kid and completed her task as a creature. She doesn't read Chinese, not to mention English, but she lives. And I, who may decry, grunt, complain, masturbate, am never as alive. Therefore I envy her, even though she's probably never waking up again.
I went back home at 9:39 PM. That means I missed the last bus, so as usual I walked home, singing Wake Me Up When September Ends, 21 Guns, Good Riddance, 風の日 and 高架線 repeatedly like I did departing from the snooker room promising my classmate we'll meet again and have never done so since then, and was run over by the exact same haze. Life's is continuing outside, whether I'm happy or not, contemptuous or not, it's not changing. Someone just got married, someone just had their child, someone's grandmother as well had a stroke and stayed in the emergency room, some naïve grandchild of her sits in front of the computer writing about the same event, in English, Arabic, Korean, Russian, Hindu while their neighbors' asleep, for God's sake.
I went back home at 9:39 PM. That means I missed the last bus, so as usual I walked home, singing Wake Me Up When September Ends, 21 Guns, Good Riddance, 風の日 and 高架線 repeatedly like I did departing from the snooker room promising my classmate we'll meet again and have never done so since then, and was run over by the exact same haze. Life's is continuing outside, whether I'm happy or not, contemptuous or not, it's not changing. Someone just got married, someone just had their child, someone's grandmother as well had a stroke and stayed in the emergency room, some naïve grandchild of her sits in front of the computer writing about the same event, in English, Arabic, Korean, Russian, Hindu while their neighbors' asleep, for God's sake.
