Chill, Duuuuuude

When I walked into my English class today, I was the only one in the room except for Mr. Littney (well, okay, Mario walked in a couple seconds later). Mr. Littney was writing something on the board, which I made out to be our latest in-class "assignment," which was to write about our experiences with listening to our audio books.

At the bottom, Mr. Littney wrote, "Low stress, 10 points." Along with something else that I don't remember, but most likely along the same lines.

Eventually, people started trickling in and started reading the assignment on the board. Or more precisely, they all chose to read the second part rather than the first, which was the actual assignment.

Then, Sergio started laughing. Confused, I turned to look at the board, and saw that Mr. Littney had added this line:

"Except for Dino. He should be stressed."

The rest of the day was less interesting, save for perhaps Kathrya's eyebrow-wiggling (and Julie's response), or the ten minutes or so I spent with Cheshire today (I spent a good part of my time trying to think about what I could say and now I have a topic + there is something with me and talking about social studies related subjects lately).

Minor issues with today:

My ankle hurts. Still. Actually, I think it's getting worse, but maybe that is just my impression. At any rate, I am glad I did not wear my high heel boots today. That would have been even more painful.

Also, I need to do something about the awkwardly inopportune situation situations. Or just walk faster. Either way should work.

And, my Chicago interview tomorrow! To be fair, I don't really care about Chicago (not as much as some other schools, i.e. Penn), but it is still an interview and I hope everything will turn out great. Hopefully.

So all in all, not that many issues. It could have been much worse.

. . .

Still no story update today. Will it help if I link Beauty and the Beast instead?

Puntastic Days

Have I mentioned my list of favorite days of the week before? I don't think I have. Anyway, it goes like this: Tuesday, Thursday, Wednesday, Monday, Saturday, Sunday, and Friday.

Yes, Friday is last. It's because I never get anything done on Fridays (no motivation to get anything done), and I have every class so I'm aware that I have a lot of work I have to do, but I still never get anything done. Pretty horrible all-around.

But today is (thankfully) a Wednesday, so it's 3rd on my list, which is pretty good. A fun English class, where Cammie and I came up with very formulated thesis statements, a bio lab where I stared at lactobacteria, and a physics class where my hunger-and-lack-of-sleep-addled brain failed to recognize the direction of a force arrow and subsequently tried to figure out a question for ten minutes. Not fun.

At lunch, I caught up with Argon (a good deal of time we were separated—a full, uh, 20 hours or so), then went over to play go against Yuma. Brian and Clay watched on, while making horrendous go puns. Like, after hearing that there wasn't a go club meeting today, Clay said, "So it's no-go for the go club?" to which Brian said, "Shouldn't go club be 24/7, since you're always on the go?" That kind of horrendous. Although they didn't make any 5 jokes (to be expected, since neither of them know Japanese).

Then I decided I needed to get my recs envelopes settled, so I left the I-am-almost-being-choked-to-death-while-Yuma-is-still-calm-and-winning board to Clay and walked over to guidance with Gretchen and Brunhilda. When I came back to the table (where everyone was), Kathrya, Nyx, and Cammie started making name-puns. And saxophone puns, but I think explaining those would be going overboard (but 80% of my reader-base already knows this, so it's all right). Also, I believe I saw Bryant looking over at us at the peak of the name-puns loudness, which was slightly awkward (did I tell you before that I think his eyes scream, "I CAN READ YOUR MIND"? I must have).

The rest of the day picked up from there. There was a lot of cool vector operations in multi, which I must say was not my absolute favorite, but somewhere up there. And it just all makes sense now! I guess this is why it's so much harder to teach oneself with only a textbook. We're going to find areas of sections of planes in 3D tomorrow, which is exciting, but I have a McGill college rep visit (which reminds me, I've got to pick up the forms) so I'll unfortunately be missing part of it.

After multi was my free, which I spent in the learning center with Yuma and Clay. Clay attempted to do his utexas assignment (I must have also told you before how much I hate utexas), but he couldn't get the first question right (neither could I, as it turned out). After a half-hour consultation with Mrs. Cumulonimbus (I believe, because he has her for physics now), or some other teacher who has this free, he told me that it was because he forgot to add a negative to his answer.

Ugh. I hate utexas.

I also watched Yuma work on his chem lab. Oh, I miss chem so much. We'd considered switching science classes, whereupon I'd take chem again and he'd take physics again, but then I would need to switch my English class and he'd need to switch his design and tech class. Too complicated. Then I forgot that water and ethanol are miscible, which resulted in an "Oh, duh" moment.

Also, Clay's APUSH (I love the acronym) class is in the same hall as mine, so we walked down the hall together. Upon reaching my class, however, I realized that we were supposed to be in the lab, so I walked back again, where I spotted Argon. I convinced him that he had minutes to spare, so we stood in the hall, talking about random things, I'm sure, because I'm not sure what we talked about.

School Again, What A Surprise

Proper titling rules dictate that I should not capitalize the "A," but I am ignoring that for aesthetic purposes only. Anyway, after a long three-day weekend (yay for Columbus Day), I am back into the school routine. Which, thankfully, means reduced time for annoying college things, but unfortunately, also means increased time for schoolwork.

Since my morning was rather uneventful (we watched this "how to turn a sphere inside out" video and a few Old Spice commercials during communication time, but that was mostly it), I will skip right to French, where our teacher, who I shall now call Mme Pottery, spent most of the class showing us this music video (in French, of course) whose main ideas are "Why do we have to go to school and do all this work?" and "Oh, leave it to Charlemagne, he's to blame." Then we listened to this music video by the same singer who performed at the 1967 or 1965 Eurovision contest, and it's a song about a doll who complains that since she's so pretty she should be able to have so much, but she can't have boys falling in love with her. Or that was what I got out of it, anyway.

Great use of over an hour's worth of time.

I spent a good part of econ figuring out the tax graphs and how to draw producer and consumer burdens. Now I have the concepts down, so the graphs are easier. Yay! Unfortunately, we have a test on Monday, which means I will actually have to look over the practice test (it's quite a heavy bundle), and I am not looking forward to that.

I also spent a good part of my free convincing Yuma that math team was more important than frisbee. I'm not sure how well that went. But I did get to print out all the stuff I needed to print out (except the Naviance sheet), and then tomorrow morning I will have to schedule various meetings, but I think all is going well (so far). Clay took my computer (which reminds me, I hope he logged me off), so I got my envelopes written out and reformatted my lab, and Yuma and I folded paper airplanes according to that tutorial he found online, and we spent ten minutes or so throwing paper airplanes in the hallway. Archie, who was at the corner table, stared at us weirdly. When Clay came out, I finally managed to throw a successful, airborne, non-circling-back plane. I was really proud of myself.

Then I got all of my earlies letter envelopes settled, including seeing Tea and Kathrya multiple times in the process. After that, we (although Kathrya was just in it for the walk and the Gretchen-glomping time) went to math team, where everyone was already there. To our horrendous dismay, there was only one of the round 5 and 6 practice problems each left. Oh no! So we each took one and will now have to settle for next time.

Argon came over a while later and asked Tea about RSI. It was a long, rather drawn-out conversation, by the end of which we found ourselves all sitting on tables. Ms. Sherbert looked over at us and asked, "Are you guys practicing?"

Haha. I tried one of the geometry questions, but because I was too lazy to square numbers in my head, I didn't go further.

After math team, I went to the library, where I saw Zephy and Reese. Zephy was doing her physics homework (oh, utexas, how I loathe you so), and Reese was figuring out other people's chicken-scratch handwriting, because he got a huge list of rejects from his email list for tech club or something. So I sat down and tried to figure out said handwriting with him, and I think we got a couple of the emails (Reese's way of testing to see if the emails were valid was to send out an email with the subject line "test" and nothing else). We didn't get Superman though.

Pity.

Quand nous étions en classe d'anglais

Mario insisted on talking about math.

There are, of course, plenty of Mario stories I can tell from today's English class. In fact, being in Mario's English class may prove to be a unique experience altogether, but I digress. These stories start, obviously, with Mario's arrival into the classroom, fashionably late, with a cup of coffee in his hand.

Then, during self-introduction/name-a-book time, he said, "I really like the Redwall books. The mice books. It's about a lot of—rodents—and, uh, then there's the part where you get to read about rodents killing each other."

Or something to that effect. I forgot his exact words. I think everyone was busy laughing at him, anyway.

After the introduction round, Mr. Littney tried to recite everyone's name. He came to Mario and couldn't remember his name. Mario replied, "It's a plain vanilla name," which obviously helped. Then, Mr. Littney confused Mario with Lyle, which I am not sure how that happened, but luckily Lyle had arrived late with a pink note, so Mr. Littney just referred to the note.

During discussion time, we were talking about the Aciman article, and Archie said he felt cheated because the author eventually revealed that not all that he write about (even supposedly non-fiction and memoirs) is real. Mario sprung into a detailed discussion that can, to the best of my ability, be broken down into the following points:

• people fit into templates
• different people think in different ways
• these different ways can be described as a 3D space, where the real is on a line, and the not-so-real is on some plane
• of course, this 3D space is only an analogy, and analogies don't really work all the time

This soliloquy took around 5-10 minutes, and English class promptly ended soon afterwards. I would have gladly reminded him of real/imaginary/complex numbers in a Cartesian plane to further his analogy, but I'm not sure Mr. Littney could have stood any more Mario-talk for at least half an hour (if not more). He even started to half-interrupt near the end of Mario's soliloquy.

At lunch, I saw Argon (and I finally returned his number theory notes), Gretchen, Yuma (well, okay, so we had a free together), Tea, Nyx, and numerous other people (I remember Kathrya, but not who else was there). Yuma and I played a game of go, in which I lost miserably, and then Yuma played Nyx, in which she also lost miserably. And there really isn't any purpose to bringing these people up, I suppose, except to promote equality among the number-count it was a great day, complex multi problem included. Lovely day.

The Long-Awaited Math Team Runoffs

Gretchen and I were the first ones in the classroom yesterday. I was really surprised that Dino did not make it here earlier than Gretchen, but then I remembered that he had health now, instead of gym, so he would not be able to get out of class earlier and climb up three flights of stairs before the last bell rang, as he must have done prior.

Melissa came here as well, and said, "I was thinking about not coming, but I had been mean to Owen lately, so he made me come here instead of him."

This Owen-goading was apparently something she and Irving shared with great interest.

Micro also came, although he said that he would be on the team regardless. He did say that he did the practice problems, because he didn't want to get all zeros.

We then heard Kathrya and Genie outside, so Gretchie and I went outside as well. Somewhere here (along the line of time), Tea also shouted out from some random place (I didn't hear her, but Gretchie did), and Dino walked past us as well.

So that was basically the attendance for the last runoff of the year. Irving also came sometime later, as well as Mario and his Princeton sweater.

We started soon afterwards, with Gretchie, Tea, and I (and Dino and Micro, I presume) each taking our 1-2-3/4 rounds. Round one was a miserable existence. There were plenty of mental addition/subtraction math, which I am most horrible at, and, judging by the scores, everyone is also rather horrible at. Round two was okay, but not that much better. Round three (for those who took it) was fair, but I tended to make weird mistakes, and yesterday was one of those days. Round four was surprisingly easy for some reason, although I suppose having known calculus was the only reason why I even knew how to solve the last question (although the concept was mentioned in precalc, and Argon told me today that he also got it right with deductive reasoning).

Dino chose not to do a fourth round, and Irving and Mario only did two rounds each (Mario had taken another round earlier). Melissa disappeared some very long time ago. So by the end of the fourth round, only Gretchie, Micro, Tea and I were left. I went over to the table with the scored rounds to see what I got, and saw that Argon (who had taken the rounds earlier during his semi-free) had gotten the same number of points in rounds one to three, except his round one and two points were the reverse of mine. Dino also had gotten the same score in rounds one and two as us. Micro nearly got a perfect in round three, so he had the highest round three score out of all of us, but he rather miserably failed the first two rounds, thus prompting Gretchie and I to later speculate what would happen if Irving and Bryant (he, along with Tybalt, was also not at the runoffs due to track practice) did the "easiest" rounds one and two instead of their five and six, which right now only they and Mario and Tybalt can do.

Anyway, later yesterday night, while I was writing my English essay, Tea told me on Google chat to "go on Facebook and tell Dino that I do not carry messages" (along with her numerous lines of "Ginny? GINNY? Fine, be that way" that somehow made itself into a separate chat log). I asked her why, and she said something about the runoffs.

Before I had even finished typing "Dino, Tea asked me to tell you that—" Dino asked, "How did you do on the runoffs?"

Strange. He had never cared how I did before, but since we had already established that he was a strange boy, I indulged him and told him my scores. He responded with a single-word response of "nice."

The next day (which is really just today), Tea said that Dino told her that he had gotten a total score of fourteen. Which was absolutely ridiculous, because even though I did not remember how well he did on round four, he had gotten the same as me on the first two rounds, and my total (round four replacing round three) score did not even reach fourteen, despite having gotten a perfect in round four.

(The fact that his supposed score is one point higher than mine is also very suspicious.)

Oh, Dino and his lies.

So, Tea asked me why I like Dino. This piece below was written yesterday, but the theme fits, and I hope it will serve as a sort of explanation.


If I could have one dream and never wake up, please make this a dream, because then it would be all too real and I would not lose a thing, not the happy memories not the tragic moments not the laughter not the pain not one bit not anything.


I am reconsidering what Ritchell means to me. I cannot help it, I am a writer, and I look for the metaphor everywhere I go, and everything I do. I had once thought that if I made everything into an allegory of something else, I would be able to figure out why the good things come and go, and why the bad things always linger in the background.

Likewise, Ritchell became part of my goal to create the ultimate symbol, the epic that would have a real-life meaning that I could comprehend and then pass on. I made a mental list of all of his qualities, some from my memories, some from my imagination, but most from this world that was out of my control. This was the world Fate created and Allison Saint-Cross tried to destroy, and so Ritchell was just as contradicted, just as hard to understand, just as lost.

Ritchell was a combination of the real and the unreal, but to call him anything less than real would be unfair, just as it would be to call him anything less than surreal. I could tell anyone on the street the tangible traits Ritchell possessed, and receive some blank stares along with some hints of recognition. Just as well, I could say, there exists such a person, and describe Ritchell until he could not be any more clear in my head, and no one would have ever heard of him, even if I never bring up his name.

I see traces of Ritchell everywhere, everywhere I go, but he is never quite there.

I thought I had seen Ritchell just the other day, that chilly November. He was standing by the tallest oak tree in the park, and he had those eyes that I instantly knew belonged to Ritchell. I walked over to him, introduced myself, and asked for his name.

"Matt," he said, and that was the end of that. He had Ritchell's voice, and his composure. He was Matt Ritchell, then, I concluded. Names meant nothing anyway, unless you were Allison Saint-Cross, but even then, names meant much less than the ones bearing the names.

We stood in the park, sharing memories as if we had experienced them together and were merely trying to help the other recall the little details, like the fresh basil sprinkled onto the bowls of tomato soup served at the county fair, or the slightly purple-blue flower hanging onto its stem in the middle of December, amidst a blanket of snow. He was my Ritchell, if Ritchell were ever mine to begin with, and I grew confident with every song we sang those wintry months.

But Nephria had a legend as ancient as the walls of its buildings and as enduring as the air and roads and the blood spilt on those roads. It was known as Prescott's curse, and it came every winter with the snow and left every spring when the snow disappeared. If there had to be one reason why Allison Saint-Cross could try to destroy this world and still be honored as a hero, it would be because of Prescott's curse, and it would be because although Fate had no sympathy, Allison was only imperfect.

So April came, with its rainy solemnity and childish stubbornness, and April went, and summer came and summer went, and I thought I saw Ritchell again, many times, but when I looked again he was gone, and I had many times wondered if he had struck a deal with Chronos and could transport himself through time and space as easily as the apathetic redhead could.

Come November again, I met Avery Kanswell, who said he knew Ritchell, knew him by heart, knew everything there was to know about him. I asked him, were we talking about the same Ritchell? And Kanswell replied, "There may be many people called Ritchell, but there is only one Ritchell. You and I both know that."

I nodded, not because I thought he was right, but because I knew this would be the best explanation I would ever have as to why Ritchell could transcend the laws of Fate that even Allison could only envy to achieve. I asked Kanswell if he knew where Ritchell was, and Kanswell said I should know, if only I tried hard enough. I told him I saw Ritchell everywhere, but that did not help me very much, because just as he was everywhere, at the same time, he was nowhere.

And then I saw Ritchell. He had Ritchell's eyes, he had Ritchell's composure, he had Ritchell's air of presence. I wanted to say something to him, but just as I could see him everywhere and know that he was there and not there at the same time, I could see him here and not be able to make him hear a single word I said.

I stood from afar, observing my masterpiece evolve, sure to encompass the symbolism I knew was in his very state of being. I had groaned when I read other writers' papers, with their confusing microcosms and stories within stories that I could not understand, but now I pursued my metaphor with the same vigor, because this would be the one. This would be the classic, the one that would hold true throughout time, the one constant that could transgress every rule and limitation that made all of us keep faith in Fate but still yearn to believe in Allison.

Then one day, I woke up from my reveries and really saw Ritchell, and I realized that I had always been comparing Ritchell to that spectrum between Fate and Allison, and trying my hardest to ensure that Ritchell was perfect, because he was the closest I had to someone as intangible as Fate. But Ritchell was imperfect, just like Allison, just like Prescott, just like Chronos, just like everyone else. It was because Ritchell was imperfect that he could transcend time and space, because he could be everywhere at once, because everywhere was just like him, because everywhere had his essence and state of being. He was, in part, the perfect metaphor I had been searching for, but in part, he was not, because everyone else could just as well be that metaphor and play the role just as well, just as wholeheartedly, just as outstandingly, breathtakingly, tragic.

Ritchell was not the metaphor; he was only a part of this world that was so alike and so different that everything could be a metaphor for everything and describe the situation so fittingly yet be nonconforming enough to not resemble the original.

Ritchell was a metaphor for the dreams and broken memories and feathered hopes and everything else that resided in this world that Fate had created and that Allison had not yet destroyed, and those things were metaphors for Ritchell and everything he said and did and believed.

And somewhere amidst this revelation, I realized that Ritchell was both the fleeting good and the lingering bad, the very mystery I had been trying to unravel. He was not an explanation. He was simply another example of what I had observed a long time ago, and he presented the truth in such a obscured, juxtaposed way that I had no choice but to face it and ignore that cowardice that had accompanied me ever since I had first begun on this journey.

I'm not perfect, but I keep on trying, 'cause that's what I said I would do from the start.

Google Translator's Mishaps.

I remember a note I once wrote on Facebook. I had tried to write something in French, but knowing me and my not so amazing French skills, I decided not to make a fool out of myself. But what else could I choose that was not "stereotypical" English?

Chinese, of course.

So I wrote something that combined both Chinese and English, and at the bottom, despite knowing that few people actually read my notes, even if I tag them, I wrote, "Free cookies if you read both the English and Chinese part."

Of course, I would be proven wrong. The next day, I find a comment from Argon.

"Does using Google translator count?"

I searched for Google translator online, and then copied and pasted what I wrote into the translation box. With my entire sleep-deprived being in anticipation, I clicked "Translate."

And waited.

And laughed.

To be fair, Google translator is pretty impressive with its translations. There were phrases that were translated that did not take the literal, native-Chinese-speakers-will-laugh-at-this meanings and instead took the meanings I intended. Even some proper nouns were translated.

But to be really fair, the translations were nowhere near accurate. Some sentences were grammatically incorrect. Some sentences were jumbled beyond recognition. Some sentences were, well, the exact opposite of what I wrote.

The other night Kathrya talked about translating Hebrew on Google, and I was reminded of this again. Perhaps Google is better with Hebrew. I am not sure. It could completely be because Chinese has drastically different grammar and word usage rules than English and other Latin-based languages.

Regardless, I wrote a piece about math team members (in a depressing way, as a slight parody to the way math team people usually conduct themselves) in Chinese, and stuffed it into Google translator.

I'm beginning to think I should not trust my French translations as well.

Original Text:

(note: each "chunky" part represents a new person, and that person's Chinese nickname is the first few characters of the block. every time. I made it into a template.

and, try putting this into the translator.)

那人, 那感, 那曾经的事.

想写些什么.

麦芽头已经不像以前那么陌生了. 还是那么的天真, 那么坦白, 那么善良. 记得, 曾经说过, 不喜欢他的名字, 因为那让我想起以前不愉快的事. 可是他和泰不一样. 他明白什么会伤害我. 虽然他依然会那么做, 但是他还是会道歉. 泰, 则一直认为我可以接受他的一切.

红姐曾说过, 和她们在一起, 大家终究会认识的. 我那时只是笑, 没有说什么. 可是我明白, 必须要一直和她们在一起, 才会被她们记得. 而我并不属于她们的世界. 我是一个游荡的文客, 在不同世界中徘徊. 离开后, 会有人惦记, 却不会有人去寻找.

冰岛是一个懂得说实话, 却不愿说的人. 这些人中, 他, 是我最不理解的. 为什么惹我心烦, 却又记得我最琐碎的事? 为什么避开我, 却又莫名其妙与我对话? 为什么既让我厌烦, 却又以他那神秘的方式, 使我陶醉? 这一切, 是他的一个游戏么? 他是庄家, 还是也是一位不知情的玩家?

罗欧真的很像欧洲的伸士, 礼貌, 却又不是那么教条. 没有自我高尚的想法, 没有看不起他人的表现, 却明明比他人出色. 可是, 如欧洲的伸士一般, 他没有王族的权威. 被别人攀比的时候, 他妒嫉么? 他的微笑后, 有多少的苦衷, 我或许无法理解, 但是他的犹豫和他的谎言, 是谁也瞒不过的.

水儿我无法责怪. 踏入黑暗旅程的那一刻, 便注定知道: 走多远, 飞多高, 都是自己决定的. 我, 曾经也那么天真过. 曾经也相信, 只要敢坚持, 就不怕未来带来多少灾难. 而我忽略了, 莫策万变的未来, 是不会让人坚持的. 或许注定这样吧, 让失去梦想的人回望还没有被抹黑的人.

郭大哥似乎很淳朴, 没有太多对世界不满的超升心理. 我曾问过他, 以后想要做什么? 这样的世界就真的满足么? 当时, 他淡淡说起未来, 自我贬低谈起俗世的事情. 而我, 接受了那一瞬间的平静, 一刹那的毫无遮掩的信心. 千年之缘, 在片刻展现. 我们都是相信传说的人, 所以踏过梁河时, 都不禁回头.

瑜加, 是第一个让我情不自禁嫉妒的人. 第一次见到她, 就明白, 她和我是那么的相似, 却会永远比我拥有的要多. 她拥有所有我曾渴望的: 过去, 现在, 和未来. 可是天使般的她, 却也没有得到我最想得到的愿望. 她, 终究也逃脱不了现实的残酷铐锁.

魔法师和我对话是这些人中最少的. 是因为我们的差别太大了么? 他的自信, 我的懦弱; 他的成就, 我的无为. 还记得, 有一回, 我手里拿着一幅画, 被他看到了. 他的眼中, 充满了惊讶. 其实, 他并不是一个懂得虚幻的人. 也许, 这才是我们真正的差别. 他是现实中的又一名成功的人, 而我, 只能在这两个世界中徘徊.

艾里森是个什么样的人? 和罗欧冰岛在一起, 他懂得他的牌么? 他应该明白吧. 他是足够聪明的. 冰冷的表情背后, 他有什么样的梦想? 不过他是不答理我的. 我, 对他来说, 又是一个什么样的人呢? 我虚假的温暖, 会不会让他想起身边的事?

李妃最宝贵的, 务必是她珍藏的面具罢了. 她真的认为, 能够瞒过我们么? 或许她是舞台上的明星, 拥有迷人的笑容, 但是我们是后台的阴影. 所有残酷的谎言和他人所不知的秘密, 都隐瞒不了我们. 谣言, 是她的杰作; 而诱人的谜, 是我的特长. 面具终究会碎的, 因为没有永久的夜.

皇阿哥或许从来就没有理解我们的争执. 离完美, 他差多远呢? 就是那么几步的距离, 可是他却不敢迈出. 是什么让他犹豫? 他的理由, 和我的一样么? 不敢放弃, 不敢离开, 不敢承担在别人痛苦时自己逃脱的罪. 即使在悬崖边, 也只能眼睁睁看着那么遥远的天空.

玛瑙和我们在一起, 和她平时并不一样. 可是我们从来没有责问过自己, 是不是我们过于要求他人了? 有的时候, 只有在痛苦时, 才明白痛苦是什么滋味. 当我们离开绝望的陷阱时, 早已忘却当时为什么悲哀. 回味过去美好时光时, 是不是也要想一想那些曾遇到过的, 从未愈合的伤口?

温泉就如橡皮泥一样, 轻而易举就能塑成想要的形状. 也许我过于夸张了, 也许与他一样的人真的是太多了. 在随意被摆弄时, 他有没有抗议的想法? 有没有懂得无法改变命运后的绝望? 还是从一开始, 就接受了不公平的现实, 答应放弃?

塞让人最不理解的, 并不是他的冷漠, 而是他那并不冷的冷漠. 似乎关心, 却又毫不理会的他, 会被什么而动心呢? 需要有多大的悲剧, 才会让他觉悟? 也许, 写这些, 就意味着, 我也并不知道答案. 我是一个渴望晚会般虚假漠落的悲剧的人. 音乐, 要凄惨的. 颜色, 要悲凉的. 因为, 外界越痛苦, 就意味着内心与现实的差距越小.