Comments Closed

《观后1》

有门艺术,人精通后,只剩手脚。

何等邪门巫术、始作俑者!

非也,非也。

看了场演出,有所感,潦笔记之。

20年前欧洲旅行的时候,经过意大利歌剧院 Teatro La Scala的大门,算是初次邂逅。

去年末,听闻意大利歌剧院芭蕾舞团2024年3月会在香港上演《海贼》Le Corsaire,属于再次相遇。

台灯渐暗,乐池响起。开幕布景,迎头一副:湛蓝一片孤帆跃,水手相拥雪花白。

往后的故事情节,在此不多谈。因为,我睡着了。

我做了个梦。

眼前一棵大槐树,是青花瓷做的,盘绕攀天,在最顶处,开出了一朵花

花瓣缓缓绽放,成鱼鳞金丝黛绿痕

登时,花芯垮塌,留下一圆银角。拽着月光紧不放的大地,突有血色,幽蓝遍野百草,已成樱粉大海,花环簇拥

丛中舞动,一女子

无名的曲子,娴熟的步伐

挺身而进,辗转玲珑,柔火凝眸

一指为天,一趾为地。

小腿回钩,名为过去式passé

一提,是前世情缘仿佛,是晨花密语四起

缓缓一落,空出来的何止是人心,是黄昏,是错愕的时光,定格成一颗不愿滑落的泪

相对论中伴随时间流逝减慢的质量,便是这膝盖和脚踝间的,六斤四两

一指为天,一趾为地,自此心有所依,举足轻重,莫问他人

这个帕沙的梦(Pasha’s Dream),从未见过,却不陌生。古有蝴蝶栩栩然,亦有太虚幻境的奇遇、游园惊梦之执念。

外国人做的梦,令人看得遐想联翩、意犹未尽,且听下回分说。在扒饭看剧不擦嘴下一个短视频接着看的年代,很珍惜这些让我停下反思、咀嚼、赐予我灵感的刹那。

Comments Closed

大理的风很温柔。时间很温柔。连蚊子,也温柔。

Also known as: Memories of Dali, Yunnan (23 June to 1 July 2023)

短短8天在外,思绪万涌,一路采集,归来已近4,000字,如何整理?

文字脱胎于此地,那就随其爹娘习性:

缓缓道来。

Part 1 《采风剪影》

Part 2 《惦溪》

Part 3 《知.己》

PART 1《采风剪影》

大理菜谱

欢迎观众朋友再次收看我们的地域风情菜谱系列。上一集中分享了王同学的理念:“兴来每独往,胜事空自知”。今天就来简单介绍一下这个“胜事”的烹饪手法:

首先我们用2,565吨的江水,把它摊出来,擀成椭圆状的大蓝饼。摘五朵白云,捏成舒芙蕾 souffle,备好先放一旁。

借横断山脉的两条长坝子,供84公里,摆在蓝饼的东西两侧,塑成11个峰,用1,975海拔的火,先蒸后烤。

这时候,刚在准备的白云souffle就可以摆上了。最后的点缀有两种选择。用二月立春的山楂,参些甜言蜜语,淋上去。

或者撒点初冬雪粉做点缀。完毕!

今天的大理菜谱就分享到这里。希望大家喜欢。最后献上一些热门点心供各位慢用:

“soufflé clouds on matcha hills”

“brownie topped with snow meringue”

“panna cotta drizzled with sunset”

 

兴教寺

往日海棠今不复,静院犹存红艳香

漫天粘蓝松柏枝,和风舞影人尚在

 

程海一日

《无题1》

稻水天一色,耕者返家时

依稀水有影,相依手相连

 

《无题2》

叠山四起,田野无尽,山谷涛光,断坡碎石独一人,蓝衫小伙望天际

 

PART 2《惦溪》

有人问我你究竟有哪里好,这么多年我还忘不了。

这里有我喜爱、钟溺的一切元素。

一笑万古春,一啼万古愁,四爷送蝶衣的话,也是这个地方的写照。

山脉傾天,燃云青花,溪水绿鸭,晚霞舞水,塘光串影,落日荷花,柳叶回风。

造物调色净一曲,只需静静赏惜人。

 

 

PART 3《知.己》

苍山无墨千秋画,洱海无弦人自醉。

此次出行,为的是重逢那宽阔大地蓝鼎苍穹,是见自己。

这里记录下的是从出行的头一天,到最后的心理,不多修饰,不批评不抗拒,只当是路上的陪伴。

 

第一天

我违背了自己的原则。

如果一个地方的美,绝世无双,天赠无缺,连时间也为之凝住呼吸,那这个地方,以后不能再去。

这是我一贯的作风,也是用经验换来的教训。因为再去,只能是失望。

但是你不同。我希望一直在这里,看尽你的好,你的美,你的坏,你的丑,对视依然,喜泪相拥。

 

第一晚深夜

人病了,自己不一定知道。

当我不再有耐心,去看一段文字,去感受背后的心意,仅想着掠取信息,去执行下一个操作步骤,我已经迷路了。一花一世界,一叶一菩提,我皆看不入眼,胜景如斯,不为所动。障孽极深。或许是周围的人,令我无法放下戒备。远处有人在看我,看得我不留皮肉,只剩下一个密封起来的盒子,装着一块不愿感受的麻木。观望的人此时脸孔清晰,原来那人是我。

自卑自闭自避。

 

牵手黄昏,请往二楼

其实,我是有分享欲的。不过我在乎的人,和我愿意与之分享的人又不同。

不知觞何处,无以施其疗

 

6月28日喜洲

These are the best of times, these are the worst of times.

To be on leave, in a distant land, in the company of immense beauty.  And yet feel, through incessant calls and texts, the insufferable tug of mundanity.

Blood boils and nothing feels right, even amidst such glorious sights and sounds. Resentment begets more of the same and soon things come to a head; the nuclear option. Walking away from everything.  A complete end.

There is a lesson in this.  Pain and anger will not go away simply because you will it.  It will spread through you, even when the trigger is removed or ceases.  Like the proboscis of a mosquito, you will feel the after-effects, spreading through you.  The urge to act on your pain, to vent your anger will only aggravate, like an itch.  If you let yourself reach for the phone, to respond, to impose wrath and on your intended and now detested recipient, then you merely postpone the itch with temporary relief, it will return in strength and consign you to further suffering.

 

Pain will not leave you. 

But it can become part of you, and be at peace with you.

This will not happen in an instant.  Far from it.  You need time and distance. Together, hand in hand; the balm of Gilead.  Vast mountains and great sea, I thank you for providing this moment of serenity. An environment, where the dual heartsmiths can set about their work.

When you are able to extend a hand to your earlier self, then together shall you take the first steps towards a newer self.  Older. Stronger. Happier.

When each self joins hands with the one before and the one after, then shall you walk, and your name will be legion, for you are many; standing before the firmament; the clouds will crumble. And a crescent shall flood the land with light.  Breathe, for you are one with yourself.

Purest pearl dipped in shimmering blue, cast in a sea of wind-swirled mercury.

 

人为何要走路

当今社会,为什么还得走路?不能飞,不能骑,不能驾吗?

因为你的身体只有在接触大地,才会知道自己在移动。这不是一系列的物理运作,也是必不可少的心理过程。

Body does not comprehend in the same way as the Mind. It is not enough to know, or think that we are somewhere.  We have to speak to our Body, through movement, about time and space.

 

《浮木安鹤》

一角群山一湾海

浪牵细柳水泊光

风清中来宛如初

浮木犄角立仙鹤

 

*大理给我的是一种柔软的力量。

水载万物,有容乃大

 

《盛夏的眼泪》

午日烈焰气凝止

席空闲桌华宴罢

云开金落忽一红

争光夺艳案上玫

不负盛夏正此生

风启风灭影来渡

世间无花泪有时

 

路在何方?有人曾答

各有所求。

我最想要的,应该说是相对简单的。

我想坐在慵懒的木凳上,安静地看着天空。习风缓缓,这里没有空调,也没有汗水。树荫庇护,我能坐一下午,胡思又乱想。黄昏垂,和小溪赛跑,比慢。回家。

偶尔凳上挚友两三(也就那么多,再多也没有),纵遍天下无聊事,哈哈饷午晚。

没想到这个愿望,还挺难实现的。

云际粉蓝,光浸大地,司机未见后座客,两滴缓缓落腮泪。

晴碧当空,有什么好伤感的?只因苍穹眷恋大地,惟期地平线上再相逢。

痴妄终不觉。

 

 

Comments Closed

Blurbing (and Slurping) Hokkien Mee

Mark these last words, ere I succumb to postprandial somnolence.

Tis rare to have a meal that inspires; words bubbling forth uncontrollably, waiting to be spoken.  The last time was probably 2 years ago; pickled cabbage fish inducing cyberpunk visions of eating experiences in the future.

Well this one is for you, Hokkien mee. 

To me, there are several essentials to a good old plate of Fujian noodles.

I like it wet.  The stock is the soul that holds the dish together.

But that’s not what hits you first.  It is the aromatic char, borne of the cast iron wok, returning to the heavens after its brief stint on earth.

Then comes the corpus, the duo of round wheat and thin rice noodles, providing a mix of bite and variety, united by the holy raiment: the stock that clings, just barely, like the morning dew.  The caramel consistency of the prawn shell stock coats the palate before the next mouthful: a refreshing cleanser of beansprout.

There is a rhythm to the seasons, everything in its time.  This applies to Hokkien mee as well.  There are places which serve it and all the ingredients are present. But they just fail to come together. The stock is one dimensional. The chili is potent but overpowers the entire dish. Each ingredient sticks to its own corner, leaving a confused dish with disparate components, incapable of communion.

It is not like that here.  There is a harmony between the stock, the noodles, bean sprouts and everything else.  Like the fried lard waiting patiently for its turn, the craters on its deep fried exterior serving as repositories for stock to pool in, gathering strength, before the imminent bite.  An explosion of amino acids that heralds the next performer.

There is cooperation, and sequence.  Aroma is followed by texture.  First the bite of noodles, then the crunch of beansprouts.  In the background, there is heat. It has been there, from the beginning, but does not overwhelm: it is the sun in the dark of winter.  Further back in the palate, a tang from the lime, freshly squeezed moments before. Another bite releases the sweetness of prawns, further complementing the stock, heightening each sensation. Before falling back once more, into the savoury pool of delight.  A musical fountain of flavours, bedazzling the palate.

Anything that is addictive has power.  It is the book which cannot be put down.  The performance that makes one forget time itself.  It is the gaze of an erstwhile stranger ‘neath the autumn moon.  These are all forms of addiction.  The mark of addiction is that you cannot stop.  Thus begins the fine dance between euphoria and mania.  Here is a dish which consumes you, even as you do the same to it. You pick every strand of noodle from the battlefield and drain the broth. When the dust settles. And all falls silent.

Herein lie the spoils of war, as tribute to the food I have partaken, the source of pleasant memories for close to 15 years.  My family moved to Queenstown in 2003 but I was only acquainted with Hokkien mee several years later, upon completing the McDonald’s phase and entering the hawker phase of life.  It is a great comfort to have this dish, particularly on a cold, stormy afternoon.  One of those things which confer an inordinate amount of bliss when I have given so little to deserve it.  These are the dishes that give pause.  They ground us in the present, in the moment.  And there are movies about such moments.  And there are people who create such moments, whom we treasure beyond all else.  Such is this world that I bear witness.

30 March 2023

Comments Closed

前方有花海

去年枯藤今翠梢

澄塘鹭暖风唤蝉

群山一墨水中天

廊上仙袂映塘红

 

愿母校千秋,桃李八方

 

*后话:相较2022年,丧气之语锐减,心中紧箍在春天中消散。开新篇,做正事!

2023年3月21日

香港

Comments Closed

久不落笔

二零二三年之宝岛轶事

问:茶叶蛋饭团多少?

答:一只兔子,谢谢。

 

人生第一次到台湾,是2011。二十一岁那年。

和这次一样,也是1月去的。 当时桃园机场还在装修,到处是高高的木隔板围着,落机后什么也看不到。

刚抵达台北,最初的印象有三。礼貌善良。美食云集。还有就是:这里店铺楼房怎么都这么昏暗灰旧?永和豆浆油条照吃无误,但确实被很多濒临破败的楼盘吓到。

数年间的几次到访,基于自己老想逃避大城市的主旋律,很多时候只是途经台北,并未久留。兜兜转转,十二年后又来到台北。

楼房破烂失修?全然不觉。难道是我在香港呆久了。。。

 

— 有些回忆是要吃出来的,像眼前的茶叶蛋一样。蛋壳落飘香,金丝绕铁线 —

 

全家Family Mart店里,开着广播。

再尝一口。慵懒的下午缓缓东流。

台东静浦小集,在阿美族的弹奏中摆开,翩翩稻田,夕阳无限。客座机车往返花莲,对望太平洋。乘11线公路风,与地平线齐眉。

 

— 饭团的肉在哪?欲左先右口来搏 —

 

“你听说,有些人不爱说话,就变成了哑巴

你担心,因为你生来就是个沉默的人” — 花粥《长岛》

那么,不去想的东西,是不是总有一天会忘?

不忘的,是日积月累埋头苦干的工具,聊以慰籍续命所用,甩不掉。为应付平日种种,碎念杂糟塑造了现在的自己。无法顾及培育滋润的,唯深锁心底。到最后连钥匙也忘了放哪儿了。

害怕忘记。又害怕无法忘记。

 

— 又回到最初的起点,记忆中青涩的我 —

 

主持人介绍的新曲目从耳边掠过,心里听到首曲子。

鼾声。再是笑声。

山上发电厂在打呼,夏天余电制冰棒,引出解暑的乡民

小溪仍贪玩,夜里抱着山脚嬉耍,水落石出邀月娘踏步

笑声依旧。是你呀,水里小镇。

记忆暗流窜动,不经意间汇集成新河,邀我神游。

斜阳肆意奔水陆。雪浪拂袖起碧绢。

念念涟漪暮云天,粉春润物山水光兼。

天地无别,唯众生泪。

龍坑公園,我回来了,有缘再续。

 

跨年篇之向天再借五百年

《康熙王朝》中有这么一幕,令人回味。动乱已定,胜军登高俯瞰,大好河山收眼底,疆域无尽,帝王不禁感慨,若能再活五百年,届时所造盛世繁貌,可与天齐!故引出《向天再借五百年》的佳曲。

手头紧的时候,我也想借个五百年。

场景依然是战场。只是以往的兵戎相见,成了信息和价值观的博弈。

何出此言?应从诚品书店说起。

凭着意念做事情,有时会让自己很无语。跨年在即,想躲避其他双足同类,设想在安静的图书馆度过此业(没写错,对我而言,每逢过年皆属业障)。

奔往美好愿景,踏出市政府捷运站,感觉不妙。这不就是Taipei 101吗?随即而来的人潮汹涌把我从执念中灌进焦躁的漩涡。

言归正传,何谓再借五百年?

信義区的诚品延续了旧敦南店的传统,是24小时营业的书店。

书架边上,坐满了静静在看书的人。那是种莫名的欣慰。又或许,这只是种自我感动。他们不过是在追逐一种时髦,也没有真的在看书,而是在刷手机,等着跨年消磨时间。

想必一部分人确实如此。但爱书的人沉浸在文字中的感觉是很特别的,这种阅者之悦,我能感同身受。

在无人买书,偶尔看书,看也是看书面才决定看下去的时代,能把书店变成可持续运营的企业,甚至把去书店变成一种生活方式,也只有诚品一家了。

重重书籍,各门别类,有普罗大众的、亦有专业书刊。小澤信男,《東京骨灰紀行:骨灰級旅人的東京地下散步手記》。Infected by Art, Volume 4, Todd Spoor and Bill Cox.  席慕容,《胡馬依北風》。Dalí (World of Art), Dawn Ades.

略举短短时空中,一些漫不经心的相遇。

徘徊其间,百业若雨后春笋,可恨隔行隔山,掷手再借数百年,细品众门诸类、以胡思乱想在各山脚将其炸通,通万物而通己,岂不乐哉?为学日益,为道日损,以至无为。未学够,欲忘而无可忘也~

 

冬季到台北来看雨

2023年

初写于元旦

Comments Closed

A new post