To change Xuan Zang is not to become a Buddha, but to go to the inner world.
Editor’s note: This article is from WeChat public account “a little bit of dried eucalypt” (ID :NarratorZhang), the author’s charter.
author Self-painting
Everyone has ruins in their hearts. People are alive and alive, and they gradually become ruins. All the hysteria romance has survived. All the surrealistic lyrics are the glory of the heart of the desolate. All the faces of the WTO have had a heart that is difficult to stretch. All the pain has been recalled. All edges are the center of their lives.
Cai Mingliang
Cai Mingliang
01 face
On the shelf of the Eslite Bookstore in Hong Kong, Cai Mingliang is looking at me. He has a short hair and a deep eye, a high nose and a full lip. The face is very three-dimensional, and the axe is chopped. He is facing the wall, his eyes are pointing to the right, if anything. The collar was erected, over the neck, and the shadow was projected on the wall, seemingly to melt into his body. This is the first time I saw Cai Ming’s face. Although I knew his name very early, he found Li Kangsheng’s anecdote in the Ximending Game Hall in Taipei. It also appeared in my English reading when I was in junior high school.
At the NTU College Library, I licked his face again. He wears glasses and looks down. His right hand is in front of his forehead. The index finger and middle finger are holding cigarettes. The middle finger has a ring. The ring finger and the little finger are slightly bent and fall on the frame. Half of the face, hidden in the shadow of the arm falling. The body diagonally occupies the picture. He is thinking, or staring like a daydreamer. Melancholy perched on him, deep into the creases and dents of his black jacket.