Sleeping to Dream

Bryan没有想到，悲哀竟也具有延时性——过去的鬼魂又找上来，而这一次，他再也没有力气抵抗。

如果要现在的他形容一下悲哀的形状，他会说像流体，在胸口中盛着，走路时候会晃着，撒出一点来腐蚀他的心。躺下的时候开始平稳地流淌，唯有随着心跳一起颤动。

至于温度，绝对算不上冰凉，是温热的，比胸腔的温度稍高一点，不断缓缓释放热量烘烤着心脏，这感觉就像…文火慢炖，和着痛苦熬煮，却总也煮不熟，活跃的神经持续提醒着他痛苦的滋味。

这个世界上只有一种超距作用——那就是在他后脑勺操控着这锅深渊之汤的回忆们，在与雨打浮萍般的命运一同酿制发酵了一年有余的前一段时间，在他打开这件装满废弃回忆的地窖门的时候，酿好的鬼混带着温暖甜蜜的愉悦与怨恨气味，一下子涌上来让他犹如被一击重锤击中——这表现在我看来实属羞愧，或者说明白一点，羞愧到无地自容，我从来没见到他这样过。真诚自信却又年轻坦荡，现在却迷失在时间的之中，他分不清哪些事情发生在现在，哪些事情发生在两年前，哪些事情他以为发生在昨天却其实已经过去了一年。这些他在过去的一年里以为自己已经早已丢失的回忆，最终以一种如此清晰可见的形式弥散在所有有序的其他回忆之中，如同癌症一般感染。更早些的干净回忆如今也开始有了严厉的棱角，游荡在他的脑子里。

可惜可怜的Bryan只是一位可悲的一维时间生物，不知道自己的脑子在某些时刻中只充当着传音媒介的作用，将久远的信息传递给无数次迭代后的自己，同时做着带着淡淡悲哀的自信蠢事。这一刻他终于意识到了，夹在神与野兽中的人性的悲凉，然而仍然不受控制，要为这螺旋悲剧做祭品。

Ode on Melancholy

BY JOHN KEATS


No, no, go not to Lethe, neither twist 
       Wolf's-bane, tight-rooted, for its poisonous wine; 
Nor suffer thy pale forehead to be kiss'd 
       By nightshade, ruby grape of Proserpine; 
               Make not your rosary of yew-berries, 
       Nor let the beetle, nor the death-moth be 
               Your mournful Psyche, nor the downy owl 
A partner in your sorrow's mysteries; 
       For shade to shade will come too drowsily, 
               And drown the wakeful anguish of the soul. 

But when the melancholy fit shall fall 
       Sudden from heaven like a weeping cloud, 
That fosters the droop-headed flowers all, 
       And hides the green hill in an April shroud; 
Then glut thy sorrow on a morning rose, 
       Or on the rainbow of the salt sand-wave, 
               Or on the wealth of globed peonies; 
Or if thy mistress some rich anger shows, 
       Emprison her soft hand, and let her rave, 
               And feed deep, deep upon her peerless eyes. 

She dwells with Beauty—Beauty that must die; 
       And Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips 
Bidding adieu; and aching Pleasure nigh, 
       Turning to poison while the bee-mouth sips: 
Ay, in the very temple of Delight 
       Veil'd Melancholy has her sovran shrine, 
               Though seen of none save him whose strenuous tongue 
       Can burst Joy's grape against his palate fine; 
His soul shalt taste the sadness of her might, 
               And be among her cloudy trophies hung.

此刻他满腹凄惶，可怜的Bryan。