One afternoon in early spring in Beijing, I was dizzy with drinking in my small room, and the film was playing over and over again on the screen.
No subtitles, no background. In the shaky camera shake, I felt jittery.
Her long hair was scattered across her naked chest, and sweat was glistening on her skin. Slightly parted lips, blurred eyes. Voluptuous and sexy. His waist twisted like a water snake. Sing in a low voice.
I didn't realize that she turned out to be him.
Another bottle of wine. On another replay, I saw that image again:
the voluptuous boy, topless, dancing frantically on stage. There was something wild hidden in his body.
Bits of shiny shards flew out of the jar in his hand, floating in the air. Like all things that are beautiful and fleeting, people can't take their eyes off it, look obsessively, and disappear in the blink of an eye.
He became manic. Shake the jar wildly. Put the jar between your legs and do the obscene gesture of jerk off.
But innocent and sexy.
He quickly took off his jeans in the festivities of the fans offstage, unconcernedly exposing what was dangling between his legs. He turned his butt to the stage and yelled violently.
The crowd under the stage got even crazier.
Not far away, his eyes with long hair and a shawl flickered, his eyes fixed. He encountered the devil in his life.
His friend laughed happily behind him. Yeah, how ridiculous.
Some instincts beyond language are awakened. I glanced at the cover of the CD and remembered the warm name "Velvet Goldmine" in this frenzy.
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