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She died, died at his gun, "I held her tight and she started crying." He died, died in the explosion of dynamite, he said, "This is an honorable death." Death is gun and dynamite Woven poetry? Is death the way life goes to eternity? But her voice said, "You shouldn't do this." But when he lit the explosives, he hesitated, but he still died, in disorder, in shock, on an unknown island, not seen by others death, the last sea, as far as the eye can see but calm as water, the last sun, making light intensely, but so far away from life, "Eternal? No, that's just the sea and the sun."
Arriving at the sun and the sea in the way of death, reaching the end of love is a kind of eternity, there is no escape, no search, no disagreement, even no pain, a woman named Marianne, a man named Ferdinand , they leave Paris, they pass through France, what are they looking for? Before everything is searched, of course to escape, life in Paris unfolds before Ferdinand's eyes, a marriage to a rich Italian woman, a child who can tell a story, and even a servant who can go to the movies in his place, Even his wife's new invisible underwear, but Ferdinand, who was fifty years old, must have seen life that is not eternal, "behind the shadows and the emptiness of the back, the shapes and sounds he captured mysteriously penetrate." Those shapes and sounds came from the rich but Empty life, going to banquets, meeting with senior officials of oil companies, or talking about perfume, hairstyles, or drinking and watching fireworks, from red to blue to green tones, life is colorful, but always belongs to the noble life shape and sound masking.
"It's the end of civilization now." Ferdinand withdraws from the banquet, this is his escape, escape from the party, escape from the vulgar life, escape from the flamboyant life, escape from the invisible underwear, escape is also confrontation, or he sits in the bathtub Reading a book for his children is the life he wants. The bathtub must be expensive. Ferdinand, who has taken off his clothes, is not enjoying life. He has a novel in his hand, about homesickness and depressed children. , about painting, the spiritual level of expression, but in the naked body, it becomes a kind of imagination. But what is the ultimate purpose of such a confrontation? Can the novel bring him back to his dream?
But he met Marianne, they had been lovers five years ago, now he was Frank's niece, and came to take care of the family's children at night, and when Ferdinand escaped from the banquet, he saw Marianne sitting in the hallway , like a servant in life, he said to send her home, he opened the door of the house, she got into his car - and then the real escape began, he said: "You are as mysterious as ever." But five years ago and five years later, it was different. Five years ago, he left her and returned to life, got a marriage, and found a job. Five years later, he met her, he sent her home, he felt When it came to love that didn't go far, "I'd do whatever you want." Marianne looked at him affectionately, he was smoking, without looking at her, "I want to put my hand on your knee." She said, "Me too," he said; "I want to kiss your whole body," she said. "Me too," he said.
In fact, sending her home is just an excuse, because there is no destination; in fact, escaping is just a way, because they start to want to reach - where? When will you arrive? She didn't know, and he didn't know either, but the banquet was getting farther and farther away, farther and farther away from home, and farther and farther away from the life in five years. On the way, they began to cross France. "Crossing France is like a shadow. Through a mirror." A shadow is the poetry of his novels while sitting in the bathtub, a mirror is love with hands on his knees and kisses all over his body, when a shadow passes through a mirror, they see each other and are still separated each other?
They did linger in Marianne's room, for less than a night, but on the bed was a dead man with blood on his back, but a strange man came in through the door, but the room was full of guns— This is Marianne's world, and it's all about the arms trade, about fire and dying. Is Marianne fleeing too? When she and smashed the strange man with the bottle, when she and Ferdinand dragged the dead man, when they left with guns, another world became their backdrop. One is to say goodbye to the vulgar life, the other is to leave the dangerous world. They used a car and began to cross France, and began to "shadow through a mirror". It was the mirror that reflected the shadow, and it was the shadow that made the mirror. In the virtual world of the mirror, they seem to be looking for another self.
In fact, fiction and guns are incompatible. Fiction faces fiction, and guns face life. "That's what makes me sad: life is never as written in books. I want them to be as clear, logical, and organized. It's not like that." Marianne said, this is a foreknowledge, life is not the same as the story in the book, they are different, they are different, they are building different worlds, but when they leave Paris, As they drive along, as they pass their shadows through the mirror, they wish to be the same, wishing to disambiguate in the eternity of love.
They even burned the car, burned the money in it, and even threw away the gun, so the two walked towards the endless field, like going to the eternal world. They walk through the woods, they wade through the river, they settle on the farm, they face the sea, this is a world for two people, even the parrot and the fox are the foils in their world; even if they perform the Vietnam War drama , but also to get money from tourists; even if they hurt gas station staff, it's just because they don't have any extra money on them. But they have each other, the love that puts their hands on their knees, the desire to kiss all over their bodies, and it seems that in the whole journey through France, they are going to eternity, they are creating a life of shadows passing through mirrors.
Fleeing without looking back, like revolutionaries, and revolution means counter-revolution, what they hear on the radio is about 115 guerrillas in Vietnam, they talk about the war in Algeria in the room, they dress up in front of tourists Become American soldiers and Vietnamese village women, they are counter-revolutionaries in life, oil company banquets, changing lights, invisible underwear, all destroyed on this revolutionary night that changed the order, Marianne's gun, bed The dead, the violence of the beer bottles, even burning that car and driving a stolen 62 Ford into the sea, everything is subversive and deconstructed.
The counter-revolution is to subvert the order, and the revolution is to find freedom, "We can do whatever we want, this is freedom." Enjoy love. Marianne said: "We hid in the distance." There were only two people in the distance, Ferdinand said: "The author chose the freedom of the other." They made an author who became the other. And what about love? They did not separate, they adventured together, played together, dreamed together, "It's a good day, my love, it's a good day, in life." But, Marianne said, "There is no tomorrow for our love." But, "The stand-in is alive, the real author is dead," Ferdinand said.
Because they are "shadows through a mirror", "she reminds me of the age of two-faced people, only mirrors can talk to themselves, we are made of dreams, and dreams are made of us." They are two-faced people , they are not the only one, Ferdinand's novels, diaries constitute his shadow, where he keeps writing: "I smell death." "I can't stand the smell of spinach." "Poetry, yes The world of losers." Almost all of them are negative, death is the negation of life, spinach is the negation of appetite, poetry is the negation of success, in a world of negation, that shadow is also negated, so he is the author , but it's just an Other, those authors are Leonov who made the Soviets and the Americans kill each other, the Vietnam War in which the Americans and the Vietnamese fought, the dramas that made money in front of tourists, and even on that pier, All he saw and heard had to do with another author: a small harbor, like a Conrad novel, a ship, like a Robert Louis Stuyvesant novel, an older brother like Faulkner's Fiction, an upstart, like a Jack London novel, two people deceived me, like a Raymond Chandler novel...whether it's the sea in black pen, the soul, or the red pen The Bitterness, Weapons, Ferdinand is an author who seeks freedom in the world of the Other.
Also, he was renamed Pierrot by Marianne, but he always had to correct her: "Please call me Ferdinand." -- Marianne called him "Piero" when it came to the wife at home , he corrected her: "My name is Ferdinand." At the dock, after listening to the so-called Lebanese princess, he heard Marianne calling him "Pierro", he corrected: "My name is Ferdinand. In the poem he had received from Marianne to him, he saw "For Pierrot," and he said, "My name is Ferdinand." She always called him that name of his own making, he always called him Is to correct her own real name, Ferdinand is the author, Pierrot is the other, when a metaphor is repeatedly emphasized, he may not be Ferdinand, become the author, because "the author is dead, the substitute still alive."
What Marianne faced was a substitute named "Pierro", eloped with him, fled with him, crossed France with him, lived with him on the farm, when the man in front of him became Ferdinand, nothing more than a The mirror is mirrored in the mirror, so she can't stand the state of seclusion, she can't adapt to the reality of writing, she can't even have the life of listening to records and going to the dance hall, "You sleep with me with words, but I treat you with true feelings." So two people It is forked, just like fiction and life, just like fiction and guns - Marianne's escape can never be separated from the arms trade, "cousin" and other keywords, in fact, the dream she pursues is just a cover with a gun "This is our first and only dream." The last dream points to a split, a rupture, "You care about books, not me at all." Spread your palms, it is the poor fate line, Closing the palms, it is the charming hip line - the life line and the hip line, corresponding to life and desire, but they always become an annotation in the dream in a state of isolation.
So shadows are just shadows, mirrors are just mirrors, so Marianne is just Marianne with a gun, Ferdinand is just Ferdinand with a diary, there really is no Pierrot here, no Pierrot the madman, not named Pierrot, and no other who brought freedom, so Marianne returned to the story about guns, the red silk scarf left there, but became the arms dealer's punishment for Ferdinand; that one The dwarf who was killed became the sin that Ferdinand could not escape - he finally joined them, participated in the transaction, and finally fell into the trap of madness and became Pierrot the madman.
"Chapter 8, a chapter in hell; Chapter 8, despair..." From the Vietnam War of 115 guerrillas, to the Algerian war, to the conflict described by the Lebanese princess, and finally to a war about herself, Faidi Nan finally became a man with a gun, but he was neither a revolutionary nor a counter-revolutionary, he was just pulled by a fictional author, influenced by a kind of love, fictionalized by a mirror, and finally embarked on that The munitions base where guns and explosives were placed, the island of Marianne and her "cousin". He shot and killed the criminal arms dealer, his "cousin" and Marianne as a revolutionary, but he had to kill the author, Pierrot, as a counter-revolutionary. The madman, with blue paint on his face and red and yellow dynamite tied to his head, when finally ignited, he stayed on an isolated island, he recalled eternity with death, and he never had to return PARIS — That phone call on the Rue de Balzac in Paris doesn't really matter.
The world presents two directions of novels and life. There are two kinds of fictions in the world: shadows and mirrors. In splicing, jumping, strange voice-overs and illogical plots, the author is the other, and the author is a stand-in. The end of the century flies into the distance, like countless storms, we are made up of dreams, and dreams are made up of us, the language of poetry is born from the ruins, and poetry is the game of the losers." And the so-called love is nothing but an unreal thing. Game of Thrones - After Marianne got on a yacht and went to a lonely island, Ferdinand, who was alone, met a man singing on the dock, the man said: "This music is my whole life." Singing for the first time, it was with a charming woman Together, he and her are in a world of love; the second time he sings, with another woman, "But I don't love her." It's just a habit; the third time he sings, with a third woman beside him, "I just touch it as a routine." From love to habit to meaningless behavior, in the end, the music that affected my life made me "unbearable", so a person's singing sounded, not remembering, not forgetting, but just a kind of Pointless madness.
The senseless madness is "our first and only dream", the nothingness of "the shadow only passes through a mirror", the mechanical counting of 137 and hopeless waiting, the bifurcation of two roads You and I named love in a broken way, the eternity that death finally made, "in dreams, in words, in death."
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