The Fountainhead
今夜醉酒,写信,读书。读到 The Fountainhead 这段,突然感到和 Howard Roack 强烈的共情。
又因此想起了一首还没那么醉的时候读过的诗
the history of melancholia
includes all of us.
me, I writhe in dirty sheets
while staring at blue walls
and nothing.
I have gotten so used to melancholia
that
I greet it like an old
friend.
I will now do 15 minutes of grieving
for the lost redhead,
I tell the gods.
I do it and feel quite bad
quite sad,
then I rise
CLEANSED
even though nothing is
solved.
that’s what I get for kicking
religion in the ass.
I should have kicked the redhead
in the ass
where her brains and her bread and
butter are
at…
but, no, I’ve felt sad
about everything:
the lost redhead was just another
smash in a lifelong
loss…
I listen to drums on the radio now
and grin.
there is something wrong with me
besides
melancholia.
无论如何,这一天依旧是充满慰藉。