走出非洲
去告诉遮盖了你的脸庞的夜晚
说你在地球的坟场上，
看见了亚当族的最后一人
-T CAMPBELL
如果没有看到“我和江湖有一个约会” 我会一直沉默的，就像George GL那些关心他的人。然而，我却不能忘记若干年前，一个海外的聊天室里和菜头给了我一个地址。我想我永不可能忘记的是那个地址里我遇见的某些人，因为不可能改变这个事实，我只能感激不尽。
很久前看过一部电影。一个欧洲女子带了自己的全部瓷器到了非洲，在不可能的高纬度种出了咖啡豆。却在丰收的那一夜，让烈火掠走了所有的咖啡豆和梦想。我已经记不清那条被白种女人关注过得非洲孩子的伤腿，或是三十年代那种象青春期诗歌一样简陋的螺旋桨飞机。只记得，那个欧洲女子在为请求给那些非洲原住民在她庄园的居留权在总督面前跪下的一刻─我怎么样的流泪。无论膝下的是对别人那种沙文主义责任感，还是自身深处的疼痛，她是那么赤诚，无意遮掩。让我突然想起那一幕，那个无论嘻笑怒骂始终赤诚的菜头，无论是他的骄傲，还是强大下的敏感，唯赤诚使才气横溢更具有生命纯粹的质感。
1941年以后，Karen Blixen再没有回到过非洲。临行前，客栈里所有的的男人都举起酒杯，致敬。假如无论非洲的雨季再不再来，站在最后一排眉目不清的有我，举起酒杯给他最好的祝福，尤其祈福他珍爱的妹妹。
记：去年秋时，胸口受了重重一击，怅然倒下再醒来的一刻发现击中的是胸口那句关于网络的魔咒。关于某个ID，将永远是一个ID，从此再无彼此相遇的真实地点。
The last Man
ALL worldly shapes shall melt in gloom,
The Sun himself must die,
Before this mortal shall assume
Its Immortality!
I saw a vision in my sleep
That gave my spirit strength to sweep
Adown the gulf of Time!
I saw the last of human mould,
That shall Creation's death behold,
As Adam saw her prime!
The Sun's eye had a sickly glare,
The Earth with age was wan,
The skeletons of nations were
Around that lonely man!
Some had expired in fight,--the brands
Still rested in their bony hands;
In plague and famine some!
Earth's cities had no sound nor tread;
And ships were drifting with the dead
To shores where all was dumb!
Yet, prophet-like, that lone one stood
With dauntless words and high,
That shook the sere leaves from the wood
As if a storm passed by,
Saying, "We are twins in death, proud Sun,
Thy face is cold, thy race is run,
'Tis Mercy bids thee go.
For thou ten thousand thousand years
Hast seen the tide of human tears,
That shall no longer flow.
"What though beneath thee man put forth
His pomp, his pride, his skill;
And arts that made fire, floods, and earth,
The vassals of his will;--
Yet mourn not I thy parted sway,
Thou dim discrowned king of day:
For all those trophied arts
And triumphs that beneath thee sprang,
Healed not a passion or a pang
Entailed on human hearts.
"Go, let oblivion's curtain fall
Upon the stage of men,
Nor with thy rising beams recall
Life's tragedy again.
Its piteous pageants bring not back,
Nor waken flesh, upon the rack
Of pain anew to writhe;
Stretched in disease's shapes abhorred,
Or mown in battle by the sword,
Like grass beneath the scythe.
"Ee'n I am weary in yon skies
To watch thy fading fire;
Test of all sumless agonies
Behold not me expire.
My lips that speak thy dirge of death--
Their rounded gasp and gurgling breath
To see thou shalt not boast.
The eclipse of Nature spreads my pall,--
The majesty of Darkness shall
Receive my parting ghost!
"This spirit shall return to Him
That gave its heavenly spark;
Yet think not, Sun, it shall be dim
When thou thyself art dark!
No! it shall live again, and shine
In bliss unknown to beams of thine,
By Him recalled to breath,
Who captive led captivity.
Who robbed the grave of Victory,--
And took the sting from Death!
"Go, Sun, while Mercy holds me up
On Nature's awful waste
To drink this last and bitter cup
Of grief that man shall taste--
Go, tell the night that hides thy face,
Thou saw'st the last of Adam's race,
On Earth's sepulchral clod,
The darkening universe defy
To quench his Immortality,
Or shake his trust in God!"