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和平。
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最近接女娃們回家，我的耳根清淨好多，真的。以前，她們什麼都能拿來吵：因為座位太窄手腳碰到對方要吵，挑釁對方要吵，有人想睡覺有人偏偏愛唱歌要吵，搶著說話要吵，表錯情（一邊好意稱讚另一邊聽成存心諷刺）也要吵……。
「安安穩穩到家賞一顆糖」的方法不怎麼有效，放故事給她們聽也沒什麼用（為了爭聽哪一則故事，也有得吵），剛...
14 年前
2009年4月27日 星期一
2009年4月8日 星期三
一些解釋，關於時間。
《咫尺天涯》（Faraway, So Close!）是《慾望之翼》（Wings of Desire）的續集，Wim Wenders相隔七年的作品。天使 Cassiel 落入人間，遇上時間主宰 Emit Flesti，得到時間的解釋。Let me explain a couple of things. Time is short. That's the first thing. For the weasel, Time is a weasel. For the hero, Time is heroic. For the whore, Time is just another trick. If you're gentle, your Time is gentle. If you're in a hurry, Time flies. Time is a servant, if you are its master. Time is your god, if you are its dog. We are the creators of Time, the victims of Time, and the killers of Time. Time is timeless. That's the second thing. You are the clock, Cassiel.
延伸閱讀
〈Stay 〉‧U2
《Faraway, So Close》對白
〈天使來到人間〉‧GENE
2009年4月7日 星期二
EVA 新劇場版‧《破》，預告登場！
等到年底或是明年初來到台灣，就又要灑錢啦！作者: ilyvonne () 看板: Evangelion
標題: Re: [情報] 新劇場版：破 低畫質版預告
時間: Fri Apr 3 04:18:27 2009
我來發表一下我觀察到的小東西：
1.初號機的依然不改恐怖本色。
2.操作桿上新的按鍵清楚的呈現出來。
3.新機體？單眼藍色塗裝，卻又不是零號機。猜測是阿薰的機體。
4.橘色塗裝的實戰版零號機！對原第十使徒作戰？
（在TV版中，島屋作戰以後零號機已經改成藍色塗裝。）
5.至此已經證實親愛的貳號機的確長了六倍速的角....同時於背部搭載新武器。
6.紅海上的雪花？使徒的指向性武器？TV版中沒有，應該是新劇情。
7.號機的頭部裝甲樣式也略有變動。
8.
大氣層外的絕對領域！會不會是原第十五使徒呢？
9.這是誰??又是新使徒??（眼睛會爆炸所以判斷是使徒。）（http://0rz.tw/hAGB0）
10.注意第一張圖那個類似鑽頭的東西；推測是渚薰的機體。（http://0rz.tw/l71KO）
夜間作戰，應該又是新的劇情。（顧及交通安全，這次新劇場版EVA全貼了反光貼紙。）
11.明日香：....我不想要角 O_Q
12.是他！有了他就代表「破」的血腥場面的確是精采可期！（請自備醬油）
13.新的場景。
14.值得注意的一點是戰鬥服編號「05」。
還有那個胸部...可能是新的眼鏡妹喔！
失憶與沈默的總和。
1989年4月7日，鄭南榕雜誌社自囚第 71 天。《自由時代》雜誌社樓上幾週前早已有人進駐監聽監視一舉一動，雜誌社則加裝鐵窗，試圖要抵擋、阻撓威權體制逮捕打壓言論自由的意志與行動。侯友宜先生帶領的警察已經準備要衝進雜誌社逮捕鄭南榕的時候，鄭南榕選擇了叫其他人趕快出去、自己點燃了汽油在鐵門緊閉的編輯室中，跟雜誌社的傳真機、健身器材與他跟我們所有人的自由，一起走入了火焰之中。
—〈1989.4.7「作自己的主人」：鄭南榕的 100%言論自由〉‧ilya
1989年鄭南榕走的時候，我從沒想過有一天會有這個榮幸寫這篇文章紀念他。我記得謝長廷曾經說：「南榕之死是否有價值，他自己無法證明，需要外人證明他的死有其價值，並為他的理想打拚。」沒錯，我們都是謝長廷口中的「外人」，我們都有責任與義務證明鄭南榕當年的自焚有沒有價值。
然而，這二十年來我們到底證明了什麼？
—〈鄭南榕、李敖與陳水扁的《自由時代》〉‧姚人多
這二十年來的沈默與失憶，近一年來的言論自由的縮限。我們或者期許自己能成為一顆偉大或者平凡的種子，可，這種子何時才會發芽？還得等，多久？
[上揚唱片]
談上揚唱片事件：事關「是非」，無關「藍綠」
老闆娘受訪：我們是受害者
北投分局長受訪：沒有執法過當
店員受訪：警方衝進來說不能放
事後專訪，老闆娘述說事情經過
北縣市分局長大風吹 李漢卿平調暗升
[朱成志]
金管會要員工監看政論節目
「笨總統」惹禍？ 朱成志停職1個月
[北市新工處]
箝制集遊權利，北市新工處拿違法要點當令箭
[鄭文龍]
扁密帳／律師公會挺鄭文龍 法務部：遺憾，誤解刑訴法
[林姓高中生]
高鐵嗆馬 學生:為父親而怒吼
當事人的聲明稿全文[高三生嗆馬總統]
2009年4月3日 星期五
2009年4月1日 星期三
2009年3月25日 星期三
拉芳在交大，舞蹈工作坊，C3+D2。
C3 是布拉的芭蕾， D2 是許芳宜的現代舞。
今天注意力渙散了點。轉圈大有改善，姿勢還是僵硬，不過比較知道「自己在轉什麼」了，頭暈情況也好一些。同手同腳慘況依舊。 XD
現代舞，腹式呼吸＋腹部肌力＋手／腿肌力。芳宜老師，上妳的課真的不得不流汗。
還有，肩膀脖子開始痛了，完全是該放鬆的地方卻因為太緊張而繃緊的惡果。
最後……還好今天沒先吃晚餐！
拉芳在交大，開放排演。
在正式演出之前，每個表演都必須經過無數次的排練，其中又以登台前的彩排最為重要。拉芳舞團以嶄新的方式，開放彩排的觀賞，讓民眾能夠真實的感受，接觸到一齣舞作背後所付出的心血。
這支舞當初成功的要素之一，應該就包括開放採排這個點子，在公關上大大加分。
這次在交大，拉芳給了大大的優惠，開演前，一連兩天開放採排。
「我一球一球投。」
—王建民
排演就是這樣，開演前，所有的技術問題，一點一點，一項一項解決。
真想帶小夜來看哪，不過她大概會花枝亂顫地一路格格笑到底吧。
「前面好一點……後面不好，非常不好！」
呃，監督真嚴格啊。
2009年3月24日 星期二
拉芳在交大，舞蹈工作坊，C2+E1。
C2 是布拉的芭蕾，E1 是布拉的即興創作。
布拉上起課來頗為斯文，不像部落格的搞笑風格。
芭蕾一上課，就直接做動作了，然後一路上到下課。還是太久沒動啦，很多動作都忘了，只好邊看邊撿。轉圈的部分一塌糊塗，超暈。然後，我又同手同腳了。老師，真對不起，我想我明天還是會不協調的。 XD
而即興創作就比較輕鬆，也蠻有趣的。一開始，要大家各搬一張椅子，散佈在舞台上。不知怎麼的，之後就讓我斷斷續續地，一直想到碧娜‧鮑許。後來想了想，或許是之前看過她的自傳，提及《穆勒咖啡館》的舞台陳設吧。
這堂課，老師給我們兩個主題。
第一個主題是搶水，以一個標的發展情節，注意動作的頓點／拍子。接著，布拉給我們第二個主題，一個永恆的主題，等待。To wait or not to wait, that's the question.
編舞者給舞者們一個情境，一些暗示，舞者們會在發展動作的過程中，結合自身的生命經驗。
Bravo!
（我明天一定會酸痛的，不過，是的，酸痛距離死亡還很遙遠。）
2009年3月19日 星期四
2009年3月11日 星期三
2009年2月26日 星期四
總是和雞蛋站在同一邊。
朱恐龍引介了村上春樹的獲獎消息，他於今年二月獲得耶路撒冷文學獎。這是什麼獎呢？根據東方日報的報導，「耶路撒冷文學獎創辦於1963年，每兩年頒發一次，意在表彰其作品涉及人類自由、人與社會和政治間關係的作家。往屆得主包括亞瑟‧米勒、蘇珊‧桑塔格、伯特蘭‧羅素、VS.奈波爾、J.M.柯慈、博爾赫斯、米蘭‧昆德拉、西蒙‧波娃、奧克塔維奧‧帕斯（Octavio Paz, 1914-1998，墨西哥詩人、散文家）和巴爾加斯‧略薩等人，皆為大名流。」
作家，得了獎，好像不是什麼了不得的事情。了不得的，是村上發表的得獎演說。總是和雞蛋站在同一邊
村上春樹於耶路撒冷文學獎
翻譯：Lucifer
我是以小說家的身份來到耶路撒冷，也就是說，我的身份是一個專業的謊言編織者。
當然，說謊的不只是小說家。我們都知道，政客也會。外交人員和軍人有時也會被迫說謊，二手車業務員，屠夫和工人也不例外。不過，小說家的謊言和其他人不同的地方在於，沒有人會用道德標準去苛責小說家的謊言。事實上，小說家的謊言說的越努力，越大、越好，批評家和大眾越會讚賞他。為什麼呢？
我的答案是這樣的：藉由傳述高超的謊言；也就是創造出看來彷彿真實的小說情節，小說家可以將真實帶到新的疆域，將新的光明照耀其上。在大多數的案例中，我們幾乎不可能捕捉真理，並且精準的描繪它。因此，我們才必須要將真理從它的藏匿處誘出，轉化到另一個想像的場景，轉換成另一個想像的形體。不過，為了達成這個目的，我們必須先弄清楚真理到底在自己體內的何處。要編出好的謊言，這是必要的。
不過，今天，我不準備說謊。我會盡可能的誠實。一年之中只有幾天我不會撒謊，今天剛好是其中一天。
讓我老實說吧。許多人建議我今天不應該來此接受耶路撒冷文學獎。有些人甚至警告我，如果我敢來，他們就會杯葛我的作品。
會這樣的原因，當然是因為加薩走廊正發生的這場激烈的戰鬥。根據聯合國的調查，在被封鎖的加薩城中超過一千人喪生，許多人是手無寸鐵的平民，包括了兒童和老人。
在收到獲獎通知之後，我自問：在此時前往以色列接受這文學獎是否是一個正確的行為。這會不會讓人以為我支持衝突中的某一方，或者認為我支持一個選擇發動壓倒性武力的國家政策。當然，我不希望讓人有這樣的印象。我不贊同任何戰爭，我也不支持任何國家。同樣的，我也不希望看到自己的書被杯葛。
最後，在經過審慎的考量之後，我終於決定來此。其中一個原因是因為有太多人反對我前來參與了。或許，我就像許多其他的小說家一樣，天生有著反骨。如果人們告訴我，特別是警告我：「千萬別去那邊，」「千萬別這麼做，」我通常會想要「去那邊」和「這麼做」。你可以說這就是我身為小說家的天性。小說家是種很特別的人。他們一定要親眼所見、親手所觸才願意相信。
所以我來到此地。我選擇親身參與，而不是退縮逃避。我選擇親眼目睹，而不是蒙蔽雙眼。我選擇開口說話，而不是沈默不語。
這並不代表我要發表任何政治信息。判斷對錯當然是小說家最重要的責任。
不過，要如何將這樣的判斷傳遞給他人，則是每個作家的選擇。我自己喜歡利用故事，傾向超現實的故事。因此，我今日才不會在各位面前發表任何直接的政治訊息。
不過，請各位容許我發表一個非常個人的訊息。這是我在撰寫小說時總是牢記在心的。我從來沒有真的將其形諸於文字或是貼在牆上。我將它雋刻在我內心的牆上，這句話是這樣說的：
「若要在高聳的堅牆與以卵擊石的雞蛋之間作選擇，我永遠會選擇站在雞蛋那一邊。」
是的。不管那高牆多麼的正當，那雞蛋多麼的咎由自取，我總是會站在雞蛋那一邊。就讓其他人來決定是非，或許時間或是歷史會下判斷。但若一個小說家選擇寫出站在高牆那一方的作品，不論他有任何理由，這作品的價值何在？
這代表什麼？在大多數的狀況下，這是很顯而易見的。轟炸機、戰車、火箭與白磷彈是那堵高牆。被壓碎、燒焦、射殺的手無寸鐵的平民則是雞蛋。這是這比喻的一個角度。
不過，並不是只有一個角度，還有更深的思考。這樣想吧。我們每個人或多或少都是一顆雞蛋。我們都是獨一無二，裝在脆弱容器理的靈魂。對我來說是如此，對諸位來說也是一樣。我們每個人也或多或少，必須面對一堵高牆。這高牆的名字叫做體制。體制本該保護我們，但有時它卻自作主張，開始殘殺我們，甚至讓我們冷血、有效，系統化的殘殺別人。
我寫小說只有一個理由。那就是將個體的靈魂尊嚴暴露在光明之下。故事的目的是在警醒世人，將一道光束照在體系上，避免它將我們的靈魂吞沒，剝奪靈魂的意義。我深信小說家就該揭露每個靈魂的獨特性，藉由故事來釐清它。用生與死的故事，愛的故事，讓人們落淚的故事，讓人們因恐懼而顫抖的故事，讓人們歡笑顫動的故事。這才是我們日復一日嚴肅編織小說的原因。
先父在九十歲時過世。他是個退休的教師，兼職的佛教法師。當他在研究所就讀時，他被強制徵召去中國參戰。身為一個戰後出身的小孩，我曾經看著他每天晨起在餐前，於我們家的佛壇前深深的向佛祖祈禱。有次我問他為什麼要這樣做，他告訴我他在替那些死於戰爭中的人們祈禱。
他說，他在替所有犧牲的人們祈禱，包括戰友，包括敵人。看著他跪在佛壇前的背影，我似乎可以看見死亡的陰影包圍著他。
我的父親過世時帶走了他的記憶，我永遠沒機會知道一切。但那被死亡包圍的背影留在我的記憶中。這是我從他身上繼承的少數幾件事物，也是最重要的事物。
我今日只想對你傳達一件事。我們都是人類，超越國籍、種族和宗教，都只是一個面對名為體制的堅實高牆的一枚脆弱雞蛋。不論從任何角度來看，我們都毫無勝機。高牆太高、太堅硬，太冰冷。唯一勝過它的可能性只有來自我們將靈魂結為一體，全心相信每個人的獨特和不可取代性所產生的溫暖。
請各位停下來想一想。我們每個人都擁有一個獨特的，活生生的靈魂。體制卻沒有。我們不能容許體制踐踏我們。我們不能容許體制自行其是。體制並沒有創造我們：是我們創造了體制。
這就是我要對各位說的。
我很感謝能夠獲得耶路撒冷文學獎。我很感謝世界各地有那麼多的讀者。我很高興有機會向各位發表演說。Always on the side of the egg
By Haruki Murakami
I have come to Jerusalem today as a novelist, which is to say as a professional spinner of lies.
Of course, novelists are not the only ones who tell lies. Politicians do it, too, as we all know. Diplomats and military men tell their own kinds of lies on occasion, as do used car salesmen, butchers and builders. The lies of novelists differ from others, however, in that no one criticizes the novelist as immoral for telling them. Indeed, the bigger and better his lies and the more ingeniously he creates them, the more he is likely to be praised by the public and the critics. Why should that be?
My answer would be this: Namely, that by telling skillful lies - which is to say, by making up fictions that appear to be true - the novelist can bring a truth out to a new location and shine a new light on it. In most cases, it is virtually impossible to grasp a truth in its original form and depict it accurately. This is why we try to grab its tail by luring the truth from its hiding place, transferring it to a fictional location, and replacing it with a fictional form. In order to accomplish this, however, we first have to clarify where the truth lies within us. This is an important qualification for making up good lies.
Today, however, I have no intention of lying. I will try to be as honest as I can. There are a few days in the year when I do not engage in telling lies, and today happens to be one of them.
So let me tell you the truth. A fair number of people advised me not to come here to accept the Jerusalem Prize. Some even warned me they would instigate a boycott of my books if I came.
The reason for this, of course, was the fierce battle that was raging in Gaza. The UN reported that more than a thousand people had lost their lives in the blockaded Gaza City, many of them unarmed citizens - children and old people.
Any number of times after receiving notice of the award, I asked myself whether traveling to Israel at a time like this and accepting a literary prize was the proper thing to do, whether this would create the impression that I supported one side in the conflict, that I endorsed the policies of a nation that chose to unleash its overwhelming military power. This is an impression, of course, that I would not wish to give. I do not approve of any war, and I do not support any nation. Neither, of course, do I wish to see my books subjected to a boycott.
Finally, however, after careful consideration, I made up my mind to come here. One reason for my decision was that all too many people advised me not to do it. Perhaps, like many other novelists, I tend to do the exact opposite of what I am told. If people are telling me - and especially if they are warning me - "don't go there," "don't do that," I tend to want to "go there" and "do that." It's in my nature, you might say, as a novelist. Novelists are a special breed. They cannot genuinely trust anything they have not seen with their own eyes or touched with their own hands.
And that is why I am here. I chose to come here rather than stay away. I chose to see for myself rather than not to see. I chose to speak to you rather than to say nothing.
This is not to say that I am here to deliver a political message. To make judgments about right and wrong is one of the novelist's most important duties, of course.
It is left to each writer, however, to decide upon the form in which he or she will convey those judgments to others. I myself prefer to transform them into stories - stories that tend toward the surreal. Which is why I do not intend to stand before you today delivering a direct political message.
Please do, however, allow me to deliver one very personal message. It is something that I always keep in mind while I am writing fiction. I have never gone so far as to write it on a piece of paper and paste it to the wall: Rather, it is carved into the wall of my mind, and it goes something like this:
"Between a high, solid wall and an egg that breaks against it, I will always stand on the side of the egg."
Yes, no matter how right the wall may be and how wrong the egg, I will stand with the egg. Someone else will have to decide what is right and what is wrong; perhaps time or history will decide. If there were a novelist who, for whatever reason, wrote works standing with the wall, of what value would such works be?
What is the meaning of this metaphor? In some cases, it is all too simple and clear. Bombers and tanks and rockets and white phosphorus shells are that high, solid wall. The eggs are the unarmed civilians who are crushed and burned and shot by them. This is one meaning of the metaphor.
This is not all, though. It carries a deeper meaning. Think of it this way. Each of us is, more or less, an egg. Each of us is a unique, irreplaceable soul enclosed in a fragile shell. This is true of me, and it is true of each of you. And each of us, to a greater or lesser degree, is confronting a high, solid wall. The wall has a name: It is The System. The System is supposed to protect us, but sometimes it takes on a life of its own, and then it begins to kill us and cause us to kill others - coldly, efficiently, systematically.
I have only one reason to write novels, and that is to bring the dignity of the individual soul to the surface and shine a light upon it. The purpose of a story is to sound an alarm, to keep a light trained on The System in order to prevent it from tangling our souls in its web and demeaning them. I fully believe it is the novelist's job to keep trying to clarify the uniqueness of each individual soul by writing stories - stories of life and death, stories of love, stories that make people cry and quake with fear and shake with laughter. This is why we go on, day after day, concocting fictions with utter seriousness.
My father died last year at the age of 90. He was a retired teacher and a part-time Buddhist priest. When he was in graduate school, he was drafted into the army and sent to fight in China. As a child born after the war, I used to see him every morning before breakfast offering up long, deeply-felt prayers at the Buddhist altar in our house. One time I asked him why he did this, and he told me he was praying for the people who had died in the war.
He was praying for all the people who died, he said, both ally and enemy alike. Staring at his back as he knelt at the altar, I seemed to feel the shadow of death hovering around him.
My father died, and with him he took his memories, memories that I can never know. But the presence of death that lurked about him remains in my own memory. It is one of the few things I carry on from him, and one of the most important.
I have only one thing I hope to convey to you today. We are all human beings, individuals transcending nationality and race and religion, fragile eggs faced with a solid wall called The System. To all appearances, we have no hope of winning. The wall is too high, too strong - and too cold. If we have any hope of victory at all, it will have to come from our believing in the utter uniqueness and irreplaceability of our own and others' souls and from the warmth we gain by joining souls together.
Take a moment to think about this. Each of us possesses a tangible, living soul. The System has no such thing. We must not allow The System to exploit us. We must not allow The System to take on a life of its own. The System did not make us: We made The System.
That is all I have to say to you.
I am grateful to have been awarded the Jerusalem Prize. I am grateful that my books are being read by people in many parts of the world. And I am glad to have had the opportunity to speak to you here today.
2009年2月24日 星期二
我右手是龍，左手是玫瑰的力量。
荷馬在《伊里亞德》裡說：「力量從希望與絕望中而來」。
延伸閱讀
風箏飛，葉落下，拳頭的世界如此大。
線纏繞，樹長大，手掌留住了風，握不住一粒沙。
我的左手是貓，右手是撫慰的力量。你讓我輕輕的合掌，喚來舊時光。
閉上眼，就地捲起海浪，奔向紙月亮，追逐一頭大雨中的狼。
蝴蝶飛，浪退潮。手打開，不害怕，匱乏。
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