我出生于中国南方,和全国大部分地区一样,我的出生地也是被文学遗忘的角落。文学品类的报纸和杂志在当地无处可寻,遗失在众人精于世故与喧腾的麻将桌上。在一个对文学没有只言片语、只有家长里短的乡村,任何文学作品都像一个外乡人,突兀地出现在众人的眼里。没有诗意的天空,和没有历史的土地,就像没有绿洲的沙漠。不同的是,缺少这些人们照样可以活得很好。我憧憬布宜诺斯艾利斯向阳的忍冬花,想象苍老的博尔赫斯拄着拐杖行走 I was born in southern China. Like most parts of the country, my birthplace was also forgotten by literature. Literary newspapers and magazines in the local nowhere to be found, lost in the world of skilled and tumultuous mahjong table. In a country where there is no single word about literature and only the short parents, any literary work is like a stranger, appearing in everyone’s eyes. There is no poetic sky, and the land without history, like a desert without an oasis. The difference is that the lack of these people can still live well. I look forward to the sunny honeysuckle Buenos Aires, imagine the old Borges walking on crutches