Chapter 1156

The bar was very busy and noisy, and the whole crew was preparing for the first scene. Stanley Charlson and George strand came to the Pioneer Village in person. Even Woody Allen, the little old man, unexpectedly appeared on the scene. The hustle and bustle made people indulge in it.

But it's so hot that it's almost out of breath. It's like the limbs are tied tightly. No matter how hard you struggle, it doesn't help. The feeling of drowning suffocation makes the whole person sink bit by bit.

He almost ran away, pushed the back door, quietly left the crowd, just want to escape, far away, he didn't even know where he wanted to escape.

The cold and fresh air suddenly poured into the lungs, and the world became quiet in an instant, with thoughts winding and extending between the faint smell of smoke at the fingertips.

In a trance, time seems to start to flow back between the fingers, back to the cold winter three years ago, back to the years before the "Pacific War" was shown and "buried alive" was shown, back to the time when he came to New York alone for his dream, back to the time when he was still arrogantly refusing to give up despite his head broken.

He dropped his eyes, and his eyes fell on the cigarette between his fingers. He pulled out a smile from the corner of his mouth, but he couldn't tell whether it was bitter or sarcastic. He hasn't taken out his cigarette for a long time. This habit has gradually disappeared, but today, it's back to the moment of deja vu.

Just like the fragments of childhood in my memory just now, all of them completely blurred the concept of time. The length of three years disappeared instantly, and everything happened yesterday.

Sometimes, Lan Li can't help thinking, is all this reincarnation?

After a big round, the role of Levine Davis still came to him, as if it was predestined.

Inspired by Don Quixote and based on the prototype of Dave van runck, the Cohen brothers created Levine Davis and the story of "drunken folk", but in fact, they created the semi autobiographical story of "Langley hall" based on his experience; Or, he used to be Dave van Loong, then chuka Shu, and now Langley hall. What about the future?

It's a ridiculous idea, but is it really ridiculous?

The smile on the corner of the mouth rose and chuckled. No thinking, no precipitation, no analysis.

Everything is too familiar. You just need to be in it, you can't tell the difference. The boundary between reality and illusion has been completely broken - or never existed. The hazy halo in your sight slowly comes out, as if you can clearly capture the track of time flow, and then you go back to the cold winter in early 2010.

Tonight, now, now, now.

He is working in the Pioneer Village, waiting for a performance opportunity, which is his means of livelihood. Not as a waiter, but as a performer, because he is an artist, a song "Cleopatra" is very popular and has become the best way for him to make a living. Although his income is very low every night, he can at least buy a pack of cigarettes or a bottle of beer.

At the same time, he is waiting for his chance, the call from the union, the invitation from the performance, the call from the dream.

Gently biting the cigarette holder, ready to light the cigarette, but the tip of the tongue came a touch of bitterness, so the action stopped. I don't know whether the taste is the original taste of the cigarette or the taste of emotion. The focus gradually began to blur, revealing a trace of confusion and confusion; But it was just a flash. Then he blinked, took a long breath, held the cigarette in his mouth again, and told himself that he was right.

All these insistences are correct.

On this road of dream and art, he is a vagrant walking alone. However, even if he runs barefoot in the ice and snow, he should lift his head with pride and stick to the end.

Stupid?

Those who give up and insist on themselves for the sake of life, money and interests gradually cover up their edges and personalities and become the same faces in real life, just like puppets. That's the real stupidity. Like Jim, like Troy, like... Jane.

If you lose the original pure heart, if you lose your faith as an artist, if you lose the original intention of the creator, then he will not be him any more. He is just another product on the assembly line. In order to live a hard life, you lose yourself, and live a meaningless life. He is mediocre, vulgar and vulgar, which also means that, The music he created will lose its spirit, the art he created will no longer be moving, and the brand he left will disappear completely, completely annihilated in the vast sea of people.

It's better to hang him so that he can say goodbye to the world.

So, even if his mouth is bitter, even if the weather is cold, even if he is bruised, he refuses to change. Even if it burns life.

"Bang," came a loud noise behind him, "ready, it's your turn to play." A cry suddenly exploded in the air, calling eagerly and impatiently, "Levine? Levine

Yes, he's Levine Davis. He needs to be on stage.

He looked down at the cigarette at his fingertips. Originally, he wanted to smoke a cigarette, but after all, he failed to light it. So he raised his head and said, "well." Then he put the cigarette back into the cigarette box, walked quickly into the door, passed through the narrow kitchen passage, his sight suddenly opened up, and saw the central stage at a glance.

Standing on the side platform, he thought for a moment, but he took off his suit coat and hung it on the hanger next to him.

Behind the wet dada of a small piece, it looks funny; But it doesn't seem to matter as much as the fluffy sleeves and hem.

He found his own guitar in the corner of the wall. One hand was holding the guitar, and the other hand rubbed his hair at will, shaking away all the water vapor he had just touched outside the door. Then he went straight to the stage, sat down in the wooden chair in the center, held the guitar in his arms, gently pressed the strings, and sketched with his fingertips, Make sure the tightness of the strings is in line with your habits.

The dull guitar string sound is ringing irregularly, passing through the buzz of the bar. It's popular and popular, and outlines a touch of ordinary fireworks. It's not the kind of elegant art, but the street art that accompanies you at any time. You only need a guitar and a voice to sing heartily.

The sound of whispering still reverberates in the bar, and no one seems to notice the changes on the stage.

The light of the whole bar is dim and hazy, leaving only a cream light beam falling down and covering the wooden chair. The light dust in the air is flying up and down, falling down and floating around the shoulders, sketching the outline of the body. Inexplicably, you can smell a trace of vicissitudes and desolation of vagrancy, which seems to be a shirt and a aura.

The disordered and uninhibited golden brown curly hair is still filled with cold water vapor, curling in the dense light. The sparse light and shadow pass through the hair, polishing the facial features and face contour bit by bit. The thick and slender eyelashes cast a shadow to cover the look of the eyes, but can not cover the natural and unrestrained flowing between the eyebrows.

The neatly trimmed beard covers most of the cheek, but it sets off the softness of the lips more and more. A slight sip of the lip reveals a little inner uneasiness and formality, but it is fleeting; The sight falls on the string attentively, just like watching his beloved lover. The deep tenderness and depth soften the light and shadow.

The world is so noisy and chaotic, but suddenly, an unspeakable silence is slowly spreading. Time seems to stop suddenly.

Anne silyman gently pulled Paul Walker's sleeve and said in a low voice, "Paul, is that Langley?"

Worried that her voice would disturb the work of the crew, Anne's whispered words made Paul have to be close to his ear to catch a breath. Then he quietly replied, "yes, that's Langley. Yes? Can't recognize it? " Paul's mouth rose. "In order to make this film, he grew a beard."

Annie shook her head gently. "It's not because of the beard."

Then, Annie was silent. She walked through the crowd and looked at the figure on the stage quietly. For a long time, she didn't say a word.

Paul, who had been waiting patiently for a long time, almost thought that Annie was going to sit up straight when he heard the tender voice again, "he's Randy, but he doesn't look like Randy."

"No?" Paul looked up again.

Annie shakes her head firmly. The blue ceremony on the stage of the Grammy Awards ceremony, singing "beast" without accompaniment, comes to her mind again. There is a touch of sadness and bitterness between her eyebrows, but she still straightens her back with pride. Standing in the center of the world, she has a lingering loneliness.

Annie was too young to express herself. She couldn't say why. But somehow, her eyes turned red. She shook her head again and muttered, "yes, it's not." She didn't know what she was talking about. After she couldn't express it, she was silent. She sat quietly in the same place, staring at Lan Li.

"... I know." Paul said softly that he could understand Annie's idea. This is the blue gift. Every performance can always bring surprise.

At this moment, he didn't even start to perform. He just sat on the chair and carefully adjusted the strings, but the slowly flowing emotion and temperament had been outlined. It seemed that everything was the same, but everything had changed.

"He's Langley, but he's Levine now." Paul explained gently.