Zhiqi Chen

第一次去纽约是在2018年的圣诞节。当时还没有自己的相机，只是借用同学的小相机随手拍摄一些照片，如今大多已遗失，仅余寥寥几张。

纽约有许多我心心念念的地方，博物馆便是其中之一。我在MOMA待到闭馆时分，在大都会博物馆也消磨了整整一天——对于热衷逛博物馆的人而言，纽约堪称天堂。时代广场和第五大道自然也会走走看看。与其说是体验大都市生活，不如坦率地说是在观察形形色色的众生相。

这个小男孩是在过马路时偶然遇见的，我赶忙从口袋掏出相机盲拍了一张。虽然没有对焦，却莫名地喜欢这张照片。

傍晚时分沿着东河漫步，在曼哈顿大桥观赏日落，拍下了这张摄影师的照片。此情此景恰逢年终岁末，多少有些触动，于是便有了后来那件蠢事。当时想用手机延时拍摄日落美景，便将手机架在了河边扶手的凹槽上，慢慢调整寻找合适的角度。谁料这凹槽各处宽窄不一，一个不慎手机便滑落到扶手箱里，用尽各种办法都无济于事，最终被迫造访了第五大道的苹果旗舰店。那部手机料想至今还静静地躺在那里。

出发前列了一份心愿单，除了博物馆和知名景点外，还有三个颇为私人的愿望：在百老汇观看一场《歌剧魅影》，造访一家二手书店，以及拜访木心故居。第一个愿望因为一时犹豫没能买到票，只能在门外拍照留念，留下些许遗憾。后两个愿望倒是如愿以偿了。

那天我起了个大早，特意穿得正式一些，先乘地铁到花店买了束鲜花，再步行前往杰克逊高地的木心故居。天空飘着细雨，氛围恰到好处。故居并不难找，街道两旁的公寓整齐排列，数着门牌号码便到了。那是一栋两层小楼，略显残破，门前已挂出售卖的牌子。门口的石狮子正如书中所描述的那样，窗帘半掩，沙发和画框都还保持着上世纪的模样。我放下鲜花，伫立片刻，便在几步之外的车站登车离去。

至今还记得初中时一次语文考试出现了木心的文章，大概是《童年随之而去》，那是为数不多愉快的考试记忆。

之后去了Strand二手书店，在门店外的书架上发现了一本莎士比亚剧作合集，厚重异常，最终还是没有带回家。在返回住处的路上经过第六大道（繁华地段反而让人记不清具体街名），偶然发现了另一家书店。店内陈设古朴，出售的多是大开本百科全书和早期出版的文学作品，此外便是上世纪的书信和邮票。书店的主人是一位老奶奶，安静地坐着看书，谁也没有打扰到谁。

A 12’ 35mm color sound film designed and directed by Superstudio

The Total Ceremony

But let us not delude ourselves: we will never be able to renounce our web completely because we will never be able to invent our lives day by day, moment by moment; we will however be able to transform the main structure of our ceremonies into conscious models of behavior, conscious of their significance and their limits, thus dominating them; thus, our spider’s web will no longer be a gnat-trap made out of threads of saliva, but a steel structure on which we can move freely to a better comprehension of the world and ourselves.

The Great Pilgrimage

The object of what may without doubt be called the greatest pilgrimage of all time is the small island of Kon-Sum-Shon in the archipelago of the Great Outputs; on this island, covered in tropical vegetation, about one hundred years ago, a missionary from General Motors discovered that the natives worshipped as a living god a hermit living in a cave on an in accessible rock pinnacle. The missionary succeeded in reaching the hermit and talked with him for twenty years, trying in vain to persuade him to purchase an 80,000 HP turbine. Finally, in desperation, he killed himself. His letter of goodbye, published throughout the world caused a sensation, and thus began the spread of the cult of the “Naked God” in all nations of consumer faith. Every good consumer today holds it his moral duty to visit the Naked God at least once in his lifetime. Each day, the magnates of industry and commerce can be seen arriving at the feet of the red statue of Consumerism. Having abandoned their Cadillacs, Rolls and private jets, and dressed in the most modest clothing available, they climb the 5,273 grey stone steps that now replace the original native liana ladder. At the end of the stairway, the pilgrims raise their arms and are subjected to an inspection by the chief of the 3,000 guards watching over the Naked God. Today, the original search has become a mere formality, because no-one would dare commit the grave sacrilege of introducing any object into the god’s grotto. Access to the small cavern is a very moving moment, almost no-one manages to hold back his tears, hysterical scenes often take place and many women faint. In the grotto, lit only by the light coming through the door, one can glimpse behind the grille separating him from visitors, the mystical figure of the hermit, “the One without Objects”, as he is called. There exists but one rare photograph of the Naked God, wrapped in a soft white blanket, which we are proud to be able to offer to our readers; it was taken by a Japanese reporter who managed, at the risk of his life, to enter the holy cell, eluding the watchful guards, with a micro-camera hidden in a wart on his nose.

A Rite Of Expiation

This rite takes place every seven years on the beaches of Maldesign. On the day of the Winter Solstice, for as long as anyone can remember, the entire population converges on the beach, bearing in their arms, with loud acclamations and the sounding of trumpets and gongs, those Designers who have reached the “time”, that is, those artists dedicated to the creation of objects of everyday use who have completed their 21st year since entering the Corporation. Others follow bearing one of each of the objects designed by the Designer. Having reached the beach, the Designers are lowered to the ground, surrounded by their objects, and with amazing skill and rapidity, a stone tower with no openings at all is erected around each of them. The tower is then covered in a white resign, which when hardened becomes smooth and waterproof. The Designers remain in their towers for 21 years with no contact with the outside world except for the supplies of raw vegetables and meat which a deaf and dumb man designed to this task inserts in small holes at the base of each tower. The day preceding the Solstice, the rites begun 21 years earlier end, with the demolition of the towers built then. If one of the Designers is found alive, he receives great honors from all the community, and spends the rest of his days honored and served as befits a “Grand Master”. Unfortunately, this is an extremely rare occurrence; it is usually a body that is found in the tower and then buried in silence in the same spot, the tomb being marked only by a few uncemented stones. As soon as the burial is over, all those who have taken part rush screaming to their houses, from which they remove all objects created by the Designer. They then return with them, lamenting, to the beach, where they then violently destroy them, shouting: “Get these hence from me, object of death!” Finally, the broken pieces are scattered in the sea. On other days of the year, for seven years, the beach of Maldesign, scattered with tombs, is deserted.

The Men Who Willed The Birth Of The Desert

When you arrive in the Desert of the Arkit and that single high mountain towering grey above the grey plain seems sinister to you, you will not yet know the horror of finding it to be made up of human bones, broken pottery and fragments of various materials. With its red cupola high over it, it is the only monument left to the future by that mad race who destroyed themselves and the world in the foolhardy search for a supreme monument. In the villages at the edge of the desert, the legend of the Arkit is renewed each evening in the table of the old men, whose beginning is ever the same: “There was a time when the desert was green and blooming and perfumed with fruits and spoke with the voice of birds and ran with the feet of animals. But an ignorant worshipped the god of Time and wished to offer up to him a gift that would not fade away with the years, something whose form and materials would remain forever for all to marvel at. So, they built the Temple of Time, and they built it in the form of a cupola, out of the innards of all the animals because they said that it was in the guts that the passing of time becomes apparent. And they shut up in the cupola all those who since childhood had shown some ability in the making of objects, so that in the Temple they might invent and manufacture the perfect Object; and whoever should succeed would become the great Son of the Temple, lord and absolute ruler of all the world of Arkit. Those without the Temple brought food and drink and all know materials to those within, so that they might create the object. And so, slowly, with years of study, each of the artisans within the Temple constructed his object and when it was finished, it was presented to the others that they might pass judgement on it, and if it was not judged perfect, the object was destroyed and its author was executed for sacrilege against time and he was buried in the rubble accumulating within the Temple. This continued for a thousand years, and never was an object deemed perfect by those within the Temple; and during this time cupola of the Temple, which was continually being covered with new layers of innards, but had no foundation grew taller over the pile of bones and detritus which was growing within it. Thus was the mountain formed. Finally, those outside, who had always lived in extreme poverty, bringing all the best food and materials to the Temple, slaughtered the last animal and plucked the last leaf. And the earth lost its voice and its running and showed its bones of stone. The stupid Arkit all died, leaving as the gift at the feet of their God, the desert, the mountain, and the fetid red cupola”.

The Happy Ones Who Build No Walls

They live on the seashore, peaceful, good, gentle beings; they are believed to be the only people not to have discovered architecture. They live in enormous gourds which grow in the salt sand and are at once home, food and drink, light and heat during the winter to them. After cutting open the rind with their fingernails, they dig out the flesh of the gourds to form a shelter and for a whole year this flesh, continually growing back within the gourds, feeds them and quenches their thirst, while also emanating a faint warmth; since they are always covered in its juices, which oxidize on contact with air, they become phosphorescent and their bodies are clothed in light and changing colors; these people know on corners or heavy arches; they feel no anger and hive no tools, they need none; they have only peace, gaiety and small desires; they also have much imagination, no myths and but a single simple rite. Towards the end of summer when the North wind begins to whiten the waves with foam, the simple, gay life that the tribe has lived until then fades away; silence descends over all as if each were trying to recognize something in the sound of the wind, and the only voices which remain are the calls of the seabirds from the rocks preparing their journey to the South. And they leave at dawn after the first night without songs and stories that have enlivened the long summer evenings. Thus comes the day of silence; on that day, the adult members of the tribe do not go out, but the children do. The Shaman searches their silent eyes, those eyes curious for the grey of sea and sky, for the signs that he alone can recognize; in the evening, he chooses the boy who will be his helper in their rite. The following day, the shaman and the boy search the beach for the red vines of the next year’s gourds; with love and patience they disentangle them, leaving a single flower (the most beautiful) on each vine; then they set off for the places where last year’s gourds had died; here they plant the vines, one on the remains of each gourd, and then they water them, carrying the seawater in their hands. When the task is completed, the shaman kneels before the boy and offers him a flower: the child runs with it into the nearby woods and vanished into them. He will hide the flower in a secret place. The shaman waits for him, standing on the deserted beach, and when the child returns the man gives a short cry. At his signal, all the others come out into the open and one goes over to each of the newly-planted vines; they will care for them lovingly until the birth of the new gourd, for the first few days even protecting the petals from the sea wind with their bodies. No-one can remember a vine ever dying. At the beginning of the summer the gourds are full grown and ready to be lived in, while those that have been used until now are beginning to dry out and will shortly collapse and disintegrate under the sun’s fierce heat. When a member of the tribe feels death drawing near, he retires into his gourd and dies there: within a few days, the flesh of the gourd, no longer consumed by its dead inhabitant, closes around the dead body. It sometimes happens that the shaman’s small helper has already been chosen four times during preceding years. In this case, he does not run into the forest to hide the flower which has been given to him but to find the others he has already been given in the past. He shows them to the shaman, and from that day he leaves his mother and begins the apprenticeship that will lead him to become the tribe’s new gardener.

A Building For An Unknown Ceremony

Upon my arrival one day in a foreign (but not completely unknown) country, I noticed from posters and newspapers that the official opening of a monumental building was about to take place, or rather, the opening of a new public building (as I thought I understood), or perhaps only of a new piece of architecture that my linguistic problems did not permit me to interpret. On the other hand, looking at the pictures in the newspaper, I could not even see if it really was architecture. At the center of the city, an enormous open space with regular borders had been cleared. In this open space, images of mountains and deserts were forming. The illusion of reality was perfect. Innumerable spectators were already sitting on the folding chairs that were being rented out at the various entrances to the open space, and all were turned facing the same direction and wearing large dark glasses, protecting themselves from the artificial cold with blankets over their knees. Some were wearing special ear-protectors. Behind them, a rainbow was appearing and disappear by turns. At the point to which everybody’s eyes were directed, lay an enormous transparent solid, within which lay an enormous human figure. It must certainly have been another fictitious reality created by the masters of illusion who had designed these imaginary landscapes. The figure seemed to be connected to a complicated piece of apparatus which reacted in various ways to the small movements of its arms and legs. Unexpectedly, the rainbow vanished completely, and four rectangular buildings appeared at the four cardinal points. These buildings had certainly emerged from beneath the earth by means of hydraulic mechanisms. All the onlookers, leaving their chairs, formed four different corteges and set off towards the buildings. Each building had two doors, one entrance and one exit. The inside of each building (they were probably all alike) was completely dark and the long lines of visitors filed through following feeble luminous signs on the walls and ceilings. After a series of tortuous meanderings, one reached large, violently-lit room, in which there was a series of computers and other scientific apparatus. In a transparent cage, a little white mouse was the object of an incomprehensible experiment. Without the mouse giving the slightest sign of activity, lights blinked on and off. Sometimes, the machines gave no signs of life while the white mouse moved convulsively in its cage. But the short stop possible in front of formulating any theories about this. Coming out of the building the crowd moved back to its seats. The enormous human figure continued its slow activities in front of an ever-changing throng. At regular intervals, the spectators left their seats, while others, flowing without interruption into the open space, replaced them. Suddenly, the rainbow reappeared. I therefore supposed that the whole cycle of the spectacle was over and left my place making for the exit. Some people in front of me were speaking in a language I could understand at certain times. Some sentences were: “What a beautiful ceremony” and “from tomorrow, there will be architecture for all”.

Every Building On Earth

Every building on earth is destined for some unknown ceremony. Only to a few initiates is it given to draw aside the brick, wooden, iron and synthetic curtains which hide the secret rites. I would like to take you to unknown regions only to make you realize that your journey is in an equally unknown region, and beyond all illusion, we could try to build for ourselves and reality in which all ceremonies and rites are exclusively ours and could perhaps be very quickly forgotten.

The End

日本之行的最后一站是东京。从京都搭乘新干线前往东京时，在月台上迷了路，又被列车员错误指引登上了错误的列车，幸好在发车前及时发现问题，才没有耽误行程。

抵达东京后的第一件事便是前往罗森便利店预约三鹰之森吉卜力美术馆的门票。遗憾的是，在东京停留的两天门票都已售罄，只能买个饭团配一瓶牛奶聊以自慰。味道与国内略有差异，牛奶的口感更为醇厚一些。

东京的住宿地点位于新宿站附近，交通十分便利。透过窗户能看到新宿站。放好行李后我直接去了歌舞伎町，一探传闻中的灯红酒绿。夜幕下的歌舞伎町确实是最繁华的地段，霓虹灯光闪烁刺眼，街头随处可见身着艳丽服装的女郎，以及分发传单招揽顾客的风俗业从业者。短短十分钟就有三人上前搭讪邀请，其中甚至有人用中文与我交谈。街边正如传言所述停了不少轿车，车顶摆放着各种品牌的饮料，我也目睹了一些女生上车离去的场景——随处可见大都市夜晚的放纵生活。

我来之前做过一些功课，这些景象都在预期之内。真正令我震撼的，反而是从歌舞伎町返回住处途中的所见所闻。我特意选择了一条小径回到住处，距离歌舞伎町仅一个街区，却是截然不同的世界。这里没有霓虹灯，连路灯都显得昏暗。街边有醉酒呕吐的女子，高跟鞋散落在一旁，独自坐在路沿石上抱头痛哭，衣衫不整的男伴无助地站在旁边。

商场早已闭门谢客，玻璃门前多了许多纸箱，走近细看，里面都是流浪者裹着衣物入睡，想要借助商场的一丝暖气。如果说歌舞伎町是合法的风月场，那么附近的小巷便是真实的欲望深渊。昏暗的巷弄中亮着两三盏粉色招牌，门窗紧闭，只有二楼的窗户透出微弱光线。

我一直认为，只有在夜晚，城市才会显露出它真实的性格，和光鲜亮丽背后的晦涩无奈。

在东京的第二天上午在城中漫无目的地闲逛，下午前往了秋叶原。由于我对日本动漫了解有限，此行主要是为了感受那里的独特氛围。满街的海报和各式动漫人物确实令人印象深刻，但出乎意料的是，并没有遇见传说中狂热的动漫爱好者，反而是日本共产党的宣传车在那里不间断地播放着广播。

我还去了附近的电器城，这样的电器专卖商场在国内早已不多见了。原本想看看能否淘到品相不错的胶片相机，被告知需要去银座的中古相机店才能找到。后来竟然忘记了这件事，在银座闲逛时没能想起去寻找。

晚饭吃的是一兰拉面，每人一个小隔间，在纸上勾选口味和配菜便算完成点餐，不久便有热气腾腾的面条从面前的小窗口递出。每位顾客都在自己的小天地里享用晚餐，这种孤独感似乎早已成为一种习惯。

用餐后前往东京铁塔，我没有登塔，只是在附近的一座天桥上远远眺望，静静地看了很久。天桥上几乎没有行人经过，渐渐地感到一种莫名的难受。后来在某部动漫中看到同样的地点和相似的场景，会不由自主地想起那晚的感受。

离开东京铁塔已经很晚了，但我并不想就此结束这次旅行。于是打开地图搜寻任何可能的去处，发现六本木大厦的森艺术中心画廊距离停止售票还有二十分钟，便一路狂奔，幸好最终赶上了。在那里看到了一些曾在别处见过的现代艺术作品，还有一个游戏特展。

在返回住处的路上经过一家街边小店，点了一份当地人钟爱的海鲜饭。没有任何调料，保持着海鲜的原汁原味。

京都是一座很美好的城市。至今我仍有些后悔，当初旅行没有留足够的时间在京都。从大阪乘坐JR电车前往京都，路程短暂，很快便抵达了。在车站寄存好行李后，我直接搭乘公交前往清水寺。

这几日在日本，天气都很遂我愿。恰逢细雨纷飞，与清水寺的气韵般配。纵然不是红叶满山的季节，那些建筑依然散发着美感。穿过回廊、大殿，心里念着“音羽山清水寺”这个名字，觉得实在太美。雨打芭蕉，仿佛能听见石琴的乐音——“松风与音羽瀑布之清水，教郁结的心凉爽畅意”。听说清水寺是祈愿爱情的地方，我也求了一个福袋。

从清水寺走出时，雨渐渐停歇，天空染了晚霞的色彩。沿着三年坂、二年坂的街道缓步下山，两旁是售卖抹茶和手工艺品的精致作坊，还有门口挂着暖帘的居酒屋。我喜欢听路人谈笑聊天的声音，即便听不懂他们在说些什么，他们的那份快乐一定来自于很有趣的事情吧。

回住处前，先去了趟车站取寄存的行李。起初我并不知道，在日本即使是同站进出，哪怕不乘坐电车也需要买票。稀里糊涂地进了站，取了行李却发现出不了闸机。一脸茫然地向服务台的姐姐求助，她耐心解释后替我开了门，也没有要求我补票。

关于京都的第一个夜晚去了哪里，我的记忆有些模糊。好像只是在住处周围散了散步——那一片都是两三层楼的小房子，宁静而温馨，反而多了几分生活气息。

第二天起了个大早，赶着乘车前往伏见稻荷大社。因为需要换乘两三条线路，我在车站特意拿了张地图，用笔圈画出换乘站点。一路参考路牌和指示标识，竟涌起一种小学生第一次独自出远门的兴奋感。

大概七点刚出头就到了神社。虽然距离标注的正式参观时间还有半个小时，但其实已经允许游客上山了。于是乎一个人独享了千本鸟居——如照片中那般漂亮，尤其是阳光斑驳地穿过朱红色鸟居的缝隙时，心境澄明。千本鸟居朝上就很少有游客会去了，石阶两旁立着石碑和神龛，供奉神祇。途中有两处可以请护符的平台，我看到一个木质的白狐守，很喜欢它的造像，就带了一个放在背包里。后来在安娜堡时，有一次差点被车撞到，回到家发现那个白狐守从中间整整齐齐断成两截，有那么一丝恍惚感。

爬到山顶确实需要一些体力。从观景台可以俯瞰整个京都城，还有个卖抹茶冰淇淋的小摊。下山的路上，游客变得越来越多，千本鸟居更是挤满了人，全然失却了美感。我记得那天恰好是个祭祀日，据说下午会有焚烧木签祈福的仪式。我小小地纠结了一番，最终还是决定前往下一个目的地。

离开神社搭电车去金阁寺，路上在街边摊花了五百日元买了串烤肉当午饭，分量十足。我最初接触日本文学是在高中，受同桌影响，开始阅读日本作家的作品。记得有天他买了川端康成的《古都》、《千只鹤》和《睡美人》，准备作为生日礼物送给某个女生，书的封面很漂亮。

《金阁寺》也是我最早听说的日本文学之一，但印象中书里的金阁寺坐落在小山上，能够眺望大海——大概是我记混了。在金阁寺注意到一个拿着哈苏相机的老人，正专注地拍摄庭院景观，在一群与金阁寺合影的游客中，显得格外特别。离开时正值放学时间，街道上三五成群的小学生嬉戏玩闹着，我跟着他们一路走向车站，准备搭车回市区。

一路天空开始下起了小雨，云层舒卷，给京都添了些厚重感。在鸭川河畔下了车，雨也渐渐停了，于是乎沿着鸭川散步。鸭川的水很清，也很浅，能听到汩汩的水声。沿河散步的多是伴侣，有年轻人也有老人，牵着手，说着悄悄话。水中有云的倒影，我很享受这般宁静平和的氛围。之后又走了走河畔的小巷弄，积水的石板路映着红灯笼，朦朦胧胧中又转去了花间小道。我曾听说会有艺伎穿行于祇园和花间小道，可惜并未得见，小道上的酒家店面都挂着门帘，望进去是道道屏风，有着身穿和服的女子和举杯的客人。我徘徊了许久，想象着樱花盛开，粉白与红。

京都入夜很早，不到八点店铺便纷纷打烊。路边只剩下卖唱的歌手，怀抱吉他弹唱着情歌，琴盒里摆放着自制专辑的小样，还有路人投下的零钱。

闲来无事，走去八坂神社看看。果然，夜晚的神社别有一番韵味——红灯笼尽数点亮，映衬得鸟居和神庙更具宗教的庄严。我本以为自己是唯一的访客，却在灯火阑珊处邂逅了一位身着红色和服的女子，正虔诚祈愿。我怔怔得停下了脚步，不远处的手水舍旁，一只小猫正蜷缩酣睡。

后来在安娜堡的落雪天，我看完了《夏目友人帐》，每每看到神社和猫咪老师的镜头，总会想起那晚在八坂神社——手水舍旁熟睡的小猫，还有那位穿红色和服祈愿的女子。

京都还有许多可讲的故事，可惜记忆有些模糊了。二条城的庭院建筑，深夜独自乘坐的那班公交车，还有祇园什俐的抹茶，留待日后再去重温了。