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    April 04

    无数破碎的幻想

    “某一年的初秋,一个夕阳很美的黄昏,我匆匆路过西安的鼓楼,却为一段熟悉的歌声驻足,那是一个坐在路边独自弹唱的青年,唱着《我的秋天》,面前的琴盒里散落着几张钞票。川流不息的人群中似乎没有人注意到这个身材消瘦的街头歌手,只有他孤独的歌声在喧嚣的大街上回荡,又被远处更大的噪音吞噬。”

    这个有着太多故事的中年男人总是用那些简单的旋律和歌词勾起我们内心深处最彻底的感动,有些人可以把这种触动转换成文字,有些人可以把它幻化成影像,又有些人只是将这种心情化作更深的情绪,继续和那些歌曲一起沉淀。而我则试图用拙劣的文字,表达那些难以言说的感动。

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    Foeman Nafwrote:
    我的神啊这是。。。。。。。。。。。。。。
    想起这演唱会我就难受。。。。。。。。。。
    想起这周末还有一片儿文要写儿我就恶心。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。
    Apr. 5

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