左封台:河流淌过我们的屋左封台,华北平原上一座不起眼儿的村庄。和众多散落大地上的村庄一样,这座名不见经传地图上根本无法寻找到的小小村落,生息着一群现实而卑微的劳动者,任劳任怨的牛马,刮来刮去的大风和漫天飞扬的草叶尘埃,古怪难解的梦境,一大群脏兮兮拖着鼻涕,树叶一样在风和尘土里挥动手臂,哗啦啦奔跑的孩子。这些散乱迷离的场景,乡村呓语式的慢镜头,偶尔在我的眼眸里亮一下,又暗下去——七十年代末期断片的印象,与其说出自一个人记忆的闪回,莫若归结于想象力与回忆的奇特结合。我不是 Left seal Taiwan: the river flows through our house on the left seal Taiwan, North China Plain, an ordinary village. Like many villages scattered on the earth, this little village on the little-known map that can not be found is bred with a group of humble and humble laborers, hard-working cattle, grizzled winds and wild grass Leaves of dust, weird dreams, a large group of dirty dragged his nose, leaves the same in the wind and dust waved his arm, crashed children run. These scattered and confusing scenes, slow-motion rural language, occasionally light up in my eyes, and darkness - the impression of the fragment in the late seventies, rather than flashback from a person’s memory, Mo Ruo attributed to the imagination The strange combination of force and memory. I’m not