看了我儿子写的学习生活，让我对他偶尔的坏脾气更包容了些。那种程序化很高又无聊的生活，强制性的自我管理和训练，熬夜，用奔跑缓解像一个逻辑机器来获得短暂的自由野性的呼吸。他写的诗很长，就节选了几段关于学习的，还有爱情的，健身的社交的，游戏的避难所，以后再贴。
MAINTENANCE - Free Form Poem
At blue-lidded, fluorescent midnight-
when thought turns wire tight from trying-
I lean above the data: graphs, indices,
grim sport for the undying.
Outside, the campus breathes in winter;
the river ice in iron hisses.
And in the minted quiet of my desk
I hear a droning missing-
not footsteps, not a stranger’s stir,
not any doors metallic sore,
but strict recurring measures, metered clean,
a life that loops and loops once more-
the selfsame circuit, sternly certain,
drawing me around its shore.
There are days of code and cadence-
tabs and tests and tight compliance-
when a program, half-conceived,
becomes a judge of my defiance.
Time-complexities keep chanting;
edge-cases hover, ever-haunting;
and one failing test sits red-
brake-lights in a rain-dark street.
I hunt the missing semicolon
like a moral flaw, not slight,
until my brain is hot-wired-useful-
and emptied of its light.
So I flee to air and motion,
as to some unspoken ocean,
when study grows oppressive,
when the screenlight turns to notion-
down the streets I go, and running
let the pulse replace the stunning
of a life too tightly reasoned,
too exacting, too much “cunning.”
Streetlamps throw my shadow long;
it keeps pace like an assistant.
My breath comes clean and animal-
no argument, no distance.
For seven minutes I am only
lungs and pavement and insistence.
So let my pen be honest:
I am grateful; I am promised
every chance a mind could ask for-
still I ache, still I am wary.
Not from hunger, not from danger,
but from sameness-thin and stranger
than catastrophe’s loud clangor-
this subdued, unvaried pore
through which time leaks out unspoken,
leaving days intact, unbroken,
leaving me intact, unbroken-
yet unsatisfied at core.
And if you hear me speaking formal,
know it’s armor and a lantern:
I lift it when the nights get hairy;
I keep order so I shan’t burn.
I stack my hours like careful stones;
I make my world behave-
but sometimes what I’m building
looks too much like something paved.
I want the reckless, living proof
that can’t be graphed or graded:
not “success” as a statistic,
not a life politely plated-
but something that, at noon, can startle-
like cold riverwater, clear,
when you step in past your ankles
and your whole self goes awake;
when you look up from the plan
and see the day has teeth, has lake,
has wind that won’t be predicted,
has light that won’t be made to take
its place inside my orderly lines-
and I, not perfect, not prepared,
not finished, not “ahead,”
still step-
still let the current argue
with the careful in my head-
and call that argument alive;
and call it mine;
and go.
我问他最后一段想表达什么，他说：即便如此，还是想在这条路上前行。我想也许是这种艰涩中还是有些不可预期的亮点，比如他最近开发的一种AI Agent，他想被英伟达或微软收购；也许这样的训练让他习惯了用自律，理性逻辑和规划保护自己; 也许是总有小组做项目的时候女孩来跟他说，我能认出你写的代码，因为非常优雅。像诗里最后一段说的，也许能承认自己的不完美，不再需要万事俱备，认识到自己很普通不领先，才能清醒的而不是冲动的继续前行，也是一种成熟的一部分。
