Thursday, July 19, 2018

Life Components 《人生的成分》




  Progress

In the flow, stand still is to hold on.
All that are slippery are gerontophilia.
Now you can claim you’ve progressed,
Especially if you also pronounce
“Don't tailgate me into the grand hall.
I am too damn redundant to the brand new world
You’ve created."
No one voices “I know”.


  Tunnel

Not tunnel phobic, but decidophobic:
To enter or not, you stand there, and shiver.
You want to be a lamp in the darkness,
But you cannot even define yourself as a visible piece.
There, sounds are a loud conglomerate, indistinctive,
Fluxing for the whole and ebbing for any individual.
You look around, no one there, and venture a step,
As if walking a wire. Someone on the line too?
But its wobbling is not a comfort.
The only sure thing is there is no star at the other end yet,
So you cannot fathom it.
You whisper to yourself: Something must have gone wrong.


  Crossing

Yes, we all board at the same ferry,
But we do not land at the same spot.
Are they grateful for their survival
Or joyful over the dropouts, some of whom
Feign happiness, groping at stones?
Sensitive ones don't turn heads,
They keep out of trouble with side-looks.
The noble minded despise laughs and excel at smiles.
I try to convince myself I've known
These people before I boarded the vessel,
But I know it is a lie:
I am still on this shore.


  Hypoxia Life

This is a privilege.
Few people have enjoyed in an iron house.
Then, some do not want to wake, the hypoxia life style
Appeals to some and they become willing sacrifice,
Unwittingly happy.


  Wish

No, it cannot become one.
A real wish cannot be wished,
And no one is allowed to be transformed
By this communion.
You must re-compose and get established
Like a mirror breathed at and air stilled.
But the Book saith:
Change is mine, and I'll repay.
In spite of anything.
Like you have been stuffed from the inside,
Warmed and liquefied,
And something will stay there no matter whether you wish
To understand.


  Things

Things alone in where they were,
Things you think you have known not only by their names but also by their substance,
Things you do not want to know any further,
Things that are named with sight to intrude into my head.
They persuade with glamour.
What a shame that I may be charmed into oblivion of you.


  Visit

So we decided not to go in.
Too many people pay for the tickets, and sandwiched
In the lustrous veneers of the ancient, they do not need to pretend
That they can traverse time.
We are too contemporary, a little amoral,
Before a moat tightly guarded by auxiliary police.
The multitude has sharp eyes.


  Forbidden Game

If conviction goes with confidence,
Extreme experience is not dangerous.
Limbs bonded, mouth gagged
With a red rubber ball or a bomb,
Silence accumulates pleasure, the longer the stronger.
When the vase of sound is finally broken,
Shiny shards scattered,
The quasi elders will come to grab a piece,
Keeping it on the nightstand like a fluorescent wand.
They do not like wall clocks any more,
They like to set a rigid daily timetable:
Rise early, do not sleep late;
Eat porridge, do not barbeque.
A gangbang-like afternoon lunch is strictly prohibited
Especially if it is link messaged by a social app.


  Short

Morning is short and the dawn is only partially unrolled like truth.
Day is short and the noon is always slipping away under umbrellas.
Passion is short and the flesh-entering love act is done with merely one full thrust.
Life is short and death is sprouting from every pore to all directions.
All is functional, and this is, as a spokesperson marks, a universal natural right.
We look into each other’s eyes, and find
Boredom is the common language like a new norm of love.


  Paradise

We speaks of Paradise that belongs to no one,
Not even to us, even though we created it.
Things there are simple, connected with yarns and bandages
Of rainbow colors.
Clew-rolling is the only competitive sport.
We are smog-separated, and we are still alive.


  Silence

It's not a pause. You cannot
Make it, exhibit it and delete it.
This is what you enjoy, and you enjoy it
Because you grow in it and find yourself there,
Much.
The only field
You find a richness in yourself.
And her, too.


  Love

Love, you'll not ask for it,
Nor forgiveness. What you can try
Is to spurt love to a picture,
Before you fall
Hard,
Prone and splintered.
Love grows lower and lower.


  Big Question

-- Was I the same when I got up this morning?
-- Did this strike you last night or just now?
-- What is the time now?
-- A best time for a tryst, a fit of foul mouth and a plan for suicide.
It is still a time before noon and midnight.


  This Body

Things are things are things are
As we are we are we believe we are.
Stop! Let us separate, institutionally,
And then we can fuck our heads out,
And fuck with hearts, shamelessly, ruthlessly.
We cannot enter the body of the world
Outside us and see it.
This stalk of degraded flesh is us,
And we can be upgraded
Only through keeping clear from our blood and soul.


  Evil

Have all the cuts and bruises healed?
Can nectar still well up
From that warm well pumped and sucked
Like an auto-loading spring?
Oh, muffle the squish and squeezing noise,
Don't stir the distance.
Let the wounds be a hurt for life, like evil thoughts
During the first stage of insomnia
That keeps us alive and pleased.
To live is to do evil, Franz said.
Do not give a damn to whatever is propagated
For the sake of tradition.


  Don't Take It to Heart

No one really cares for an extraordinary life,
And everyone has his own uninteresting story, no audience.
Some people will leave some people for other people or places,
And then some others will follow
And then some will drop out.
Nonsense claims that water is flowing, winding down a course
As if the course has always been there.
No one is down there to do regression analysis of the course.


  Here

No way out of the here. This is a choice you can make.
When the god buries himself in his mind-controlled games,
Leaving all the zombies to improvise a never-ending soup opera,
You can enjoy here as a hell for yourself only.
The world is purely theoretical.


   Here Again

Here are you and me
In a mirror, and look hard into it
You will see strangers with newly installed self-defence mechanisms,
Not yet accusing and cursing each other.
Harmony maintained.
A pregnant moment? Lessing wonders.


  Mirror

The instrument to reflect and absorb.
Once it was bronze, and now it is brazen.
I come across it and am sucked in by a glimpse.
Stuck. I, mirror and me.
So much.
Then the horror of your apparitional smile,
Like joy and love.
The way to unhook is to turn my eyes away,
And do I dare?


  Forgiven

No return to the point when you allow yourself to forgive.
The only road leads on blindly. Are you coming?
Come on, let's share some silence and let's get bored.
Maybe we can find a stupid reason for forgiving all?
Man has no natural enemy except for greed.
Lock it up and forget?


  Consolation

Oh, good days will have a second coming
To haunt you to death,
And the ecstasy you once dreamt will torture your dawn
On the New Year Eve,
Like the first morning light in a small Arctic town,
Like bird-cries outside a rented window in an Irish country cottage.
You are too free to do anything,
And you have to scribble out a poem so you can have something to waste,
Striking it through line by line.


  Language

God ignores my plea.
Maybe I need to learn a new language to praise him.
So this old one
I use to protest
May gain a little more power.
    June 4-July 4, 2018




《人生的成分》(组诗)



《进步》

流动之中,站定即是守住。
一切滑的都是老人癖。
现在你可以声称你已进步,
尤其当你还宣布
别蹭尾进入那大殿。
我对你们创造的这美妙新世界
太他妈多余。”
没人说“我知道”。


《隧道》

不是隧道恐惧,是决定恐惧:
进还是不进,你站在隧道口,有点颤抖。
你想成为那黑暗中的灯,
而你甚至不能让自己成为一片看得见的实体。
那里,声音很大,庞杂的聚合,听不出彼此,
为全部人上涨,为一个人退消。
你四顾,无人,大着胆子走出一步,
像走着钢丝。还有别人?
但那种晃动并不能给你安慰。
惟一能确定的是,另一端还没有星星,
所以你没底。
你低声对自己说:肯定出了问题。


《穿越》

是的,我们都在同一渡口上船,
但我们不会在同一点登陆。
他们会为自己的幸存而感恩
还是对落水者幸灾乐祸(尽管
有些人摸着石头也还装着幸福)?
敏感的人不回头,
他们以余光瞥一瞥,避开麻烦。
高贵的人善于微笑,鄙视嘲笑者。
我试图令我自己相信
当我还在上船之前就已经认识了他们,
但我知道这是假话:
因为我还在此岸。


《欠氧的生活》

这是一种特权,铁屋里
少数人才能享有。
然后,有些人不想醒来,欠氧的生活
能吸引一些人自愿变成牺牲,
幸福得不知所以。


《愿望》

愿望不会自我生成。
真的愿望不可愿,
谁都不可能获得准许
在那种圆融中蜕变。
你得重整自己,守住,
就像对着镜子呼一口气,凝然不散。
而经上说:
变易在我,我必报应。
无论什么。
正如你被从内充塞,
暖了、液化了,
而你不想理解的,
你不想也会存留。



《事物》

事物所在之处惟有事物,
那些事物,你以为识得它们的名字还识得它们的内容,
那些事物,你不想理解更深,
那些事物,以视觉命名,被塞进我的脑中。
它们那么光鲜,说服力很灿烂。
我很可能会被迷住,忘掉你们。真丢人。


《拜访》

我们决定不进去了,
太多人买了票,他们夹在亮丽的
仿古面板中,不需要装
就能穿越时空。
我们太当代,当代得有点
不道德,护城沟被辅警紧紧盯着。
人民的眼睛是雪亮的。


《被禁的游戏》

有了信念加上自信,极端体验
就没有了危险。
缚住四肢,嘴巴塞上
一只红色的塑料球或炸弹,
沉默孕育着愉悦,越持久越强烈。
当声音的花盆被打碎,
闪光的碎片飞溅。
准老人们人人都会来抢一片,
放在床头柜上,发出魔法棒的荧光。
他们已经不再喜欢在墙上挂钟。
但他们喜欢制定作息时刻表,
必须早起,不可以迟睡,
必须喝粥,不可以撸串,
严厉禁止被社交软件召集
去参加一场聚众行交似的午后餐。


《很短》

清晨很短,黎明只能像真理部分展开。
白昼很短,正午总在从伞下溜走。
激情很短,入肉的爱只有一次没入就已耗完。
人生很短,死亡的花苞从每个毛孔向各个方向萌发。
一切,功能都在,发言人提醒,这才是四海皆准的天赋之权。
我们看着彼此的眼睛,发现
厌倦是一种共同的语言,像爱的一种新常态。


《天堂》

那不属于任何人的天堂,
是我们创造了它,但它不收我们。
天堂里的事物很简单,都用彩虹色的
纱线与绷带相连。
绕线团是惟一的竞技项目。
但我们被雾霾隔开,我们仍然活着。


《沉寂》

不是停顿。你不可能
造出沉寂,展示和删除。
这是你欣喜的,你欣喜
因为你长在其中并在那里发现自己,
很多。
惟一的场,
你发现自己的
丰饶,
以及她。


《爱》

爱,你不求了,
也不求宽恕。还能做的
是对着图片喷射
爱情,在你坠落之前,
坚挺地,
脸朝下,骨头碎裂。
爱成长得越来越低。


《大问题》

——我清晨醒来后是不是什么都没变?
——你是昨晚还是刚才想到的?
——现在是什么时候?
——适合幽会、骂人和计划自杀的时辰。
现在正临近正午和半夜。


《这身体》

万事皆是事,万事不过是事,
我们是我们,我们是我们以为是的我们。
停!我们分开吧,从制度上分开,
然后可以用心地无顾忌地无耻地无情地
入肉地爱,爱得灵魂出窍。
肉身之外的这个世界,我们无法
既进入又看见。
这卑贱的肉身就是我们,
我们只能远离血与灵魂
还能升等。


《恶》

割伤和挫伤都好了吗?
假若被泵吸,琼液
还会从那口温暖的井中
涌出吗,
就像自来水笔一样漾墨吗?
要消掉那滋滋咕咕的噪音,
不要搅动距离。
让我的伤害成为你一生的伤害,
犹如失眠初期的恶念,
令我们活泼而欢欣。
活着就是作恶,弗朗茨这么说。
以传统之名的倡议,无论什么,
嬲都别嬲。


《别走心》

没有人真在乎非同寻常的人生,
每个人都有自己无趣的人生故事,没有听众。
有的人会离开有的人走向别的人,
而别的人也会跟着,
然后会有一些掉了。
废话会声称:水会流,蜿蜒而下,
似乎那水道一直存在。
没有人会在下面做回归分析。


《这儿》

绝对无法走出这个这儿。这是你可以做的选择。
当上帝沉迷于他的控脑游戏,
放任僵尸人类即兴演出一场永不完结的肥皂剧,
你可以享受这儿,当作你专有的地狱。
这世界纯粹是理论上的。


《还是这儿》

这是你与我,
一面镜子里;盯着看,
你就会看到两个陌生人,刚安装了自我防御机制,
还没有彼此控诉、咒骂。
和谐保住了。
莱辛自问:这是孕含最丰的一刻?


《镜子》

反射和吸收的器具。
曾经是青铜,现在是厚脸。
我经过,被一瞥吸了进去。
紧吸着,这个我,镜面,那个我。
那么多东西。
然后有一种恐慌,你鬼魅的笑
像欢乐,像爱。
脱开的办法是把眼睛转开,
我敢吗?


《宽恕》

再也回不到你还能容许自己宽恕的时候了。
惟一的路盲目地前行。你来吗?
来吧,我们可以分享一些沉默,一起发闷。
或许我们可以给宽恕一切找个愚蠢的理由?
人类除了贪婪没有天敌。
锁起来,忘记?


《安慰》

哦,美好的日子将会再度降临,
把你纠缠得生无可恋。
你曾经梦想的狂喜将会折磨你除夕的黎明,
犹如一个北极小镇的第一缕晨光,
犹如一个爱尔兰小镇租户窗外的鸟叫。
你自由得什么都做不了,
只能凑一首诗,让你有东西可以浪费,
一行一行地划掉。


《语言》

我的请求,上帝置之不理。
也许我需要学一种新语言,赞美他。
那么,我用来抗议的
这陈旧的语言
可能会增加一点功力。
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