Fan Jinghua: Gnosticism

　　　　Gnosticism

April. When I type it, an automatic date, today, pops up, and I have to
continue typing to null it.

The night air is cool but the day is warm, the most pore-opening season of the year.
Outside is a word I have always liked, so much
that whenever you appear in my vision
I would type this word, from o, a sound I pronounce very soft,
then ou that gives me two visions:
our and out.
Then, of course, I can not stop.
What I want to get is always outside, and what I have is only
inside.

Here you are, never being outside, though you may be far. So palpably in my sight,
your spine and hips sensuously curve as if they crawl
in such a still motion that I may feel
a little dizzy and fearful, as if you may vanish into space like in Star Trek
when a turn of page will take you
away, your face and body held in a sheet of paper, wobbling
downward and down.
Nothing there to cushion you, I could not fly or dive faster than the Superman
to receive you from the below with a confident smile.

The only sureness I like you to give me is what I feel when I
lie on a couch and you
lie on me, I reading and you watching TV, until one of my limbs go numb.
Your hand would accidentally touch my parts and then stroke and give a nip,
and you would chortle at my physical change as I squirm, saying
you love the uneasy look on my face.
I would ask: how can a crystal eye see colors, if it has no sense of color?
You answer: “Reflection” and then add
“From inside!”

The book of poems I carry everywhere is an abyss, anything from which I think I get
is absorbed back to it and added to its suction.
Who’s written it? Is it our book of karma? Do I get anything I can never get hold of?
Meaning, like you, as an angelic lightness and omnipresence. You travel
without a trace, in and out of me, and my fear
is not so much whether you would cease to be or disappear forever
as whether I could always feel your weight even in nightmares.
If I should reincarnate in stone, I’d love to be crushed by a demon till my life essence
drains, leaving behind a dry skeleton.
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　April 17, 2008
Again, when I type April and press “ENTER,” this piece is
over. Now.


　　　　灵知

四月。当我打出这个词，今天的日期就弹了出来，我不得不继续打字，才能
忽略自动弹出的今天。

此时夜晚凉爽而白昼温热，一年中最逼人毛孔打开的季节。
外面是一个令我总会欣喜的词儿，每当你
浮现在我的灵视中，我便会在电脑上打出：
外面——从w开始，犹如我的声母，轻柔得无人听到，然后是ai爱；
瞬间，我爱被浓缩成了一个字，
下面再不会出现你；
而我无法停止。外面
自然弹出，这是我的需要，而我拥有的只有
内在。

你可以在远方，但你从不在外面，你只会在我眼前，如此切实，你的臀与股沟
肉感而逶迤，这静止的蜿蜒
令我目眩而心中惶然，似乎你在眨眼间就会消失，像《星球大战》中的
时空，一经折叠，你的脸、你的身体便会如相片一样
进入另一个维度，漂浮着、摇晃着
向下、坠落。
那儿没有任何东西承接你，而我不会急速飞翔、不会在空中超音速下潜，
我不是超人，
无法兜底托起你，送上自信的微笑。

你给予我惟一的可信，是我躺在沙发上，
而你躺在
我身上，你看电视，我看书，直到我某个肢体麻木。
你的手偶然碰触我的私处，接着故意抚摸并且轻轻的一捏，
嘲笑我紧绷的扭动，说你
喜欢我自然的反应和不自然的神情，
而我反问：你这玉壶一片冰心，怎能看到暖色？
你答“折射”，然后又加了一句
“从内部”。

那本诗集是我随身携带的一个深渊，我从中获得的一切
都被吸回，更增其吸力。
你我都不知谁是作者，不知道它是否是我们的因果之书。意思，
如你，我从未在手中抓住过，它是否曾被我拥有？
你有天使的轻盈，无所不在，自由出入我的身体，毫无痕迹。我的恐惧
不是你何时会永远消失，而是我能否哪怕在梦魇中
感到你的重量。
如果我将托生为石头，我愿先在梦魇中被你压碎，愿你吸尽我生命之精，只留下
一副干裂的骷髅。
　　　　　　　　　　　　　2008年4月27日
当我再次打出2008年，按一下回车键，这篇文字就此
结束。在今天的此刻。