Fan Jinghua: Out of the Blue: A Depressionistic Piece

　　　　　Out of the Blue: A Depressionistic Piece

　　So damned broad it is that every direction leads to emptiness which will swallow whatever enters it and squeeze a wet creak. Even if I do have a body agile enough to pull out my hooves, so what? The sun is paralyzing me and my temples are bulging.
　　Give me a water and disappear. Somewhere someone is frying words in the cups of a bra, and that does not even make them angry. A hopeless lot.
　　I’d better roll the cursor to the top right corner to curse and mouse-click the X and open the next item for there might be something for me to sneer at. No, no laughter, thanks. I have water in my mouth. Mineral to recycle. I may make do with some calculi. It is only a faint pain. Does not kill.
　　Hello, this is a call from Penisula Hotel beneath the iceberg. If you can hear, please pull out the third drawer of your brains and browse through the tags of origin for Heavenly Capital and pick out the folder of memory for “before 1990.” Open and try to recognize a young man with a pair of respectable black frame spectacles, murmuring “could it be he” and falling into a short reverie before preparing the supper.
　　If you can not hear, surely you are not to be reminded to hang up and think hard who might be calling you to praise your heart-drilling beauty with a voice that is failing your memory. Let loose your imagination and lipstick your self-love.
　　By the way, if you want a tentative query, you can always send in a half-fact half-fictional story “A dream visited me last night….and I woke up to find my man gone” or even “You visited my dream about the year when….and I woke up to find my tears wetting my ears” at my new account 941loveu@heaven.net where my hair runs long and black.
　　The fact is, if facts also exist in dreams, that no doors open by themselves and no doors shut by themselves after being opened. So I now knock knock knock on an invisible door and hope you ask who is there so that I can escape, on the wings of the disquiet from the scooped-out opaque crystal ball that has been rolling in my nightmares and flattening them like a huge road-roller. You face zips by, frame after frame, year after year, unchanging and unending like I am racing at a speed higher than time, westward on a desert.
　　If everything halts and stills, I wish I could be a groundhog standing arm-crossed in the morning breeze at the rising sun… with a facial expression known to no one.
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　June 17, 2008
　　　　　空穴·来电
　　　　　　　　（一个忧郁主义片断）

　　每个方向都宽旷得无边，通往的都是空荡，无论什么进入其中都将被吞噬，并且发出一声潮湿的吱吱声。即便我的身体轻捷得能够拔出蹄子，那又怎样？太阳令人瘫痪，而我的太阳穴已经鼓胀。
　　给我一杯清水，然后消失。某处有人在乳罩的杯子里油炸文字，这甚至不会令最喜爱愤怒的他们愤怒。无可救药的一帮。我最好轻移光标到右上角的X，轻轻一击，毙掉，一条好汉为我提供一种轻蔑的笑。
　　谢了，我不会lol，我嘴里有水。矿物质，再循环，我可以承受一些结石。不过是隐隐的痛而已。
　　喂，我这里是冰山下的温床殡馆。如果你能听到，请拉开你靠在墙边的后脑勺，下首第三个抽屉，抽出原产地为“天京”标有“1990年前”的记忆。搜寻那文件夹，试图认出一个带着一副可敬的黑色阔边眼镜的年轻人；无论你是否自语“是他么”，都要稍稍出一会儿神，然后才去拣菜做饭。如果你听不见，当然你也就不需要我提醒要迟迟疑疑地挂掉，努力回想会有谁带着挑拨你记忆的嗓音，赞美你钻心的美。
　　扭一下你想象力的腰身，描一下自爱之心的唇线。
　　顺便告诉你一声，如果你想问询，随时都可以写一个半真半假的故事，邮寄到我新开的信箱5941loveu@天堂.网，我在那儿头发又黑又长迎风飘扬。你的故事可以如此开始和结束：”昨夜一个梦降临……我醒来，男人已经不见”或者“昨夜你降临我的梦境……醒来，眼泪湿了耳朵”。
　　事实是，如果事实亦存在于梦境，没有一扇门会自动打开，没有一扇门会在被打开后自动关闭。因此此刻我在一扇看不见的门上敲了又敲，只等着你由远而近的声音疑惑地问“谁啊”，于是我才能逃逸，乘着惶惶然的翅膀，如一溜从掏空了的阴暗水晶球中释放出来的青烟。夜夜，那沉重圆浑的球体碾压着我的梦魇，如一驾赛车沿着弹珠台上脑沟似的轨道，一路颠簸，滚过重重的机关和暗门。两侧的广告板上，你的脸飞逝，一帧又一帧，年复一年，我的速度已超过了时间，在西去的沙漠上，而你永远不变，无始无终。
　　如果一切暂停，我更愿意做一只土拨鼠，双手抱在胸前，在清晨的凉风中，面对冉冉升起的太阳……保持一种无人识得的表情。
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　2008年6月18日