Fan Jinghua: Chronicles of Night

　　　Chronicles of Night

So, the noises around one o’clock were the last batch,
And all that follow are too spaced out to mean anything.
Thus two passes, and it is nearing three.
You see, night is not that hard to endure,
No one pops up bright from the contact list,
And you expect there is one who happens to remain different
From all the others who have fallen irretrievably into slumber,
And you expect against hope
That there is at least one who sit up alone
To connect two unreachable faraway places into the shortest line.
When those you feel for do not feel, nor even dream,
Where does the feeling go? Even your most sadistic vision
Will not enter their sleep. Time has gone astray.
You look around to find it does not settle in.
It is your eyesight that goes
Around your body, mocking its loneliness.
Night after four is a pit, where sound is concocted into the silt.
You watch an online porno, featuring a monstrous dick
That explodes the mouth of a Chinese baby and makes cries of high pain.
Toward five, with a sonic boom,
Desperation of mercury reaches the top.
Nothing more could happen, unless you take your body by the head
And swing violently.
But you plug your ears instead.
The old CD in the discman turns out to be an Itsuwa Mayumi.
In her recital of “This little happiness and me intoxicated in it”
You type these lines
To chart the night till now
When those bad breathes in the dark have perhaps been already
Stirred up by the mobile phones and suffused the curtained bedrooms.
A night of story-free nothingness passes like an ulcer,
But you’d rather it’s a bruise to remind a collision.
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　March 22, 2009


　　　夜的历代记

那么，一点钟前后的吵闹是最后一批，
所有后来的都太分散，成不了什么。
于是，两点过去了，正在走向三点，
你看，夜，实在没有什么难忍的。
好友列表上，没有谁闪亮登场，
而你却还在期待有个人恰巧保持了一种与众不同，
没有像他们那样堕入不可挽回的沉睡，
你违背希望地期待着
起码还有一个人在独自熬夜，
将两个不可触及的远方连接成最短的线。
当你感念的那些人都毫无感应，甚至没有做梦，
感情去了哪儿？甚至你最虐待狂的想象
也不会进入他们的睡眠。时间
走失了。你四顾，没发现它安居在你周围。
那是你的视觉
在你身体四周游动，嘲弄你的孤独。
夜，过了四点，就是一个黑坑，声音被调制进了淤泥。
你看了一段在线的黄色录像，一个巨无霸的棍子像推拉着风箱，
挤出一个中华宝贝的高叫，那表情痛不欲生。
接近五点，随着一声音爆，
绝望的水银柱升到顶端。
再没什么可能发生，除非你抓住自己的头，
将躯干提起来猛甩。
但是你将耳朵塞了起来。
你随手抽出一张CD，五轮真弓的嗓音就冲向囟门位置。
当“这小小的幸福和沉醉其中的我”如泣如诉，
你打下这一行行字
为夜晚绘制海图，到现在
黑暗中的口气也许已经被手机铃声惊扰，醒来，
在窗帘后的卧室慢慢膨胀。
一夜没有故事的虚空过去了，犹如溃疡，
而你更希望那是一块瘀伤，提醒人们记得曾有一次碰撞。
　　　　　　　　　　　　　2008年3月22日