2AM.
Time Machine was playing on tv.
But we drove out to the mountains to see the meteors.
Up on the hill above the sea of ocean mist,
wrapped in a blanket lying on top of a car,
and gazing into the sky’s celestial blue,
I counted 43 falling stars.
島上的第二個黃昏，我又見到了綠光。島上十四個日夜，只有這一次無雲的夕陽。
Time mends many things.
Time erases many things.
在時間與記憶的對峙之中，誰是永恒的敗將，而誰又能逆轉這場輸贏？
Dawn had broken when he said: “Sire, now I have told you about all the cities I know.”
“There is still one of which you never speak.”
Marco Polo bowed his head.
“Venice,” the Khan said.
Marco smiled. “What else do you believe I have been talking to you about?”
The emperor did not turn a hair. “And yet I have never heard you mention that name.”
And Polo said: “Every time I describe a city I am saying something about Venice.”
“When I ask you about other cities, I want to hear about them. And about Venice, when I ask you about Venice.”
“To distinguish the other cities’ qualities, I must speak of a first city that remains implicit. For me it is Venice.”
“You should then begin each tale of your travels from the departure, describing Venice as it is, all of it, not omitting anything you remember of it.”
The lake’s surface was barely wrinkled; the copper reflection of the ancient palace of the Sung was shattered into sparkling glints like floating leaves.
“Memory’s images, once they are fixed in words, are erased,” Polo said. “Perhaps I am afraid of losing Venice all at once, if I speak of it. Or perhaps, speaking of other cities, I have already lost it, little by little.”
- Italo Calvino, Invisible Cities, Trans. William Weaver
【那個坐在我左邊的人】
蕩蕩的人力車踩遍了鄉野的路。你探身向前，把臉埋在十指間。你的目光梳過柏油路的紋理，那些猶如低飛的燕拂過平坦的湖面時候的粼粼的光。
——你在做什麼？
——我在努力記住這一刻。
Beth Gibbons & Rustin Man: Spider Monkey (Out of Season)
Time is but a memory
The bitter note unsung
Running
Tryin’ to find salvation
From the sorrow that is doneFor the life of me
Will the sorrow rise
For this under
Underlies all i seeFor time is but a memory
Beautiful for some
Feathered like a majorette
In a rose unsaid and doneMoments
Like a rainbow coloured sky
How they come and go
They come and go but whyFor unknown
Is our fortune
And our fortune won’t let goAnd our faith it will die with the sun
It will lie
Underneath
All will seeFor time is but a memory
Beautiful for some
Feathered like a majorette
In a rose unsaid and done
But it’s all
All for our future
And our future won’t let go
……
The present is filled by echoes of past…
“Be brave”, I hear such voices, “Valiente”.
2008年，生活突然起了新篇。 站在十字街，人間行旅如何走向，總是不可預見待探索。
Paco Ibañez: El lagarto está llorando （Paco Ibanez Vol 1）
- Federico Garcia Lorca -
El lagarto está llorando.
La lagarta está llorando.El lagarto y la lagarta
con delantaritos blancos.Han perdido sin querer
su anillo de desposados.¡Ay, su anillito de plomo,
ay, su anillito plomado!Un cielo grande y sin gente
monta en su globo a los pájaros.El sol, capitán redondo,
lleva un chaleco de raso.¡Miradlos qué viejos son!
¡Qué viejos son los lagartos!¡Ay cómo lloran y lloran.
¡ay! ¡ay!, cómo están llorando!
生之流螢 小人物淡彩 詩 年青而純明的愛
電視裡重播這部電影，人歪倒在沙發上，忍不住又看了一遍。
想起 ——
As cool as the pale wet leaves
of lily-of-the-valley
She lay beside me in the dawn
泠然如青潤的君影草葉一般 / 躺在我身旁黎明中的她
- victor hugo -
qui donc êtes-vous la belle
comment vous appelez-vous?
une vierge était chez nous
ses yeux étaient ses bijoux
je suis la vierge dit-elle
cueillez la branche de houx
vous êtes en blanc la belle
comment vous appelez-vous?
en gardant les grands bœufs roux
Claude lui fit les yeux doux
je suis la fille dit-elle
cueillez la branche de houx
vous portez des fleurs la belle
comment vous appelez-vous?
les vents et les cœurs sont fous
un baiser les fit époux
je suis l’amante dit-elle
cueillez la branche de houx
vous avez pleuré la belle
comment vous appelez-vous?
elle eut un fils prions tous
dieu le prit sur ses genoux
je suis la mère dit-elle
cueillez la branche de houx
vous êtes pâle la belle
comment vous appelez-vous?
elle s’enfuit dans les trous
sinistre avec les hiboux
je suis la folle dit-elle
cueillez la branche de houx
vous avez bien froid la belle
comment vous appelez-vous?
les amours et les yeux doux
de nos cercueils sont les clous
je suis la morte dit-elle
cueillez la branche de houx
La Bergère: La chanson du spectre (Ouvarosa)
summer is almost over
and I have no memory of it
life seems nothing more than a quick succession of busy nothings
Life like a lucid dream. Days in between——生活的時區，劃分為『旅行中』與『旅行間』；生活的空間，劃分為『身心的世界』與『身心所處的世界』。
父母親大人來訪，以此刻的眼光，看過去、現在、和將來，發現彼此是這般不同又相像。
柒月末，天空再飄雪。紙屑般的飛灰。如撒了糖霜的路面。父親早間散步，回來儼然是，滿面塵灰煙火色。
兩星期，一個恍然而驚悚的認識——對『家庭』的概念我如此抗拒，以致近距接觸產生的強大斥力足以於幾天內消磨掉內心所有柔軟的溫情。
關於浪費產生的歧義——家母認為，一切丟棄均為浪費。但我想，取於大地，歸於自然的原材，只要不經人為篡改，棄之並無需惋惜——比如蔬菜水果、動物肉體（呃，這個也許有待商榷）——換句話說，一切過度取用才為浪費。
工作時三心二意，心生難以抵御的罪惡感，一邊詛咒，一邊繼續浪費著時間。
箏失蹤了。我蚤夜惶惶。
