去一個溫熱國家的北方。。。

See you next year!

一疊未乾的版畫壓在玻璃板之間，忘記了，月半之後翻出來，密密的生了些彩色的黴。

They were heavenly raindrops fall from high.
They were the winter sparkles.
They were secret colonies grow in the dark.
They were the invisible painters.

一

希從東半球飛返，我去接機，失之交臂。趕到家，計程車正停在門口。行李反倒比走時候重了，原來是帶回食物兩箱。

親愛的T：

食物滋味如回憶的血肉，就像時間影像是記憶的筋骨，不斷反復描摹某些悅人的體驗，勾起一大串過去種種。

英倫的印度菜真是無可匹敵的美味，可我那吃遍天下的澳洲朋友說布里斯班的遠東風味才是空前絕後。大概他犯了思鄉病吧。

Oregano 也是萬能的香料之一。每回阿希的爸爸來訪，都帶一大把曬干的 Oregano 枝葉。這東西在西西里沒人種的，路邊野地裡隨處拔的才最好。南加州的百貨店也有賣，可是沒味道。陶爐烤的麵包片兒烤到邦邦脆，放上一塊紅番茄，撒一小把 Oregano，幾星鹽，淋上新榨的橄欖油——我能變成饕餮漢。

頭一回吃到兩天前才榨好的橄欖油，之奇香我驚為天物。其實說橄欖油，莫如說橄欖汁，那顔色還是濁的。他說，再放幾天經過沉淀，油色要清澈得多，可那時味道就不同了。掃盡盤中餐，我還貪婪的用手指沾食剩下的油跡。Fare la scarpetta! 南加州的義大利餐廳，好像中餐館必備醬油瓶一樣，桌上必擺醋瓶、橄欖油瓶，餐前上的麵包片常見人放在碟裡淋上橄欖油吃，我試過一次，只覺得膩而無味。希嘲笑說，不是所有橄欖油都可以這麼用來淋的。米國人民又斷章取義了。

二

父母與老友同游雲南而歸。在週末例行的電話中問及，母親的語氣很失落。原來旅途中友人的情緒跌蕩不定，對路線食宿與風土人物時有不滿，母親疲于補救，終仍落得個冷淡而草率的收場。我從側勸解：這一雙友人年事已高，對跋涉難免力不從心，口味不調、休息不好，自然難掩沮喪……他們或許已過了熱愛新鮮與歷險的年紀，不適合如此奔波，抑或許，此番最後一次中國之旅，期許的是印證懷念中『溫婉而清貧簡樸的東方』，卻處處失望……二十多年的朋友了，數年不見，雙方均對重逢寄望頗多，最終卻在彬彬有禮中飲憾而歸，大概彼此都有創傷……人老了，有時變得就像任性的小孩……一定不能心存芥蒂，一定要保持書信……

其實，我還想說，互相經歷過對方的臭脾氣的朋友，才最貼心。友誼不僅是在尋常心下如何禮敬有加，更是在齟齬時怎生化解。就像居住一個城市，總是要經歷過四季晴雨之後才心生歸屬。不過，這種話又何須我講？

Robert Walser 一九二〇年寫道：

I imagine China to be a country of love and peace, where the laws are as soft as the breeze that wafts across regions where gracious behavior is everything. Cities and countrysides are like songs being sung by poets, and heaven is closer to earth than anywhere else. Why do I picture it so?

… … 

A Chinese woman looks alike a flowering plant. To think of China in springtime makes one happy. The language is like a delicious drink; to speak it is bliss, the words are sweet as kisses.

… … 

On the mountains stand temples which are consecrated to the gods. Innumerable lamps shimmer at night. Behind the house there is a garden where birds twitter in the moonlight or in the sunshine.

The human traffic is like an ocean. All people have only good intentions. Evils and sorrows have long been overcome.

那只是一個想像的中國……

Following a sinuous and intriguing route, I arrived at your site. There was a book. An open book. Two chapters -

A chapter of randomly put together photos, uncommented, mostly black & white, all in the smallest scale: a scene from a polo game, close-up of an eye of a horse, glittering street lamps in the dusk, a plane taking off, an apple, clouds, shadows, an empty corridor with two empty chairs and a table…

Followed by a chapter of a soundless video clip: the clouds were forming up on the mountain, and slowly, the sky of blue engulfed by the fog of rain.

It was there, then, I could hear the sound of silence.

P.S. I’m sorry - the sound was too strong, and I had to write it down.

——

那是一處極靜的居所，開一個窗口任由雲跡的影像一遍遍反覆播放，時間仿若停止。就在這一刻，我看到了寂靜的聲響。

文字(text)是有聲的，圖像(image)則無。眼目見到字跡，心中的耳自然聽到默誦的聲音。無題注的照片完全以形色說話，那些成功的表達，促生超然文字之上的默示。移動的影像(moving image)如果恰與某一份記憶重合，喚醒那時的心境，更觸發強烈的震顫與回響。我就是每當看到雲的時候會聽到寂靜吧？看著你那些圖影，我聽到一顆無聲的心。

——

Random thoughts 11/12:
How words betray us! In review of this writing I was almost astonished to discover what’s intended to be said was turned into verses of morbid melancholy, by my unintentional, personal touch. Is that my style, really? I am afraid of my own words now. Every letter of it seemed to have been soaked in this dreary gloom, which I just cannot rid of. My Chinese writings, especially. Why, am I trapped in using such words and forming such phrases that’ll dim the light a shade or two?

禮拜天，睡到自然醒。夢見去商店買東西，店裏有個善良的金髮女孩不厭其煩的在側待我選揀，離去時格外留意了她的名牌，Iiglô，我笨拙的讀。她陪我從店裏走出來，在街上一同漫步。我若有所思的說，嗯，是 Iiglô（唸成igloo），不是 Iiglò，也不是 Iigló，而是 Iiglô。醒來時嘴裏還叨著這個字。

星期六的夜，或者說星期天的凌晨，我等待時間回撥一小時——兩點時重新回去一點。家裏那只莫名其妙的鐘，會自行調節DST，到了時候指針就像瘋了一樣狂跑，一兩分鐘內跑完二十三小時的路——因為倒撥一小時它不懂：時間總不會倒流吧。可這只鐘的日歷大概是錯的，該調的時候不調，我只好動手去撥，過些天半夜裡它又自己開始滴滴答答的奔，害我又要改回來。

希回家鄉去了。走之前還不忘燒好剩下的半個南瓜凍在冰柜裡，叫我不要忘記吃。卡片上寫了一件件我要做的事，和車鎖匙並排放在桌上。每一次他出行，我總會想起小時候聽的那個脖子上掛大餅的人的故事。懶惰的、生活瑣事等待人照料的我呀，就像脖子上被掛了大餅。

希在家，不僅時時要打工作電話，還要一天到晚開著電視機熱鬧。他和媽媽都是可以想專心就可以聽而不聞的人，令我羨慕不已。他嗓門大，新聞又時時插播廣告，我在隔壁工作，覺得家裏總像有一屋子的人。因而走掉他一個，好像走掉所有人，房間忽然靜得像墓地。

到週末日子過得晨昏顛倒，夕照時才開始煮第一餐。晚上六點多小睡一覺到八點多醒來，再消磨時光到凌晨。電話裡他說家鄉人還是那麼懶，商鋪早上九點開門至十二點就關張午休四小時，再從四點開到八點。說得我很慚愧。他是個勤奮的人，最見不慣不求進取、生活漫無目的。有一回他加班太狠，雙手乾宮處打字打得瘀青，看到我瞠目結舌。暗自想，根本是個機器人嘛。

近日嚴重嗜茶，暫時拋棄了我鐘愛的綠茶，從周記買來的洋甘菊和橙香紅樹茶是我的新歡，每天要喝掉三四壺，前者味濃過杭白菊，後者配一塊冰糖幾滴檸檬汁，正是晚秋的好辛香。

大概一個人不作聲久了，神色都會帶一點對寂靜的沉湎吧。下午進城去做車維護，伙計是個喋喋不休亂開玩笑的人，不停的和周圍的客人調侃。我在一旁等，似乎令他有點不安，說，你可異常沉默啊。我不打算聽自己的聲音，就故弄玄虛無言的笑笑。車入庫，我出街去逛。十一月了，還是游人如織，躲過鬧市，到『消失的地平線舊書鋪』隨便翻翻，選了幾本，中有卡爾維諾的《寒冬夜行人》。格外提到他是因為在路邊觀街景時候想起《看不見的城市》第一篇裡的句子：

… he feels envy toward those who now believe they have once before lived an evening identical to this and who think they were happy, that time.

William Weaver 的譯文澹而寧靜的寓言，是原文的緣故吧？聽起來總像在誇誇其談的義大利語可以寫得如此雋文，我又貪婪的動了學外語的念頭。

街上的人目光都空洞的很，這令我有點沮喪。到『邊緣書店』門口坐了坐，發現在家光腳慣了，出門穿鞋子走路一小時竟然雙腳都磨出了水泡。

今年起DST時間表改期，其實帶來的麻煩堪比Y2K，公司的新產品正值導航期，明天大概就有許多問題。我的頭開始大了。

萬聖節的夜，第一回在新居處過，我決定有小孩來敲門堅決不開。反正我也沒有糖果。同事丁寫群發郵件說，今晚沒時間加班，因為岳父母來訪一道用飯，他們正商量如何有效的向 trick or treat 的孩子們丟西紅柿、給他們紙袋裡扔冰塊。 哈，可惡的大人。

久病初愈，心像被鹼水浸泡過一樣變得柔軟多，早幾天的質問與懷疑態度紛紛消解，溫情的聽 Nico 的 Chelsea Girls，像已經冬日的陽光斜照，暖著清寂的窗口的座椅。

想像一幅關於傘和雨水的構圖。忽然想起已經有很久沒見過傘了。在這個雨水希罕的小鎮，難得看到撐傘的人。落雨的冬時滿街疏落的行走的人穿著帽衫，或者戴一頂帽子了事。雨水鮮有瓢潑的機會，人也僅需短暫的從車頂的遮蔽走到房屋的遮蔽。我的傘因而失掉用途，成了對一些不可逆轉的往事的思念物。

野火又在恣意蔓延，這一年南加的森林多劫難，一場接一場被莫名的燒灼。布滿煙塵的空氣再一次猙獰著橘黃色，給人殘年將盡的回遑。

公司左近斷電，阿希無所事事，抄起剪刀修樹枝。我拖著殘枝去垃圾桶，檸檬的味道從斷口流溢出來。這麼走了兩個回合，就累得雙腿發抖，趕緊坐下歇息。我猜體弱的人大多和善溫良，也許是虛弱得沒有了憤怒的力氣。老人也如此吧——除了那些天生的硬脾氣。

兩週前我們最後一個單身的朋友 George 搬離了本市，從此，這裡只剩下我們和幾個寥少一聚的同事。 臨別的那一餐去了 Your Place 的泰國菜，在這家店吃過太多次接風和踐行飯，店裡的小生可以脫口叫出每個人欲點的菜式。George 隱約消沉的脾氣這天格外濃郁，連阿希最飛揚的玩笑也失掉平日的感染力。七年了，我百無聊賴的想，在這個人口不過九萬的小鎮住了七年，來來往往有過許多朋友，但最終的結局總逃不過分別。自己、和自己周圍的人似乎不停的在遷徙——來美八年搬了七次家——這種勞頓，給像我一樣的異鄉人永遠難以抹煞的身在客途的印象。

Nico: Winter Song (Chelsea Girl)

版畫，乾刻，2005， 17.8 x 12.7 cm

Random thoughts 10/18:
I’m not exactly a sad person. But somehow my drawings tend to reflect the heaviest expression. Perhaps when your only companions are your very own thoughts, every emotion is unleashed from its physiological implications. Whatever it is, like a single ray in the full spectrum, it is simply one dimension of the multidimensional perception, a gesture without its sophisticated attributes defined in the external world. When a symbol loses its meaning, and sadness is as light as a humorous grin, solitude can be very much enjoyable.

Random thoughts 10/19:
也不知道自己是否寫得了然。試著中文說解看看：
我並不是個憂愁的人。但我不清楚為什麼自己常畫表情沉鬱的臉。也許當人僅與自己的思緒作伴，情緒才可以完全掙脫其符號性的表達——聯繫神態及其心情符旨的紐帶斷裂，它們各自游離。歡樂憂愁，分別不過是心境一種，不必彼此鄙夷，或計較『戚』相較於『歡』是更為消極的顔色。有如天空雨暘時若。我得享受獨處的隱秘樂趣。

Thank you for bearing with me and my silly mumblings.

It’s been like one of those moments you ask yourself a question abruptly, only seconds later to find it rather foolish. I never believed my images have the power I want them to have, if they have anything at all. The sense of things is so often unclear when you are overwhelmed by their trivialities.

Now I see it’s the same meaningfulness and meaninglessness as in the strange everyday itself. What I want to show in my images is most likely not what they actually show, nor is it what you see.

But there’s no need to stop.

You live wherever you live.
You do whatever work you do.
You talk however you talk.
You eat whatever you eat.
You wear whatever clothes you wear.
You look at whatever images you see.

YOU’RE LIVING HOWEVER YOU CAN.
YOU ARE WHOEVER YOU ARE.

“Identity”…
of a person,
of a thing,
of a place.

“Identity”…
the word itself gives me shivers
It rings of calm, comfort, contentedness.
What is it, identity?
To know where you belong?
To know your self worth?
To know who you are?
How do you recognize identity?
We are creating an image of ourselves.
We are attempting to resemble this image…
Is that what we call identity?
The accord
between the images we have created
of ourselves
and … ourselves?
Just who is that, “ourselves”?

We live in the cities.
The cities live in us…
time passes.
We move from one city to another,
from one country to another.
We change languages.
We change habits.
We change opinions.
We change clothes.
We change everything.
Everything changes. And fast.
Images above all,
have changed faster and faster.
And they have been multiplying at a hellish rate, ever since
the explosion that unleashed the electronic images,
the very images that I’m now replacing photography.

We have learned to trust the photographic image.
Can we trust the electronic image?
With painting everything was simple.
The original was the original,
and each copy was a copy - a forgery.
With photography
and then film
that began to get complicated.
The original was a negative.
Without a print, it did not exist.
Just the opposite,
each copy was the original.
But now with the electronic,
and soon the digital,
there is no more negative and no more positive.
The very notion of the original is obsolete.
Everything is a copy.
All distinctions have become arbitrary.

No wonder the idea of identity
finds itself in such a feeble state.

Identity is out of fashion.

- Wim Wenders, Notebook on Cities and Clothes