Drafts 10/22

Fragments / 碎片

Fictional, meaningless writing practice. 虚构的,无意义的写作练习

I did the repetitive task of proofreading clocks when I worked at the clock store. There were thousands of wall clocks and pocket watches in the room. I went back and forth between them like a fireman, synchronizing only two at a time. However, after only a few days, the clocks became unevenly fast or slow. I slept on the floor at night, surrounding by time. The light of the full moon shining from the skylight on the floor. At that moment I realized that all the clocks in the house had slowed down by five minutes. It was five minutes! I sometimes felt that the earth would deliberately mess with going one minute more or less each day. I finally quit after months, and the reason for my resignation was “TIME IS ANNOYING.”


We battle with our fictitious enemies in rooms, in cabinets, under beds, behind televisions, in the corners of refrigerators, in the buckets of toilets… Armed with weapons, we arrest them and place them in a fictional prison, recording in our own history: shame that today nearly a thousand more dangerous people have been found and punished. Is it possible that they do not exist because they are as we expect them to be, that they exist because it’s much harder not to think about them than to think about them. They are our habits that make us struggle. They have surrounded us from afar.


By chance, I discovered the secret that I was dying with the help of a tool. I became hopelessly worried about my health and wanted to do something meaningful with the time I had left, even if I didn’t know when and how it would come. I remembered the fear I felt as a child when I first realized death, and I hid under the covers and cried. It was real fear, the fear of something that would surely be there. It wasn’t until years later that I became adept at accepting it and willing to live in its shadow, like cleaning the blade of a kitchen knife as I do every day, even appreciating it aesthetically.


In another closet, there are clothes hanging that you never wear, that you always bypass when you are in the mall, that you never realize you may put on someday. Now I give you a blacksmith’s shirt, a return-from-sea fishermen’s cloth, an actor’s costume, and erotic underwear. Today, you are dressed up as a little girl. By putting on clothes that don’t match you body, you have a new identity that you never had. Please use it to look at the world, just as we use hair style to judge gender and amount of assets to divide class. Put it on, go out, and let it turn your role. You, a transvestite, give a cosmopolitan speech to your closet.


How should I tell potatoes that they shouldn’t sprout now?


Return myself to history


Confidence is asymmetrical


Gazing at my wrist


Take your occasional works


There’s no way you didn’t get that message


My Home, Pittsburgh, 10/22

Opinion / 观点

Immature Opinions based on observations. 不成熟的观点

I sometimes just don’t understand good or evil, right or wrong, true or false. There are too many corners of the world that have not yet been illuminated. We are either too large to say where one of our emotions comes from sometimes or too small to try to understand the mechanics of how society works and to describe history.


It’s an interesting fact that those who expand the boundaries for human beings, such as scientists and artists, often don’t work for money but for social currency. But if you want to be an artist, you have to first accept some obvious risks, such as that your work will not be seen or recognized for a long time, or that you are working in the wrong direction for a long time. It is the same as the risk of scientific research. So I have almost given up trying to convince others to recognize my work. Because of possible interference from others, I have also given up catering to others’ preferences. I sign an agreement with myself before each writing session: I have the clear knowledge that every writing is loss.


By writing the story, facing and trying to reproduce my inner feelings at that time, I reacquainted myself.


I’ve been writing about what happens in reality. I love the subtle structures that happen by chance but keep repeating themselves, making up the parts of our lives that are remembered.


CMU, Pittsburgh, 10/22

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