Fragments / 碎片
Fictional, meaningless writing practice. 虚构的，无意义的写作练习
“President, you are just temporarily exempted from prison.”
“主席，你不过是暂时免于牢狱之灾的人”
This piece of cheese reeked of ammonia; it was no longer fresh. Rainy day, I grabbed my umbrella and went across the road to the supermarket to pick up a fresh piece of cheese. A week passed as I crossed the deep ditch in the middle of the road. I had to get back before the date of use. The baked bread in the kitchen had become hard and the blueberries were either dehydrated or rotten. Crossing the road, by the time I stand in the doorway and put away my umbrella, another week has passed. While the rain is still falling and the date of use encourages me to get out more often.
这块奶酪散发着氨味，它已不新鲜。雨天，我拿起伞到路对面的超市去挑选新鲜奶酪，跨过路中央那条深深的沟渠，就过去了一星期。我得赶在保质期之前回来，厨房里烤熟的面包已变得坚硬，蓝莓要么已经脱水要么已经腐败。跨过马路，等到我伫立在门口，收起伞，又过去了一个星期，而雨还在下，保质期鼓励我要多出门。
This room was filled with echoes of what I had said, both useful and useless ones. They were trapped in this room replaying over and over again, taking days to slowly decay. It was the room where I worked. Those voices: confidence, disappointment, joy, anger, were all echoing in my ears. I often unconsciously stopped what I was doing and carefully felt about those voices, as if I was re-encountering pieces of me at some point in the past, feeling their emotional perfection, listening to their whispered cues, reaching a tacit understanding with them in memory, and becoming friends forever. And it was in this process that I suddenly recognized some of the voices were of people who were not me but others. I tried to remove their voice from the room. However, the traitors were not easy to spot, and even those trusted pieces, began to scatter and flee. At noon, the sun shines through the glass on the floor, warming up the whole room. “Maybe every piece of me is more or less mixed with a part of someone else”, I’m wondering, and walking out of the room, already with some signs of unhealthiness. I feel the many pieces of me in those voices merge back into one behind me, invisible to me, inaudible to me. “Maybe every piece of me is someone else”, I think.
这间房间里到处都是我的回声，我曾经说过的话，无论是有用的还是没用的话，都被困在这间房间里反复回放，需要好几天才会慢慢衰减。我就是在这间房间里工作的，那些声音：自信，失望，喜悦，愤怒，都在我的耳边回响。我常常无意识地停下手中的工作，仔细回味那些声音，仿佛在重新遭遇过去某个时刻的我，感受他们在情绪上的完美，聆听他们的低声暗示，与他们在记忆中达成默契，成为永远的朋友。而就在这个过程中我忽然辨别出有些声音中的人不是我而是别人，我试图把他们从房间中清除出去，但叛徒没有那么容易发现，即使是曾经被我信任的我，也开始四散奔逃。正午，阳光透过玻璃照在地板上，将整个房间温暖起来，“也许每一个我都或多或少地掺进了一部分别人”，我想着，走出了这间房间，已经有了一些不健康的颜色。我感受到那些声音中的我在我的背后重新合并成一个，我看不见，我听不到。“也许每个我都是别人”，我想。
It had become increasingly difficult to understand what was written in that book. I planed to return it to the library due to my disappointment. Around the shelf where it was placed, I saw Aristotle and Hegel. “I will not make the mistakes they’ve made again”, I thought, inserting it in the place where it was written labeled <Twilight of the Idols>, but I heard the book was saying to in me: “Take my hint, or not. I know if you’ve truly loved me”.
已经越来越难理解那本书里所写的内容，失望之余，我准备将它重新归还给图书馆。在放置它的书架周围，分别是亚里士多德和黑格尔，“他们的错误我不会再犯”，我想着，把它插入到的写着贴着《偶像的黄昏》标签的位置上，但我听见它对在我说：“接受我的暗示，或者不，我知道你有没有在真的爱我”。
I had been sitting around with these people all afternoon, listless, and I was about to leave when the reflection of the headlights on the side of the road stabbed a beam of light right into my eyes and I felt a headache, and the piece of me in a mirror said to me, you are about to kill a mouse like a cat. The piece of me in a clock said to me, trust me, even though my original design was already falling apart. The piece of me in a television says, the fog is coming in, the race is becoming abstract, how am I going to tell it for you. A painted me says to me, that I am a fish that exists only in the conversations of people in the marketplace, a meaningless fish, small and light in weight. A piece of me in the air says that imagination is a cushion on a couch and I am holding it in contemplation. Another piece of me told me that I was not in labor, that the blood that was hidden on that cushion was seeping out of my imagination.
我已经和这几个人围坐了一下午，无精打采，我正要离开，路边车灯的反光镜正好将一束光刺进我的眼睛，我感到一阵头痛，一面镜子里的我对我说，你将要像猫杀死一只老鼠。一座时钟里的我对我说，相信我，即使我原本的设计已经在崩解。一台电视里的我对我说，大雾来袭，比赛变得很抽象，我要如何为你讲述。一幅画中的我对我说，我是只存在于市场中人们的对话里，一条无意义的鱼，很小，很轻。一个空中的我说，想象是沙发上的坐垫，而我正抱着它沉思。另一个我告诉我，说我没有在分娩，那坐垫上隐隐的血液，是从我的想象中渗出来的。
I just entered the maze and saw the end. I asked my companion who sent me here, “Is this really the maze you are talking about?” He said, “Yes, it’s called a linear maze, where you can effortlessly connect the entrance and exit end to end. And it’s also an enclosed long square, only surrounded by a gray fence. A limited track, except that people only sleep on it and never run. A narrow classroom where you have to learn to share the same space with your classmates.” I was so confused by what he said, I just stepped in and saw that it was a dead end, and those who were on it. He closed the iron door and then gently locked it; he was a competent prison guard, I thought. I just accidentally exposed myself for a moment just now.
我刚进入了迷宫就看到了终点。我问将我送到这里的同伴：这真的是你说的迷宫吗？他说，是的，这叫做直线迷宫，你可以毫不费力地将入口和出口首尾相连，这里还是一个封闭式的长形广场，只是周围装上了灰色的围墙；一条有限的跑道，只不过人们只在上面睡觉从不奔跑；一间狭窄的教室，你需要学会与你的同学共享同一个空间。我被他说糊涂了，我刚踏进去就看见这是一条死路，和那些在死路上的人。他将铁门关好然后轻轻上锁，他是一个称职的狱警，我想，刚才我不小心轻轻地暴露了自己一下。
They blindfolded me for training
他们把我的眼睛蒙起来做训练
Bank of Lung
肺腑银行
Components of the Times
时代的零件
Tell a temporary lie
撒一个临时的谎
Who will actually attend whose funeral between the two of us,
我们两个人之间，究竟是谁会参加谁的葬礼
Eating, bathing, sleeping, writing, talking, walking, and working seem to constitute my entire life.
吃饭，洗澡，睡觉，写作，对谈，散步，工作，似乎构成了我全部的生活
Opinion / 观点
Immature Opinions based on observations. 不成熟的观点
Then you realize the murmur in your consciousness. This sentence shouldn’t follow the one you just wrote, even though it happens so naturally. But it doesn’t mean it should be written that way; there’s a long-simmering thought that steals the microphone. It was just a natural context switch, and I hadn’t finished what I wanted to say, so please let it continue. I collect these moments as evidence that “I am a group of people”.
接下来你意识到你意识里的杂音，这句句子不应该接在刚才那一句之后，即使它是那么自然地发生。但自然并不意味着应该这么写，有一个积蓄已久的想法抢走了话筒。那只是一次自然的上下文切换，而我想说的话还没有说完，请让它继续说下去。我把这种时刻收集起来，作为“我是一群人”的证据。
Do not argue about the methodology, argue about the method. Methodology cannot be falsified, but method can. This is my answer to the question of unprofessionalism brought by identity.
不争论方法论，争论方法。方法论不可真伪，方法可证伪。以此作为对身份带来的不专业性质疑的回答。
I was unsure of my ability to produce work consistently, I would be easily influenced by the environment, and in certain months I would often only be able to write a few incoherent words and sentences, let alone stories. My mind was empty, with no hint of imagination and no time to allow it to happen. I would feel fear every time I was confronted with my blank draft. But I am also quite sure that I can write, at least it has been tested, at least in the most extreme circumstances, and it has become a habit and an instinct to invent new words in my unconsciousness. I was two people, the emperor of an unconscious planet and his historian, who were connected by a distant radio.
我对我是否能稳定地产出作品是不确信的，我会轻易地被环境影响，在某几个月里，我常常只能写出几个不连贯的词语，句子也写不成，更不用提故事了。我脑海里空空如也，没有一点想象，没有时间允许它发生。每当那时我就会感到恐惧，面对着我空白的草稿。但是我又是十分确信我会写作的，至少它经受了考验，至少在最极端的环境下，我也会在无意识之中发明什么新的词语，这已经是一种习惯和本能。我是两个人，一个无意识星球的皇帝和他的史官，他们通过遥远的无线电相连。
Not all seeds sprout, not all ideas are willing to be expanded into a story.
不是所有的种子都会发芽，不是所有的想法都愿意被扩写成一个故事。
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