同樣的炎熱,同樣的筆調,我們在世界上一個狹長的炎熱地帶,既沒有冬天,也沒有季節的更替媗變。輕亮是照亮與失重的正解,單程紙被撕去的一角夾帶蕪雜的絮言,如路般在死胡同深邃裡幻滅,這幾年,一切都應該完了,我只不過比寂寞更美好,完結是很好的事,這樣就當然是很好的事。
4.開首的時候有景象,有氣息。符節頹靡癱瘓在平滑的紙上,有浮濫,也有歌聲,卻無聲無味。回憶的書口,頁碼流血。
"I write without seeing. I came. I wanted to kiss your hand... This is the first time I have ever written in the dark...not knowing whether I am indeed forming letters. Wherever there will be nothing, read that I love you."
—Diderot, Letter to Sophie Volland, June 10, 1759
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