When it falls

"Do you know the slat blue velvet? It mixes with the jujube silk and golden lace."

"The blue velvet sounds so fragmental."

"Yeah, the fragmental blue..."

It's foggy, and raining shower frequently. So you couldn't see the mountains getting alone with each other when you look afar of the city. I'm not a superstitious guy, but sometimes I'll be directed by the indications. The sign is alway like a ghost, appears from the left eye then disappears from the right eye. The temperature here is not super low to my tolerant limit, but the cold winds always slips into my neckline, two sleeves and the seam of trousers; like the clouds naturally flow far away then melting with the sky. The traffic light red, yellow and green are dancing the Tango with the brakes of my bike, and sometimes I really don't want to care all the shits in my life, just let them get in the crash. Everybody is equal in the parallel timeline, walking step by step in our times, however, why do I still desire to fly as high as the sky? There is a pleasant sound, called "music". When you soak into the melody, it's similar you putting on the fuzzy hat, wearing the Gore-Tex snow jacket and wool socks, covering the goose feather blanket and lie down on my queen size bed. Or, it's also like you wearing nothing with you dark fingers and blank cheeks, and the black lips and shaking teeth, on the frozen ground, standing. These kind of scenes make me dizzy.

"Do you like to go to the heaven?"

" Perhaps. But I would like to see the hell as well."
 

"Mm. Hope the weather will be getting warm these couple days."

"Yeah, but I like the sweater with hat, like someone is saying sweets softly at your ears."
 

 "Sweets softly..."

After raining, there is a restart atmosphere on the streets. The tars on the roads are purified grey, the water is busy to find the seams to the underground; meanwhile, the liquid is not like the thing we used to know, it's coated black, like an opportunist follows the stream flowing away. I would believe there are another two egos same as me. They are also typing the alphabets, drawing the picture, listening songs and swallowing the spit. So don't talk to me about "unique", the uniqueness is Socrates, Plato, Aristotle and so on. Nowadays everything is synthesized and imitated by the future of former days. I trust the sadness, and I hate the truth. Perhaps everything will be forgotten when I restart it again, just like Leslie Chang saying in the movie: "let's restart once again, how about that?" Otherwise, it's just the "death" like people say.

"You tell me; without the memory, can we say that the mankind is still alive?"

" I don't know, perhaps I should give it a try."

"Try about what?"

"Try to delete the past."

" Don't always be concerning all the things in your mind."

"There are too many details, I have to be an information addict to pick it up."

"The music is playing the sounds."

"Yeah I've heard everything when it falls."

---

“你知道藍色呢絨嗎？再混著棗色絲綢與金紅色鑲邊。“

“好撕裂的憂傷呀。“

“是呀。““好撕裂的憂傷…“

濛濛的，有時飄雨，所以往遠方望去就看不到包圍這城市高低相與的山。我不是很迷信的人，不過有時卻會被暗示一直引導著。徵兆總是鬼魅，左眼閃過，右眼消 去。這樣的天氣並沒冷到什麼極限，但那絲絲冷風總會從袖口領間褲縫等等地方灌入；好像雲飄到遠方就跟天融為一體了。紅燈黃燈綠燈綠燈黃燈紅燈與煞車間跳著 探戈，有時真不想插手管它們的閒事，就讓他去。在時間軸上來說每個人都是平行的，走著一個接一個的刻度；所以，為何我想飛呢？有種好聽的聲音，叫做音樂。 究極的講，戴著毛帽穿著羽狨衣裹著鵝毛被套著羊毛襪軟塌著有點類似。可一絲不掛讓你指甲發黑嘴唇發紫兩頰發白牙齒打顫也是。那讓我暈眩。

“你想去天堂嗎？“

“應該吧。不過我也想去地獄看看。“

“嗯。““希望天氣好轉些。“

“嗯，不過我喜歡套頭帽T；好像有人在你耳邊呢喃的溫軟。“

“呢喃…“

下雨過後，有種重新開始的氣息在街道游走，路面上的柏油被洗刷過似的泛灰，水漬找著細縫鑽入；這時它不像我們所認識的液體，黑漆漆的，像個投機份子竄動。 我願意相信這世上有另兩個與我相同的人，也打著字，畫著圖，聽著歌，吞著口水，所以別再說著獨特；所謂的與眾不同是叫做有巢氏燧人氏神農氏等等之流，一切 的現在都是“之前“以後的合成複製。我相信了悲傷，我恨了真實。也許這一切都會在我忘了後重新開始；就像何寶榮說得一樣，又或是人們說的“死亡“。

“你說，沒了回憶還算活著嗎？“

“我也不知道；也許我該試試。“

“試什麼？“

“試著試試。“

“你別總是耿耿於懷。“

“細節太多，我得像資訊狂一樣挑著。“

“音樂出來了。“

“嗯，我聽到每個事物的滑落了。“

*Translation from my previous prose, inspired by Zero 7.