The Direction Of The Original Sin 

九月结束时请唤醒我

九月结束时请唤醒我 1

因此紫色高跟鞋舞出走的悲哀
那些我们无法承受的七月
结茧，整个八月步步为营
如同蚕与蚕之间的藕断丝连
如同那些刻意冬眠的绵绵情线
忘了配合彼此承诺的谎言

时空的分离会给我们上了一堂
如梦初醒的课，亲爱的记得
九月结束时请唤醒我


1 来自美国摇滚乐团 Green Day 的歌曲 Wake Me Up When September Ends。

青春年华逝去后

青春年华逝去后

李树端老师

李树端老师

与黑杰克谈论花朵

“这些是真花吧？” 我一边把不小心撞到的花盆排好，一边问黑杰克。

“是啊” 黑杰克回答说。

“还以为是塑胶花呢。” 我开玩笑说。

“我突然想到了。”

“嗯，想到什么？”

“因为是真花，才会枯萎，才会生虫子，才会不完美吧。如果是假花的话，就没有这种烦恼了。人也应该是如此吧。” 黑杰克说。

“你的意思是我们都是不完美的吗？”

“所以才会烦恼吧。”

“所以才会在工作时不愉快吧。”

“所以才会因为爱情而烦恼。”

“所以才会因为不知所措而不知所措。”

“原来如此。” 我点头说。

“ 好了，开车小心点吧。再见。”

“再见。”

How Do You Lock Out Something That's Already Sealed? 

幸福的诅咒

这篇小说曾经发表在联合早报的文艺城，不过我却对当时的版本不满意，因此将它重新修改一番。这就是修改后的结果。

幸福的诅咒

如果要借着遗忘找到幸福，命运就讽刺成残酷的旋转门。

我转身离去，让自己逃出这副无力的躯体，化身为激动的旁观者。

阿正苏醒时有些埋怨般地凝视着我。沉默是他最响亮的苛责。温柔是他最锐利的眼神。从裂缝溢出同情的安慰是那些我们在夜深人静时演练了无数次的自责和疑问。不是放手了吗？原来放手只是让人再度握得更紧。不是决定不再去挑起这段往事了？往事不由自主地复活啊。不是要带着微笑向前迈进吗？我在苦苦地微笑。怎么回事呢？

然后阿正愣住了，就如同你的名字好像误闯人间的精灵一样从众人嘴里脱口而出，我随着大家的目光同样地成为了目睹他温柔牵着你右手的共犯时，自己顿时愣住的反应一样。低下头的动作或许是因为隐形泪水的重量，或许是因为挫败感的牵引。被逼就范的勉强微笑是理性的反射动作。理由无理般地占据了混乱的思绪。

我幸福着你的幸福。反正我们之间也不可能会有任何结果。你自由了我的自由。毕竟爱情不是占有。理性在脑中获得胜利。阵痛在心中流离失所。幸福的匕首狠狠地插入心脏里，流不出的泪河决堤了心里的悲伤，淌出了一地鲜红的泪血。脑子会合理化，心是不会撒谎的。

阿正擦身而过时伸出了手拍了拍我的肩膀。安慰沮丧了我的无地自容。彼此沉重的呼吸声沟通了以往的合作无间。他负责演戏，我负责躲避。我不能迟疑，以免露出任何破绽。他不能手下留情，以免制造任何例外。我负责雕刻沉默，他负责背诵台词。隐藏偶尔模糊了我们之间的界线。

事情总是按照计划进行，剧情到此一定转折成阿正的接手。我在身后看见他抬起了头，若无其事地跟你们打招呼，然后天衣无缝般延续了你出现前我正在构造的话题。原本是有关自己险些客死异乡的恐怖故事，不过阿正却巧妙地把故事转变成自我揶揄的笑话。同情在此刻是毫无意义的奢侈品，反而是笑声中的隐形比较实在。我在身后假装观察大夥儿笑着互相调侃的样子，不过却从眼角瞄着你们。我看得出你对阿正的胡闹视若无睹的企图，只是刻意深情地凝望着他。阿正对此暗中挑衅也毫不在乎。毕竟他是个把动情典当成胡闹和嘻笑怒骂的男人。不知情为何物，如同一个小丑，永远一副嘻皮笑脸的样子。他的内心绝不悲伤，因为他很成功地把在旁的我拒于自己躯体外。这是他的戏码，绝不容许像我这种懦弱的人来破坏。和我比较起来，阿正算是条硬汉。

我突然觉得世间最完美的幸福莫过于能够主宰人与人之间的别离，能够与命运协商，选择最适合的别离式，不让重逢或者偶然破坏。你我因当如此。至少我对你的记忆将永远保留在那幅你背对着我哭泣，渐渐缩小在远方地平线的画面。我们的关系将被诠释成我单方面的自作多情。一个已经和你好友交往的男生无法忘却年少时期对你的爱意，然后对三个人造成伤害的故事。假若故事如此结束，我或许会快乐些。至少是我对你的伤害、是命运在作弄彼此、是内心深处永远的亏欠。你在我心中被描绘成受害者，让我冠上爱情罪犯的残忍罪名。你将会在我的回忆里永远美丽。人在这个世界上不是伤害人，就是被人伤害。至少，被伤害的一方永远散发出善良的光环。

我不是说自己能够预测未来，只是比较相信命运是个向远方抛去的回旋刀，总会在人最不经意时无情刺伤。或许是预计会有这天，所以我从那天开始就刻意回避你。不希望发生这种情况，是因为清楚自己心中的丑陋。我是个平凡人，不是圣人，不会被人伤害以后还宽宏大量地原谅对方。我会感觉痛楚。我会流血。我会咬牙切齿。我会憎恨。我不希望自己记忆中的你变成憎恨的对象，只希望憎恨的对象永远是镜子里的自己。爱与恨并非对立，而是两面一体。因为无法以恋人的身份分享这种暧昧，所以我也只能借着自我憎恨去深爱着永远无法和我在一起的你。

他的出现破坏了一切。你们牵手的画面取代了那幅你渐渐远离的画面。残忍地。霸道地。你的幸福刺痛了我。无情地。无爱地。阿正透过躯体继续若无其事。他的笑话庸俗。他的谈话无赖。他的动作无厘头。他是条硬汉。他的无聊能够逗大家开心，甚至可以和你的男友开玩笑。可以得如此刻意。他无视我置身于外的悲恸，尽管他的活泼与我的悲伤成了正比，如同餐厅里的温暖与餐厅外的细雨纷飞成了对比一样。阿正和我不一样，不会被幸福诅咒。幸福。多么吊诡和讽刺的一个字眼。

你们提早离去，说是约好了另一帮朋友聚会。他的朋友。我完全无法介入的另一个世界。阿正开口向你说再见。除了模糊不清的敷衍招呼，这是他由始至终对你说的唯一两个字。他不憎恨你，但也不喜欢你。阿正只是专业地按照指示做出了无懈可击的演出。你们离开了五分钟后，阿正撒了个谎，说必须到对街的便利商店买一包烟，就起身向餐厅的大门走去。推开门后，我们又再度擦身而过，他走回我体内某个不知名的角落，我大步走出餐厅大门外，不顾朋友在身后劝我拿把雨伞的忠告。

“拿雨伞的造型多逊啊，这样子看起来比较酷！” 我头也不回，假扮着阿正的语气地回应他们。

阿正已经离开了，我必须借助于雨水来掩饰。

幸福，终究只是在命运大雨中仓惶避雨的暂时遗忘。

Scars

Scars

they were serving fried frog’s leg
at the frog farm, my friend told me
it was a delicacy, the self-fermented
rice wine drank us down
and we followed up with beer

the evening darkness failed to envelop
the coal fires from the barbeque pits
i try not to differentiate between the heat
and warmth in this social event
i’m here only to make up the numbers

children running with sparklers
ethereal graffiti into the air, everything
sounds like a bad karaoke rehearsal
in fact, everything is a bad karaoke session
cracked middle age voices broadcasting
vulgar hokkien tunes to the melody
of “smoke gets in your eyes” playing
in my head. everything seems so fucking surreal

i noticed the three legged farm dog
chasing a tiny jack russell around
probably the pet of one of the guest
the children were trying to protect
the little guy, pelting the big guy
with flaming sparklers and stones

just like the three legged farm dog
trying to protect his own territory
i feel a tinge of remorse for the
superficiality of my once youth
the hurt i dished out to others at will
all because i had confused ugliness with evilness

and i was still wondering how the big guy
lost his leg – my educated guess is a misplaced
hunter’s trap, when my friend tossed
another can of beer in my hands, his wife
brought us another plate of freshly grilled meat
and we drank in silence to all the scars
that we took in and gave out getting here

in the boisterous atmosphere of the night
i could hear the croaking of another frog

Different Knobs On The Same Door

I'll Believe It When I Don't See It

For the past two days, I've been bombarded by criticisms in Lianhe ZaoBao, all because I wrote an article on 24th July 2005 questioning the validity of chinese medicinal practices basing their theories on the iffy concept of "Qi" (i.e., what is known as elan vital under the concept of vitalism). Frankly, I had more or less expected this backlash, especially from those involved in chinese medicinal practices. This was because my own parents, my relatives, my friends, and one of my teacher had criticised my views in private after reading my articles.

There are a few interesting things that I learn from the whole thing though:

(1) People in general prefer to believe in the metaphysical, in the mysterious, in something that cannot be empirically measured or seen. "Qi" is one of them. UFOs another. People seem to be comfortable when something remains unexplainable, and feels uncomfortable when we try to explain these so-called mysterious phenomenons in simpler terms. The common reaction I get is: But that can't be so simple, can it? There must be a more complex explanation for it!!! Wow, talk about reverse logic. It's like that Mark Eitzel song: If the truth don't make you happy, what will you do?

(2) Most of us just feel uncomfortable with challenges to deep-rooted beliefs. My parents adviced me against replying to the criticisms levelled on me (hell, I replied back anyway), just because they thought I have nothing to stand on in my argument. Their opinion goes something like this, "But chinese medicine have been around for thousand of years! There must be some truth to it! If there wasn't any truth to it, it won't be around for so long, right?" Yeah, last I heard stupidity had been around for ages as well, but that doesn't make those who have this trait much cleverer.

(3) How people can just ignore the validity of your argument when emotions are involved. I've been branded as someone who doesn't understand the chinese culture, someone who doesn't value tradition, and it has been insinuated that I am a traitor to my own race. Wow, just because I pointed out a flaw that I thought was pretty obvious in this culture, now suddenly I am anti-chinese culture. Talk about a slippery slope.

Anyway, the whole thing is over now (I guess). Not that I care what others think about me, especially those traditional chinese medicine practitioners. Oh well, it does mean I probably have to keep my identity a secret if I ever go to an accupunturist or any traditional chinese medicine practitioners, next thing you know I'll have needles sticking out of my butt or be forced to swallow some horrible concoction made out of frog's eyes, goat's liver and dead cockroaches.

Spot the apparent paradox in the last sentence of the previous paragraph.

花裙

花裙



最后我们只能记得梦中那条花裙
印上了夏天想要隐瞒的故事
最初的感动总是溪水般地波纹
从回忆飘来的微风味道了我们的遗忘
或者我们都许下了没有约束的承诺
让花裙成为这场无血革命的共犯
只有草鞋在双脚之间流浪

应该有谁必须为那些拥有意义的对白任性
把所有言语的言喻都折成纸飞机放逐
等待下一场雨季演化成海上的漂流
注定沉没的纸船不需要抛锚
想要隐藏的结局也会被冬天冻结

你总是考虑着鱼杆和蚯蚓之间的关系
比如说幸福的标准是否以没钓上的失落感衡量
或者说欺骗的距离就是那些侥幸逃走的鱼线
没有顾虑鱼儿和垂钓者的感受就哼起了年少时那首歌
“鱼儿鱼儿鱼儿水中游，游啊游啊游，啊游得乐悠悠”
只有河旁的矮树承受了那些我们不懂的事
毕竟它曾为了许多不相干的恋人刻上刺青

最后我们必须回到那条花裙如同一种依恋
就象不完美的圆渴望着完美的残缺
就象断线的风筝也无法展翅翱翔
就象音符没有办法回到吉它的弦里
就象故事从那天开始就打算不再让彼此相遇

还是那条花裙终究会遗弃岁月走样的身躯
就连草鞋也无法穿上流浪归来的双脚
我们也只能按照日常生活引导的轨迹
在偶尔的未来闭上眼睛回到那场梦里
回味那条花裙迎风的舞蹈
回味那双草鞋随意的舞步
回味那个夏天里故事的所有可能

A Shadow Along Woodlands Coastline, 3am

Is this a Manifesto?

Or is it just an introduction? Nah, whatever.

Anyway, this blog is not an outlet for my feelings, nor will it be a diary sort of entry where I bitch about stuff like oh-i-love-that-girl-but-she-doesn't-love-me, or stuff like hey-I-lost-my-camera-today. Nope, I'm someone who likes privacy and guard it with religious fervour. Hence, I have no wish to let the whole world know whether a new pimple has grown on my face or not, or whether the girl I like now always wear the same perfume whenever we meet.

What you'll find in this blog, are probably stuff like:

(1) My renovated and polished thoughts about certain issues in life that undergoes censorship from my brain, so that the public can see it without getting into my private thoughts.

(2) Some articles I write, published in the newspaper, where I try to pretend I am interested in this society where I live in.

(3) Commentaries on music, movies, books, or any other art forms which I find interesting.

(4) My own poems and short stories, where I pretend I know what the fuck I am writing, but actually half the time I'm just clueless.

(5) Photos that I've taken, where I try to pretend I'm Steve McCurry, but actually half the time I'm just clueless.

The main languages used in this blog will be both Chinese and English, with the necessary grammatical errors. I will provide no translation for the Chinese articles, so if you can't understand Chinese, then too bad. Anyway, I guess most people (if any) that may come up to this blog probably understands both languages. I don't half expect any Martians or a resident from Siberia to log on to this blog either.

Oh yeah, if you are put off by expletives, then don't read this blog as well. Words like fuck will appear regularly here. This is not exactly the handbook for social etiquette, you know.

Yeah, so does this sound like a Manifesto or an introduction? What the hell, who cares.