day 21

figuratively speaking, this is a true story.

W:
We can't say, 对，说不出口。
it's not in our language, 表达不出。
也许，it's not what we need. but let us 相信。
结合is, not the answer.
but let us pretend, 那就是答案。

after 21 days, the story finally begins; starting from tomorrow.

day 8

H

Happy is the world with individuals,
who pretend as if, the world revolves around them.
I and I
could not agree
eventually
it seems to me.
Happy is the abyss with crowded souls,
who pretend as if, they have to repeat their punishments
till eternity
till when?
Till and music could agree
but one must meet his or her end
I and I
could agree
anyway
it seems to me
Happy is the purgatory with nameless saints,
who pretend as if, they can float without blame
infinitely so
so infinitely benign
it actually irritates.
How?
It's not enough to imagine oppositions.
We have to suppose there are in between-s.
How banal.
Happy are the novelists,
who pretend as if, they invent new words.
infinity in finite forms.
don't waste our time
I'm sorry I wasted your time.
H.
It's better unspoken.

day 20

He,

H and I.
we're so unsatisfied. when will we meet? who speaks these lines?
morning has never felt so cold.
I don't mind dropping but give me a warning.
I can't keep up with him.
I can't follow him to the grave.
I had 19 days to say goodbye.
Mournings, however, are useless.
shed blood, not tears.
What are we afraid of?
I believe he'll come.
soon enough. enough.

M: (aside) 我们似趁相识。

I: I don't know you. But. I think...I am ready to die. He's not coming back. I'm incomplete. He's silent. He's not coming home.
I die.


Narrator: the third day, presumably he will rise from the dead and disappear from the tomb.

day 14

I speaks again.

repetition; would very much like to remain where I am; thank you.

welcome the nostalgia of:
when, once we could smile, laugh and jest at the mere thought of us, them, everyone, being themselves, exercising the childishness that we all possess; less-than-pretentious; we are delighted by the thought of ice creams sold outside the school compound, and the brief freedom we had as we walked home. That short distance, a world in front of us - of snails, toads, butterflies, tennis balls and guppies that weren't as free as us. we seemed proud of that. so innocently proud.
thank you, I would really like to repeat myself.
welcome to the reverse, the repressed state of the mind, when youths forget their childhood and look to empty promises of delirium, seduction and the less-than-eventful game of self-gratification. Still eventful. So eventful that nothing happens. nothing. just the seaside and the sun that never rises. I remembered, vaguely, how to be less than myself, and always projecting a future that lasts forever. we cycled through tar and melted sin, and rejoiced in the less; always incomplete self, imagining that we didn't have a future.
thank you, I would like to leap ahead.
welcome to the future, that will never come. I wait, listening for butterflies that would flap so hard that I could actually hear them. A moment in time, that feverish desire long gone, replaced by the concrete delusion and virtual world that dissolves the real and is the real. I am left with everything, too much of everything. Where is the future? Given a spatial reality, I am threading through virtual jungles and leaving places far behind me, I am remembering to forget my past; as if they never happened. At least, that's how I remember. Where am I? Still here, thrown around like a water balloon. I explode. Perhaps. I imagined it. No. I repeat the explosion. Reverse and it feels as if I implode. It is a display of slow motion replay of how water touches water. And I feel assured that gravity will pull me now. Almost instantaneously.
thank you, I hate the effect of the almost.
welcome the future. I would like to remain where I am. Almost ready to be gone. I disappear, only to appear as well. You, you who reads. Please replace me and be 'I'.

day 13

M's appearance remains an enigma.

But he speaks, as aside.

M: 面对心空，他，绝对存在。
我，开不了口。
我，的语言不同。
我与他，有一百种可能发生的未来。
但此刻，让我们，人与门，等待。
门将打开。人们会走完彼此的路，彼此的门。

day 12

M enters.
M sits besides I.
M does not speak.

I breathes.
I stays.
I sees.
I turns.
I eats.
I sleeps.
I wakes.
I thinks.
I speaks.
I says I as no one else could say I.

I...

day 11

4th day without I...
H is alone in the temple

Let us begin with H's monologue, which is so often the case.

I
but the crime
of today's democratic mandate(s)
is the didaticism that we can be
poets and artists
with something to say.
murmurs, to replace the past, configure the memories
our memories and theirs
and we end up with, really, too much to say.
the skulls, the knocking demon, the dragons and their friends
their tombs are empty
and we come back to another crime.
-
I
but the next crime
of today's democratic mandate(s)
is the delibration, hyperpassionate call for change
as poets and charismatics
with something to say.
glossolia, ecstatic misutterances, create hallucinations
of our future, always about the future
our and their futures
and we return back to the dead sea
the fish-bones, the scrolls, the salt,
especially the salt
and we want harmony but end up with perpetual chaos

already I said too much.
always already.

day 7

H: You skipped a day.
I: won't matter.
H: why won't it matter?
I: I want it over and done with.
H: With what?
I: I'm not ready to do this.
H: With what?
I: can I leave now?
H: are you leaving me?
I: ...no. but I have to leave. Physically.
H: you are leaving me.
I: Will you come with me?
H: I'm always here with you.
I: No. I mean. Come with me.
H: I'm always here.
I: Come with me.
H: I can't leave here.
I: I'm afraid. Please come with me.
H: But...we're not...in love.
I: I know. But come with me. I can't do this alone.
H: You're not alone.
I: Please!
H: (steps back) You're...are you okay?
I: I'm leaving.
H: Don't go.
I: Bye.

I left. The next day beckons.

day 6

I: Let's fall in love.
H: ...I can't.
I: Why can't you?
H: It's not time yet.
I: When will it be a good time?
H: Never.
I: never?
H: It's not so simple. I'm...I'm already attached.
I: (long pause) since when...
H: since I met...
I: it's okay. don't tell me. I don't want to know.
H: don't you want to know?
I: It's not going to change anything right?
H: I don't know.
I: We all don't know.
H: Can we still be friends?
I: Yes we can.
H: Thank you.
I: So what happens next?
H: I don't know.
I: Ok.
H: Ok.

day 5

they speak.

I: feels like yesterday
H. can't be.
I: the intention is there
H: to justify your imagination?
I: I feel limited by
H: your surroundings. don't be foolish
I: it's going to be tomorrow soon
H: No. It's today. Still.
I: It's going to be tomorrow soon.
H: Then it won't be tomorrow. It will be today.
I: Today?
H: do you remember the time we were together?
I: Aren't we together now?
H: It's different.
I: How different.
H: Just different. Don't ask.
I: You're weird.
H: so what can you conclude?
I: It still feels like yesterday.
H: if you can remember yesterday as a memory, it is gone. Today cannot be yesterday.
I: that's not what I mean. I said, 'it feels like yesterday'.
H: I don't see how different it is.
I: It's different.
H: How different?
I: effect, affect.
H: uh huh...
(pause)
H: so?
I: affect...effect.
H: You're not making sense.
I: I don't have to. I just think that it feels like yesterday.
H: argh.
I: you feel like breaking my neck.
H: No I don't.
I: You do.
H: let's stop this conversation.
I: We can't.
H: Why can't we?
I: Someone will read it. day after day. Now it feels like tomorrow.
H: You...are...not...making...sense...
I: Think about it.
H: Why should I?
I: We don't always have a choice. I say this. (pause)
H: this?
I: and immediately you think of this.
H: of course...that's what you said.
I: It feels like tomorrow. this is it.
H: What is this?
I: It.
H: It?
I: I don't suppose you know what it refers to, no?
H: Yes. No. I don't.
I: Yes you do.
H: Argh!
I: Pathos.
H: Eros.
I: who cares really.
H: can we talk about more concrete things?
I: Like?
H: what were we talking about?
I: I can't remember.
H: oh. (long pause)
I: feels like yesterday.
H: Yea.

Day 4

I encounters H?

they walked past each other. they did not know one another.
in this forest; which forest???????????????????????
that forest.
the forest of void.
where it was raining.
outside the forest there was nothing.
I and H do not exist outside the forest.
we then came to a crucial moment
when the circle could no longer repeat
and the past was a quiet mess
and they ignored each other
a passing reference
and no children.
without a family
each wending his or her own way through the forest
oblivious to each other's existence
so this limit; which limit????????????????????
shall be the swerve, in a brownian motion
the determined path of an encounter
forced upon them by the swerve of the fingers
and then they shall meet
and we shall see
the twain
framed in the path of a writing
delivered not unto salvation
but the repetition with a difference
each day and night
and the whirl of wind
between birth and death
no children yet
but monsters
that haunt the dreams of you and I

day 3

H.

I
-
I
if I could
I would
break
I
up
and then
I can
pretend
nothing is in between
but there could never be
I
perpetuate
in every
instance
I am where I am
I am who I am
I am when I am

Ha
is the most cruel thing to speak
so silent that it's empty
Ha.
I
-
I
a
I
always there.
am.

day 2

I.

I can't read prose. There is something highly stylised about this form of writing. It can't be taken lightly and you can hardly afford breaks and pauses...It escapes me as soon as I read it. One word after another. One sentence after another. With one, it becomes two. Almost instantly. I have to follow its flow; for better or worse. I cannot be sure until I get to the end. But it doesn't seem to end and here I am, the writer and the reader simultaneously. I am naked to my own device. How sinister is that?! Writing must be the single most frightening thing to do without much physical effort. It is as if I am almost still, working my fingers or hands for my eyes to make sense. I can go blind. But as long as I have the capacity to think, I am already writing the story of my self; creating and destroying myself simultaneously. What we truly see (and we spent alot of time seeing that) is darkness. And I see I blindly. It is one of those profound psychic exercises that I cannot and will not dare to disown for what it can potentially do to me if I were to put it to death; on the stakes, crucifixed or even buried with a ceremonious embalming. Don't underestimate your own power. of being blind, hence we fill the holes with imagination and tremble with excitement, like a boy having toys to proudly show to adult strangers. It is all strange, I the most.

day 1.

H: 1:17am, my fingertips, glued to the keyboard. and paused.

H: 1:17:56am. I drifted from one place to another. Out of 11 lamp posts I was seeing, one bulb was fused. Drifted back to the monitor screen.

I: There is nothing around. I can't look out of the window.

H: Out of the many loose hair on the floor, about 83% are mine.

I: There is a place called Vence, beyond the coastal Rivera. I imagine.

H: 2:11am. Blood on my gums.

H: There is little to wish for. Little to dream about. Little to remember about.

I: Were you there when I bled to death?

H: No dear. I'm still alive.

I: Cows are dropping from the sky.

I: pardon me, what is the time?

H: Shhh.

I: The rain stopped 3 hours 23 minutes and 12 seconds ago.

I: I can't count split seconds.

I: I can't measure myself.

H: Shh.

H: I feel separated from myself. Is it you dear? At the door?

I: Rest in peace. My friend.

H: I'm not dead yet.

I: I flipped to a page on the book I am currently reading.

H: It's already 1:25am.

I: I pointed towards a paragraph.

H: It's already 1:23am.

I: There. These words: 'It seems to me that it takes almost a lifetime to recuperate from such an attempt'.

I: My fingers are back on the keyboard.

H: I will not leave my place. I will not.

I: Swiftly, I wrote.

H: Who goes there? Is it you, my dear?

H: Everyday I think of you. Everyday.

I: It must be 3:23am. Now.

H: Should I write: ' "It seems to me that it takes almost a lifetime to recuperate from such an attempt'".

H: Hope. It begins with H.

H: How long is a lifetime?

I: I pretend nothing happened. In order for that to happen, I have to pretend that there is such a thing called nothing.

I: Willie fillie dillie tillie dillie sillie zillie

H: Who understands her?

H: I lost my virginity when I said my name out.

I: I am never alone.

I: I...I still feel lonely.

H: Haha.