自覺文

The excerpt I loved most just a moment before,

Writing, for those people, was still something moral. Nowadays it often seems writing is nothing at all. Sometimes, I realised that if writing isn't, all things, all contraries confounded, a quest for vanity and void, it's nothing. That if it's not, each time, all things confounded into one through into some inexpressible essence, then writing is nothing but advertisement. But usually I have no option, I can see that all options are open now, that there seems to be no more barriers, that writing seems at a loss for somewhere to hide, to be written, to be read. That its basic unseemliness is no longer accepted. But at that point I stop thinking about it.

("The Lovers" from Marguerite Duras)

What can I say?

這些文字沒有一個合格的場所被運用，那麼，它們成為了自己的代替品，在消滅的同時裝演沒有被破壞。也許地上已經沒有人在接納一些存在，也許人們所堅持的簡單感會綁在穩實而越長越高的腦幹裡。而文字的真貌永遠在催生時失跡之外，也許只有靈魂用景物運轉的方法在略過，意圖迎合下一個被放逐的視線，在這及時相逢的行旅之中，有光華的風采在感動，就一秒鐘，也許文字有脫離過本體的意義，那麼才能顯現它們真正的意義。

而所有都可以不關乎我，或你，而是它的本質與人倫的認同之間的關係一直被錯解。所以算是一種消歧義的任務而已。