野下说

我身带剧毒杀人间

点1杯红茶星冰乐庆祝我的文学毁灭脑

你怯懦的祈助着 
别人的著作救不了你 
你不是别人,此刻你正身处自己的脚步编织起的迷宫的中心之地 
耶稣或者苏格拉底所经历的磨难救不了你 
就连日暮时分在花园里圆寂的佛法无边的悉达多也于你无益 
你手写的文字,口吐出的言辞都像尘埃一般一文不值 
命运之神没有怜悯之心 
上帝的长夜没有尽期 
你的肉体只是时光,不停流逝的时光 
你不过是每一个孤独的瞬息 
你不是别人 

The writings left behind by those whom 
Your fears implore won’t have to save you; 
You are not the others and you see yourself 
Now at the center of the labyrinth woven 
By your own steps. The agonies of Jesus or 
Socrates will not save you, nor will the 
Strength of Golden Siddhartha who, 
At the end of the day, accepted death 
In the garden. The word written 
By your hand or the verb spoken 
By your lips, these too are dust. Fate has no pity, 
And God’s night is infinite. 
Your matter is time, ceaseless 
Time. You are each solitary moment.
——博尔赫斯《你不是别人》

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