- May 10 Tue 2016 00:17
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A Raven on the Snow
- May 09 Mon 2016 23:59
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The Third Bank of the River
- Jun 28 Sun 2015 10:39
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寓言三則
- Dec 17 Wed 2014 01:46
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我愛妳絕對不是開玩笑
- Dec 17 Wed 2014 01:43
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你永遠不知道誰是敵人
Life In An Isolated Island
你永遠不知道誰是敵人
基本上，我們阿兵哥與島上居民接觸的機會少之又少，除非你是採買，但我不是。我們日常活動的範圍都在營區裡面，而居民不得擅闖軍區。況且據我所知，島上的居民數目非常少，大約只有軍人的十分之一。那天我碰到一位島上的老居民，卻無法與她溝通。
營部作戰官是連長的陸官學長，當他打電話跟連長說要我過去幫忙，連長叫我放下所有勤務，立即前往營部。我抵達戰情室時，作戰官悠哉坐在靠背座椅上，手上拿著一本綠色的軍事書籍。窗外的陽光打在他肩膀上的那顆梅花，熠熠閃亮。作戰官從桌上拿一張紙條給我，上面寫著六個英文的軍事術語，要我翻成中文。我問他能不能讓我看下這些軍事術語的出處，作戰官說礙於軍事機密，不行。我解釋若無上下文指涉，怕無法確切掌握其意義。作戰官告訴我軍人經常必須在未知或有限的條件下達成任務。我畢恭畢敬答道：「是，長官。」
你永遠不知道誰是敵人
基本上，我們阿兵哥與島上居民接觸的機會少之又少，除非你是採買，但我不是。我們日常活動的範圍都在營區裡面，而居民不得擅闖軍區。況且據我所知，島上的居民數目非常少，大約只有軍人的十分之一。那天我碰到一位島上的老居民，卻無法與她溝通。
營部作戰官是連長的陸官學長，當他打電話跟連長說要我過去幫忙，連長叫我放下所有勤務，立即前往營部。我抵達戰情室時，作戰官悠哉坐在靠背座椅上，手上拿著一本綠色的軍事書籍。窗外的陽光打在他肩膀上的那顆梅花，熠熠閃亮。作戰官從桌上拿一張紙條給我，上面寫著六個英文的軍事術語，要我翻成中文。我問他能不能讓我看下這些軍事術語的出處，作戰官說礙於軍事機密，不行。我解釋若無上下文指涉，怕無法確切掌握其意義。作戰官告訴我軍人經常必須在未知或有限的條件下達成任務。我畢恭畢敬答道：「是，長官。」
- Dec 17 Wed 2014 01:41
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半夜叫起來尿尿
Life In An Isolated Island
半夜叫起來尿尿
我們下船登岸，天已經整個黑了。
後面的手觸接著前頭的背包或肩膀，二十一個新兵緊緊跟在帶隊官後頭。山路狹窄，昏暗看不清周遭，深怕走錯步伐，跌墜受傷。我們緩緩朝上坡行進，腳步摩擦地面野草的聲音，還有隱約傳來海浪的喧騰。想到要在這麼一座連個像樣的路都沒有的島居住一年三個月，大家對未來的日子很難感覺輕鬆。
半夜叫起來尿尿
我們下船登岸，天已經整個黑了。
後面的手觸接著前頭的背包或肩膀，二十一個新兵緊緊跟在帶隊官後頭。山路狹窄，昏暗看不清周遭，深怕走錯步伐，跌墜受傷。我們緩緩朝上坡行進，腳步摩擦地面野草的聲音，還有隱約傳來海浪的喧騰。想到要在這麼一座連個像樣的路都沒有的島居住一年三個月，大家對未來的日子很難感覺輕鬆。
- Apr 18 Fri 2014 10:40
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Axolotl by Julio Cortazar
Axolotl
by Julio Cortazar
There was a time when I thought a great deal about the axolotls. I went to see them in the aquarium at the Jardin des Plantes and stayed for hours watching them, observing their immobility, their faint movements. Now I am an axolotl.
by Julio Cortazar
There was a time when I thought a great deal about the axolotls. I went to see them in the aquarium at the Jardin des Plantes and stayed for hours watching them, observing their immobility, their faint movements. Now I am an axolotl.
- Apr 07 Mon 2014 13:09
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Ever After by Kim Addonizio
Ever After
Kim Addonizio
The loft where the dwarves lived had a view of the city and hardwood floors and skylights, but it was overpriced, and too small now that there were seven of them. It was a fifth-floor walkup, one soaring, track-lighted room. At the far end was the platform where Doc, Sneezy, Sleepy, and Bashful slept side by side on futons. Beneath them, Happy and Dopey shared a double bed. Grumpy, who pretty much stayed to himself, kept his nylon sleeping bag in a corner during the day and unrolled it at night on the floor between the couch and the coffee table. The kitchen was two facing zinc counters, a built-in range and microwave, and a steel refrigerator, all hidden behind a long bamboo partition that Doc had bought and Sneezy had painted a color called Cherry Jubilee. The kitchen and bathroom were the only places any sort of privacy was possible. To make the rent they all pooled their money from their jobs at the restaurant, except for Dopey, who didn’t have a job unless you counted selling drugs when he wasn’t running them up his arm; and Grumpy, who panhandled every day for spare change and never came up with more than a few wrinkled dollar bills when the first of the month rolled around. Sometimes the rest of them talked about kicking out Dopey and Grumpy, but no one quite had the heart. Besides, the Book said there were seven when she arrived, seven disciples of the goddess who would come with the sacred apple and transform them. How, exactly, they would be transformed was a mystery that would be revealed when she got there. In the meantime, it was their job to wait.
“When she comes, she’ll make us big,”said Sneezy. He had the comics section of the Sunday paper, and an egg of Silly Putty, and was flattening a doughy oval onto a panel of Calvin and Hobbes.
Kim Addonizio
The loft where the dwarves lived had a view of the city and hardwood floors and skylights, but it was overpriced, and too small now that there were seven of them. It was a fifth-floor walkup, one soaring, track-lighted room. At the far end was the platform where Doc, Sneezy, Sleepy, and Bashful slept side by side on futons. Beneath them, Happy and Dopey shared a double bed. Grumpy, who pretty much stayed to himself, kept his nylon sleeping bag in a corner during the day and unrolled it at night on the floor between the couch and the coffee table. The kitchen was two facing zinc counters, a built-in range and microwave, and a steel refrigerator, all hidden behind a long bamboo partition that Doc had bought and Sneezy had painted a color called Cherry Jubilee. The kitchen and bathroom were the only places any sort of privacy was possible. To make the rent they all pooled their money from their jobs at the restaurant, except for Dopey, who didn’t have a job unless you counted selling drugs when he wasn’t running them up his arm; and Grumpy, who panhandled every day for spare change and never came up with more than a few wrinkled dollar bills when the first of the month rolled around. Sometimes the rest of them talked about kicking out Dopey and Grumpy, but no one quite had the heart. Besides, the Book said there were seven when she arrived, seven disciples of the goddess who would come with the sacred apple and transform them. How, exactly, they would be transformed was a mystery that would be revealed when she got there. In the meantime, it was their job to wait.
“When she comes, she’ll make us big,”said Sneezy. He had the comics section of the Sunday paper, and an egg of Silly Putty, and was flattening a doughy oval onto a panel of Calvin and Hobbes.
- Mar 05 Wed 2014 10:48
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Free Fruit for Young Widows by Nathan Englander
- Mar 05 Wed 2014 10:44
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Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been? by Joyce Carol Oates
Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been?
by Joyce Carol Oates
Her name was Connie. She was fifteen and she had a quick, nervous giggling habit of craning her neck to glance into mirrors or checking other people's faces to make sure her own was all right. Her mother, who noticed everything and knew everything and who hadn't much reason any longer to look at her own face, always scolded Connie about it. "Stop gawking at yourself. Who are you? You think you're so pretty?" she would say. Connie would raise her eyebrows at these familiar old complaints and look right through her mother, into a shadowy vision of herself as she was right at that moment: she knew she was pretty and that was everything. Her mother had been pretty once too, if you could believe those old snapshots in the album, but now her looks were gone and that was why she was always after Connie.
"Why don't you keep your room clean like your sister? How've you got your hair fixed—what the hell stinks? Hair spray? You don't see your sister using that junk."
by Joyce Carol Oates
Her name was Connie. She was fifteen and she had a quick, nervous giggling habit of craning her neck to glance into mirrors or checking other people's faces to make sure her own was all right. Her mother, who noticed everything and knew everything and who hadn't much reason any longer to look at her own face, always scolded Connie about it. "Stop gawking at yourself. Who are you? You think you're so pretty?" she would say. Connie would raise her eyebrows at these familiar old complaints and look right through her mother, into a shadowy vision of herself as she was right at that moment: she knew she was pretty and that was everything. Her mother had been pretty once too, if you could believe those old snapshots in the album, but now her looks were gone and that was why she was always after Connie.
"Why don't you keep your room clean like your sister? How've you got your hair fixed—what the hell stinks? Hair spray? You don't see your sister using that junk."
