Sylvia’s Death
for Sylvia Plath
O Sylvia, Sylvia,
with a dead box of stones and spoons,
with two children, two meteors
wandering loose in the tiny playroom,
with your mouth into the sheet,
into the roofbeam, into the dumb prayer,
(Sylvia, Sylvia,
where did you go
after you wrote me
from Devonshire
about raising potatoes
and keeping bees?)
what did you stand by,
just how did you lie down into?
Thief!---
how did you crawl into,
crawl down alone
into the death I wanted so badly and for so long,
the death we said we both outgrew,
the one we wore on our skinny breasts,
the one we talked of so often each time
we downed three extra dry martinis in Boston,
the death that talked of analysts and cures,
the death that talked like brides with plots,
the death we drank to,
the motives and then the quiet deed?
(In Boston
the dying
ride in cabs,
yes death again,
that ride home
with our boy.)
O Sylvia, I remember the sleepy drummer
who beat on our eyes with an old story,
how we wanted to let him come
like a sadist or a New York fairy
to do his job,
a necessity, a window in a wall or a crib,
and since that time he waited
under our heart, our cupboard,
and I see now that we store him up
year after year, old suicides
and I know at the news of your death,
a terrible taste for it, like salt.
(And me,
me too.
And now, Sylvia,
you again
with death again,
that ride home
with our boy.)
And I say only
with my arms stretched out into that stone place,
what is your death
but an old belonging,
a mole that fell out
of one of your poems?
(O friend,
while the moon's bad,
and the king's gone,
and the queen's at her wit's end
the bar fly ought to sing!)
O tiny mother,
you too!
O funny duchess!
O blonde thing!
February 17, 1963
——Anne Sexton

“我们从古以来，就有埋头苦干的人，有拼命硬干的人，有为民请命的人，有舍身求法的人，……虽是等于为帝王将相作家谱的所谓‘正史’，也往往掩不住他们的光耀，这就是中国的脊梁。”
——鲁迅《中国人失掉自信力了吗》

闻着背上膏药冰冷的气味，忍住一切酸痛，运动。
陪她去做采访，在通往游园的小路上，看到一位头顶戴着与连衣裙一样浅粉紫色的花环的精灵。

为了任务去找东西，误闯写字楼中做了一番探险，目睹人的疲乏和枯燥。
也深深解剖了自己面对一些事情时的无奈。
在十九楼的露台前见字如下。这是人的活血。
未来总会更好的，有时我深表怀疑，但另一方面也必须迷信这一点。

在夜航的飞机闪闪烁烁着路过我头顶上最高的那根头发时，我就最痛而最拼命地想你。
那一下想完，今天的爱你就结束了。
此时或许你在梦中，或许你在啤酒泡沫里沐浴，或许你在和你的眼泪吵一场歇斯底里的架，或许你拦住头脑中的几位精灵讨一个明朗未来，或许你建立起与他人愉快的宇宙。
而你唯独不爱我。也不会应一句我的爱。
你痛苦的颤抖，逼出一个诗人。

她们一起走在树下，空气中弥漫着从赤裸脖颈散发并留给路人的强烈的广藿香气味。
在如此强烈的装饰之后跟随，脑袋里想着，为什么创作者喜欢总是给追求大义的孤独英雄一个被亲人原谅和重新爱下去的结局。
慢慢地，错过晚风。

他坐在大风里，坐在路沿石上，坐在一对柴犬的身后，坐在一缕微笑里，孤独又自在，尴尬又热闹地打着一个七十岁的盹。

有时我们需要来自他人的帮助。

近来工作繁忙，吃饭睡觉皆难兼顾而按时进行。
更新可能无法做到每天一次了。
我会尽量抽时间。
祝好运。

今天看到有网友在他人手握星巴克咖啡杯子的照片下评论“装什么装”。
实在大为这种滑稽所震惊。
喝了一碗黑芝麻+杏仁的糊。
然后在大雨中归来。

自我介绍的四个要点。

有很多不可控的事，最后都将化险为夷。
抱此信念，顺着对的方向，用十二分心思。