When every earthy subject got underwater
What's left on the surface
Living souls were creaking for a muffled twilight
Yapping optimistically in self-remission
Yet, what's tattered are well-recorded shreds
Of some messed-up promises in the messed-up dossiers
Very personal but not natural
That's a curse

The world is becoming more hypercritical
Mixed with stubborn tooth-clenching sound
Deeply disturbing none-sleeping owls
Startled with their eyes, mobilized scanning across
The peopleless vast empty ground, found nothing
All the view-prints had been processed and retangularized
All but for an abstract meaning that no one would care much about
Except those two candle lights slid silently through the dark matters

Nobody knows which way that river flows towards
The twisted agony is that one can choose one direction once a time
Won't matter if the water itself knows its own where-about
Or what it shall do for something right

Two in the wooden bathtub
Waited quietly to be carried to the ancient water fountain
There they assumed it could be a candle stand
Where they would light up a torch for more of a hope

The river water stays unbothered
The two had no sculls nor oars
That doesn't mean they
Don't have the stugots
Or they'd permitted pallid palaver
Sure they were intervened by a whole bunches of wishful intends
Yet , they'd failed to get through the glyphs
Appeared so mysteriously in the prolonged banality
It's another curse
And yes, it bears no doubts

Where is then the horizon once we were all familiar with
Are we all in a suspended animation
Where can we recall the empathy
So to be helped in a cybernetic way
To rescue our souls from the electronic doom
For the darn one good-sounding chance
Shall we wave a full-scale pull back
From the daunting shameful self-destruction
For our jeopardized wish for hope
As well for the psychokinesis  of the rectified teleportation

What's then the solution to the curse
That's out of the question
Every choice is led to a direction
And each of the directions is a approach to a new reality
It's not the cocktail of Deja Vu with Utopia
Nor a geometry of desire multiplies wish times greed
Ah, we are the God-created trespassers
Illegal as charged by the supreme court of Mother Nature
That might be so
But don't we forget
Going on the underwater with our sculls and oars onwards the fountain
There may still stand an ancient civilization
That we can glorify
With the candles in our hands
And the direction that we will choose

That will be the laws of my life
And a little spark that can suffice a light
Onto the marble effigy of
The graven Venus
In the name of sincerity,  fertility as well as
Good-for-all prosperity

当每一样地球的物件没入水下时
地面上还剩什么
活着的生灵们吱吱呀呀为一束低闷的天光打开了门
依然乐观地在自我宽恕里唠叨不停
然而，十分破烂的是完整在案的条絮
一类杂乱的文档里杂乱了的承应
非常地个情却与自然无关
这是种诅咒

世界正变得越加吹毛求疵
混杂着难治的磨牙痼疾的声响
深度叨扰了夜晚无睡的猫头鹰
惊讶地睁大了眼睛，起劲开始来回扫视
无人空旷的大地，无所寻觅
所有的景状相片都被处理了做成了长方形
所有的，除了那个无人在乎的抽象意味
除了那无声划过昏暗物质的两点烛光

无人知道那河将流向哪里
扭曲的苦恼仅是每人每次只能选择一个方向
无所谓那河水是否知道自己的所在
或是该做什么才是正确

木制澡盆里坐着的两个人
静等着被载向那个古老的水池
那里他们可以假设那是只古老的烛台
可以为了一线更多的希望点燃支火炬

河水呆在原处未为所动
此二人无橹无桨
这不意味着他们
没有胆子
或许可了空乏的虚谈
自然他们受累于那大把意愿的乐为
也知道他们没能读懂那些星相速记
内藏在延加的平乏诉说中显得如此神秘
这是另一重诅咒
是的，它毫无疑问

可是，我们一度熟悉的地平线哪去了
难道我们全体一起落入了假死了的中断
哪里我们可以召回灵觉
以便受助于一个神经控制的方式
将我们的魂从电子世界的末日里解救出来
为了他娘地哪怕一次掷地有声的机会
我们是否该掀起一轮整体的回撤
从那令人丧气羞愧的自我摧残中撤离
为了我们已被被坏了的希望的愿望
也为了那份复修的、心感传送的意志

 
那么，什么是诅咒之解
这不是问题
每一种选择都有一个定向
而每一个定向都能抵往一个新的现状
这个过程并非是一杯幻觉和乌托邦理想式的鸡尾酒
更非一个欲望乘于愿望复乘于贪念的几何公式
啊，我们都是上帝创造的非法入侵者
由自然母亲的最高法院裁定有罪
也许会是如此
但我们不可忘记
走入地水无橹无桨去向水池
那儿会始终站着一个古老的文明
那个我们能够用手中烛光
点燃的尊荣
和一个我们选定的方向

这将是我的生命律法
也是一个可以赋予光亮的微末火焯
投在那座大理石的雕像上
那尊铭刻不朽的维纳斯
以我诚挚、丰裕和
惠顾一切所有繁荣之名义

有幸拜王正鹏先生所赐诗文《精神前进的方向》。读了好几遍，着实是好。好的还有被读透读懂的酣畅。转来这里正式一下吧，也为记录此一番难得的相通。谢谢！

《精神前进的方向》
王正鹏（土家族）/文

 灯塔的灯
灭了
大地被黑暗冻结
大海被黑暗冻结
空气被黑暗冻结
精神被黑暗冻结

 我在这黑暗中行舟

我举着火把把我照亮
于是，我有了自我前进的力量
吹着古老的舞阳河箫笛
似鲲鹏划着双浆
引来了我的同伴
和我一样同样举着火把
把我们的小船周围照亮

我们看到了灯塔
我们看到了精神
我们看到了方向

舞阳河的箫笛
随着鲲鹏的双浆
照亮我们前面的灯塔
我们
就有了精神前进的方向