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Words and Silence

- "Open my heart. Enter my dark and desolate dwelling. Step into my eternal night of suffering. There, silence speaks."

- "What is there to say for a self-destructive person?"

- "Before this, I have been wandering in the absence of words, in self-obliterating silence and solitude; now, I finally begin to speak. But soon, I know that I will once again fall into silence.”

- “Then, what are you speaking of? What have you written so far?”

- “Merely some repetitive murmurs, dreamy whispers, and faint sighs. Merely some fragmented words covered in ashes and soaked in blood. Merely some callings from the abyss, the echoes of lost words. My only voice is the voice of my own anguish. And my anguish is nameless. I write in darkness, shrouded by the nightly fog; I write about my void and my wilderness. I transform the part of myself that is indescribable yet indelible into these words. A book of ashes and dust. "

- “Then, what are you speaking for? What are you writing for?”

- “For the shadow of a person I am carrying.”

In the stillness of life, in the fragments of texts, silence speaks. The night of words.

Silence, the abyss of words. The words of silence are nothing but the encounter between the Void and the Void.

I always write on the border of the Void. The border is a silent and transparent line, and thoughts walk along this line is like walking on a tightrope. The slightest deviation will lead to a fall into the Void.

The Void never answers.
The wilderness exists only in words that cannot be heard.
Words have forsaken me and disappeared into silence.

Silence is a wordless speech, a soundless call. Silence is a day without light, a dusk without sunset. Silence is a departure without farewell, a trace without a mark.

In the depths of silence, there is still just silence. And in the depths of the Void, there is still just the Void.

2023/02/12

Silence is torn into thousands of weeping pages.
Words carry scars of their own deaths.

The deeper the silence, the heavier the words.
Sentences hover in silence and span over nothingness. In front of and behind the fragmentary sentences, there is the Void.

Every word, every syllable of mine is a deadly call from the Void.

——Like how the blind guard their vision, like how the mute protect their speech.

I drench writings with my tears; I adorn words with my blood.

(When I wrote down these words, I got a despairing and solemn feeling of approaching death.)

2023/02/28

Or perhaps you have heard my Silence?
Or perhaps you have seen my Void?

——The other shore with unspoken words.
——The gaze of the words from the abyss.

2023/03/03

The gaze from the other end of silence and the final period merged into a stone. From then on, there would be no more words to speak.

“So lernt ich traurig den verzicht:�Kein ding sei wo das wort gebricht.”

-----Stefan Anton George, “Das Wort”

言说与沉默

- “打开我的心，进入我幽暗荒僻的居所，踏进我苦难的永夜。在那里，沉默言说。”

- “一个毁灭自我的人，还有什么值得言说？”

- “在此之前的我一直漂泊徘徊在字词的缺席，在自我湮灭的寂静和孤独中。而现在，我终于开始言说。而很快，我知道我又将陷入沉默。”

- “那你在言说些什么呢？你都写下了什么呢？”

- “都是些重复的低吟，梦呓的呢喃，幽幽的叹息。都是些覆盖着灰烬和浸染着鲜血的破碎的话语。都是些来自深渊的呼唤，迷失的词语的回声。我唯一的声音即是对自身苦痛的言说，而我的苦痛无名。我在黑暗中书写，在夜雾笼罩下书写，书写我的虚空，我的荒漠。我把自己身上难以言表却又不可磨灭的那部分凝固于这些字词。一部灰烬之书。”

- “那你是为了什么而言说？为了什么而书写？”

- “因为我身上所背负着的一个人的影子。”

在生命的寂静里，在文本的碎片中，沉默言说。词语的黑夜。

沉默的话语，陌异于缺席。

沉默，词语的深渊。沉默之词语无非是虚空与虚空之间的相遇。

我始终在虚空的边缘书写。边界，是一条沉默透明的线，思想，像走钢丝一般沿着这条线游走，稍有差池就将落入虚空。

虚空从不回答。
荒漠存在于不能被听见的话语中。
词语弃我而去并隐于沉默。

沉默，是无言的话语，无声的呼唤。沉默，是没有光亮的白昼，没有落日的黄昏。沉默，是没有告别的别离，没有痕迹的痕迹。

沉默的深处还是沉默，虚空的深处还是虚空。

2023/02/12

沉默被撕成千百张哭泣的纸页。
词语身携其自身之死的疤痕。

沉默越深，话语越重。
句子悬停在沉默之中，横亘在虚无之上。碎片化的句子前后皆是虚空。

我的每一个字词都是来自虚空里的一声致命的呼唤。

——如同失明者守护目光，如同缄默者守护话语。

我以泪水浸透书写，用鲜血给词语镶边。

（写下这些文字的时候，我感到了一丝绝望而庄重的临终的气息。）

2023/02/28

或许你听见我的沉默了吗？
或许你看见我的虚空了吗？

——有着未尽之言的彼岸。
——来自深渊字词的凝视。

2023/03/03

沉默另一端的目光与最后一个句号一同化为石头。从此再没有了话语的言说。

我于是哀伤地学会了弃绝：
词语破碎处，无物可存在。
——[德] 施特凡·格奥尔格《词语》

“Words and Silence”

“Words and Silence”

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