He's heavy, she's happy
Walking hand in hand
Black tux and white dress
She seems a good friend
Like what I am
To him
A woman who
Could bear him a son,
That’s what the family needs
He used to be thin
And keen on the answer
To the pursuit of life
He's not searching any more
But settled by getting himself a wife
With a child in her womb
As a present, I brought him
Some condoms, the absence of which
Played the prelude of the wedding
2010年1月14日星期四
45
45, THIS IS YOUR NUMBER.
said the DOCTOR. COME IN
AS I CALL YOUR NUMBER.
NOW WAIT IN LINE.
4 and 5, I like these two numbers
5 succeeds 4, in an order
like two persons in each other's company
waiting in a long line.
a man lying on a trolley was pushed
into the waiting room,
surrounded by his relatives--six, I counted
HE’S No.42.
RAISE HIM UP AND PLACE
HIM ON THE EXAMINING BED.
said the DOCTOR as he conducted
the crowd
the man’s removal stirred the air
but the man didn't move
or make any sound, like he was dead
the clock on the wall ticked
seven and a half minutes passed
the scanning room's door opened
a yelling burst from inside
GRAB HIS LEG
PUSH HIS BODY TO THE BED
DON’T LET HIM MOVE
WATCH HIS OXYGEN BAG
I glanced at the man wrapped in striped
hospital pajamas, struggling against
the press from his relatives
his sisters, brothers maybe
plastic straws were stuck
into his nostrils and mouth
screaming, crying and mumbling unconsciously
as he was pushed away
a creature in pain
he was awake
No.43, YOUR TURN!
an old man in a wheelchair
with his son and daughter-in-law
they took off his thick outfit
the old man stared
at me, eyes empty.
the look was familiar
it reminded me of my grandma
the same look I received when I stood by her
the last night she spent on earth
the clock on the wall ticked
seven and a half minutes passed
the old man was out
clothes back on again
dad, do you feel ok?
he moved his lips, mumbled
some words only his son understood
his eyes were still fixed on me
looking at me warmly
but I felt cold
a little girl sat beside me
eating KFC chicken
her tiny ankle was exposed
to the air, swollen
her red face was fresh, fresh
as her fried chiken
I smiled at her
she smiled back and said
hey, do you want some?
her mother had dozed off already
with her weary face buried in her hair
dark hair
No. 44!
TAKE OFF YOUR BRA!
the old woman hesitated
standing still at the door
looking at the DOCTOR
questioning
TAKE OFF YOUR BRA! CAN’T YOU READ!
yes, it was written on the notice on the wall
she blushed, went on stripping
I turned around
her body was hopelessly old
like her age
the clock on the wall ticked
seven and a half minutes passed
I'm No.45, doctor
I said before he called
I took off my shoes, my belt
the rest of my clothes before he commanded
VERY WELL. NOW LIE DOWN
PUT YOUR LEFT LEG INTO THE HOLE.
He closed the door and went
to the monitoring room
the examining bed moved, sending me
to the MRI(Magnetic Resonance Imaging) machine
a big machine, big as the hospital
a white machine, white as the hospital
a cold machine, cold as the hospital
it started buzzing, resonantly
millions of bees flying around me
buzzing loudly, noisy and crazy
No.42 was screaming
No.43 was staring
No.44 was hesitating
No.45, YOU CAN COME OUT!
the buzz was gone, all of a sudden
the Doctor was saying
THE SCAN IS OVER!
said the DOCTOR. COME IN
AS I CALL YOUR NUMBER.
NOW WAIT IN LINE.
4 and 5, I like these two numbers
5 succeeds 4, in an order
like two persons in each other's company
waiting in a long line.
a man lying on a trolley was pushed
into the waiting room,
surrounded by his relatives--six, I counted
HE’S No.42.
RAISE HIM UP AND PLACE
HIM ON THE EXAMINING BED.
said the DOCTOR as he conducted
the crowd
the man’s removal stirred the air
but the man didn't move
or make any sound, like he was dead
the clock on the wall ticked
seven and a half minutes passed
the scanning room's door opened
a yelling burst from inside
GRAB HIS LEG
PUSH HIS BODY TO THE BED
DON’T LET HIM MOVE
WATCH HIS OXYGEN BAG
I glanced at the man wrapped in striped
hospital pajamas, struggling against
the press from his relatives
his sisters, brothers maybe
plastic straws were stuck
into his nostrils and mouth
screaming, crying and mumbling unconsciously
as he was pushed away
a creature in pain
he was awake
No.43, YOUR TURN!
an old man in a wheelchair
with his son and daughter-in-law
they took off his thick outfit
the old man stared
at me, eyes empty.
the look was familiar
it reminded me of my grandma
the same look I received when I stood by her
the last night she spent on earth
the clock on the wall ticked
seven and a half minutes passed
the old man was out
clothes back on again
dad, do you feel ok?
he moved his lips, mumbled
some words only his son understood
his eyes were still fixed on me
looking at me warmly
but I felt cold
a little girl sat beside me
eating KFC chicken
her tiny ankle was exposed
to the air, swollen
her red face was fresh, fresh
as her fried chiken
I smiled at her
she smiled back and said
hey, do you want some?
her mother had dozed off already
with her weary face buried in her hair
dark hair
No. 44!
TAKE OFF YOUR BRA!
the old woman hesitated
standing still at the door
looking at the DOCTOR
questioning
TAKE OFF YOUR BRA! CAN’T YOU READ!
yes, it was written on the notice on the wall
she blushed, went on stripping
I turned around
her body was hopelessly old
like her age
the clock on the wall ticked
seven and a half minutes passed
I'm No.45, doctor
I said before he called
I took off my shoes, my belt
the rest of my clothes before he commanded
VERY WELL. NOW LIE DOWN
PUT YOUR LEFT LEG INTO THE HOLE.
He closed the door and went
to the monitoring room
the examining bed moved, sending me
to the MRI(Magnetic Resonance Imaging) machine
a big machine, big as the hospital
a white machine, white as the hospital
a cold machine, cold as the hospital
it started buzzing, resonantly
millions of bees flying around me
buzzing loudly, noisy and crazy
No.42 was screaming
No.43 was staring
No.44 was hesitating
No.45, YOU CAN COME OUT!
the buzz was gone, all of a sudden
the Doctor was saying
THE SCAN IS OVER!
2010年1月13日星期三
英语学习
谚语一句：
伦敦土话两句（Cockney Rhyming Slang）:
brownbagger：
Beer before liquor, never been sicker;
Liquor before beer, you're in the clear.
伦敦土话两句（Cockney Rhyming Slang）:
jeremy kyle's pile-- hemorrhoid;
frog and toad-- road.
brownbagger：
n.意为魔鬼身材、妖怪脸蛋的女人。虽然身材火辣但因为长得丑，所以性交时男方不得不在她脑袋上套个牛皮纸袋（brownbag）。waspy:
adj. 这个词由wasp（不是黄蜂而是white anglo-saxon protestant的缩写）而来。看daily show某期john stewart开涮lieberman说he's from conneticurt, a state where people don't even let their genitals touch when they dance. 美国以康州为代表的东北部是传统的清教徒（wasp）居住之地，因此被认为民风保守，故来自那里的人也被形容为waspy（=uptight）。prenup: 婚前协议。
现实魔幻主义
蓝妹妹摸着社会（一长相狰狞的男子，姓社名会）裤裆里那枚硕大无朋的蛋蛋，说“灵咯！我来给你弹首歌吧，歌名叫《蕃茄炒蛋蛋》。”
社会打量着蓝妹妹怀抱吉他的样子，心想“这样的矮胖子也能弹吉他，简直是文艺界的丑闻啊！”
蓝妹妹抚手按弦，念了一句白：“侬真盎塞，许巍也才一米六，咯咯叫来塞。”
社会露出了他狰狞的面容，蓝妹妹手中的吉他应声落地，%…·￥^&#—*（马赛克处理)
社会抓过红肚兜遮住了毛茸茸的胸脯，脸上原来的狰狞被羞辱驱赶了个干净：“你们人类真操蛋，竟然拿牙膏当润滑剂。”蓝妹妹呵呵笑了笑，笑声仿佛蓝田半夜的狼嚎，令社会心惊肉跳，“你从心肠黑到屁眼，不用白洁的牙膏怎能扯社会的淡？您瞧准了，蓝天六必治。”
——阁楼旁铺的兄弟，你现在在社会混得还好？
社会打量着蓝妹妹怀抱吉他的样子，心想“这样的矮胖子也能弹吉他，简直是文艺界的丑闻啊！”
蓝妹妹抚手按弦，念了一句白：“侬真盎塞，许巍也才一米六，咯咯叫来塞。”
社会露出了他狰狞的面容，蓝妹妹手中的吉他应声落地，%…·￥^&#—*（马赛克处理)
社会抓过红肚兜遮住了毛茸茸的胸脯，脸上原来的狰狞被羞辱驱赶了个干净：“你们人类真操蛋，竟然拿牙膏当润滑剂。”蓝妹妹呵呵笑了笑，笑声仿佛蓝田半夜的狼嚎，令社会心惊肉跳，“你从心肠黑到屁眼，不用白洁的牙膏怎能扯社会的淡？您瞧准了，蓝天六必治。”
——阁楼旁铺的兄弟，你现在在社会混得还好？
杂碎
天气好的时候，皇后大街朝北的一个角落每到下午就会出现一个姑娘，她坐在一个小马扎上拉着手风琴。她总是拉着同一首曲子。她身前熙熙攘攘的过客每天都变换着面孔，她拉的曲子却一直没变。她敞开的琴箱盖里稀稀拉拉地躺着几枚硬币。
英国的硬币有2镑，1镑，50便士，20便士，10便士，5便士，2便士，1便士，大小各异，颜色各异，形状不尽同。收银员说：“1 pound 78 p's please.”我在手掌上的一堆硬币里四处挑拣，身后一长条队伍耐心地看着我迷失在一堆硬币里。
那天经过公爵路，看见几个姑娘披着湿漉漉的头发，裹着浴巾站在酒店门外，瑟瑟发抖；门口几个厨师抽着烟有说有笑；穿戴绅士的老门童手插裤袋站在远端，出神地发着呆；消防车安静地停在一边，两个消防员怏怏地从酒店里走出来。
"where are you from?"一个长着一副东亚面孔的姑娘问我。
"people's republic of china."我说。
“噢，你是中国来的啊。”
“唔？你是哪里人？“我问。
“我是台湾人。”她笑着回答我。
走过museum place时，听到一阵响亮的警报声，一辆黑色越野车停在转角口，车门上一个橘黄色的报警灯一闪一闪。驾驶窗里一只小狗撑着脑袋望着我。我停下来望着它。四周无人，只有刺耳的警报声。小狗转了转脑袋，看了看方向盘，又隔着紧闭的车窗看了看我。我依依不舍地走开了。
我走进新闻学院教学楼的厕所，里面竟有一个淋浴室！
'The people who read The Times think they are ruling Britain; those who read The Guardian think they should rule Britain;those who read The Sun don't give a damn who rules Britain.'
'I was born in Serbia. I used to live there and work as a journalist there. Then war broke out. I saw too much blood and too many sad stories. I left. I went to Newzealand. I swore that I would never work as a journalist again. 11 years later, I read a locak newspaper. It depicted Milosevic as a national hero, a hero who fought against the court in the Hague. I was furious. How could Milosevic be a hero? He is responsible for all the killings that had taken place in Serbia. Then I wrote an article to the newspaper. It was published.’
'Did you receive any feedback?'
'Yes, and it was unpleasant. They sent me death letters. I couldn't have thought of it. I couldn't have thought they could reach so far as to Newzealand.'
美国决定打伊拉克、解救科威特之前——哦，我说的是上个世纪的海湾战争——一个科威特的少女声泪俱下地在“美国国会人权特派团”前控诉伊拉克士兵把科威特婴儿从育婴箱取出来丢在地上的暴行，听者也跟着少女声泪俱下，无不动容。老布什引用少女的证词，向美国人民宣称战争的正义性和人道价值。多年之后，这个少女被证明是个托，她是科威特驻美国大使的女儿，她口述的故事是一家叫hill& knowlton的公关公司的策划，因为只有打动善良的人们，国会才会通过战争决议。她叫Nayirah。这便是护士Nayirah的骗局。我总疑惑一个姑娘改用多么丰沛的泪水才能包裹住里面巨大的阴谋。我去youtube看了Nayirah哭诉的视频。我不知道这世界上还有多少泪水是可以相信的。
齐泽克为《意识形态的崇高客体》所做的中文版序：
二战中还有一次不可思议的不期而遇，它与德军的命运联系在一起。这次不期而遇发生在斯大林格勒保卫战之中，那时正值1942年12月31日，是新年除夕。俄国演员和音乐演奏家前来访问这个被重重包围的城市，给军队作慰问性演出。小提琴演奏家 Mikhail Goldstein 去战壕为士兵作独奏。一曲终了，沉寂笼罩在俄军士兵的头上。忽然，从远方喇叭里传来的声音打破了此时此地的沉寂，那声音来自敌佔区。它用结结巴巴的俄语恳求道：“再拉点巴赫的曲子吧，我们不会开枪的。” Goldstein 拿起了小提琴，开始演奏巴赫那活泼欢快的 Gavotte 舞曲。
我沿着taff河骑车，经过一片水草丰盛的河滩，上游的河水从水坝飞速流下，像是一个微型的瀑布。一个老人站在河滩边，静静地望着河面。一旁一棵光秃秃的老树提醒我，这条河已经流淌了很久了。
帮倒忙者的英文是do-gooder。Fellatio是口交的意思。
“Those from Texas and California are all assholes-- worst Americans.” said Mark. He's from Indianna.
"Who do you live with?" asked the career service staff.
"A finnish girl, an American guy and an Italian." I answered.
"Oh, it's quite international. But don't pick up the American accent." the staff winked at me.
当我走进市政厅的B号屋听BBC宣讲会的时候，里面已经挤满了人。我站到了屋子后面。后面已经站了两排人。我身边紧挨着一个姑娘，一块浅蓝色的长布包住了她的脑袋和身子。"Do you want to take that seat?"她指了指前面角落里一个空着的座位。"I‘m fine."我看见她脸上飘过一丝厌恶的神情。我敏锐地察觉到如果她手里有炸弹肯定会二话不说让我从现场消失的。"Sorry, but do you feel uncomfortable if I'm standing here?"我问道。"I feel intimidated by you. I'd rather..." "OK,I'll take that seat."
那天走在皇后街上，远处传来了歌唱声和鼓叉声。一个大个子男人在大街中央一边唱歌一边跳舞，在他身后，一个男人敲着鼓叉，另一个男人吹着喇叭。他们装束简单，脑袋上打着发髻，发髻中心垂下来的小辫随着他们扭动的身体飘荡。他们用一门我听不懂的语言吟唱着一支悠扬的歌曲。大个子身上的小马褂随风飘摆，他陶醉地晃着身子，旁若无人。这条街成了他们通往远方的舞台。我不知道他们是谁，从哪里来，到哪儿去。海鸥从他们头顶掠过。他们是如此的自由自在。
我在菜市场的入口看到一个中年人坐在铁栅栏前的石板上弹着吉他，唱着歌，身前的琴箱里躺着零星的几枚硬币。从菜市场出来时，看到一个小年轻站在那个中年人面前，拍着手，蹬着脚，大声地唱着另一个调子的歌。中年人继续拨着吉他，他的歌声被小年轻生生地摁了下去。“I'm singing right.”中年人抗议道。"You're singing fucking right NOT."小年轻大声叫道，"you should sing like this, deng-da-deng-da-da." 中年人停下手中的吉他："i'm not your fucking jukebox." 等我渐渐远离他们的时候，我回头从转角的栅栏缝里看见小年轻和中年人在握手。
每当走进超市，看到60p一个青椒，50p一个蒜头，1镑一个番茄，心里那个法可，那个谢特。
我已经连续吃了一个月的面包了，我的大便出奇的好。
英国的硬币有2镑，1镑，50便士，20便士，10便士，5便士，2便士，1便士，大小各异，颜色各异，形状不尽同。收银员说：“1 pound 78 p's please.”我在手掌上的一堆硬币里四处挑拣，身后一长条队伍耐心地看着我迷失在一堆硬币里。
那天经过公爵路，看见几个姑娘披着湿漉漉的头发，裹着浴巾站在酒店门外，瑟瑟发抖；门口几个厨师抽着烟有说有笑；穿戴绅士的老门童手插裤袋站在远端，出神地发着呆；消防车安静地停在一边，两个消防员怏怏地从酒店里走出来。
"where are you from?"一个长着一副东亚面孔的姑娘问我。
"people's republic of china."我说。
“噢，你是中国来的啊。”
“唔？你是哪里人？“我问。
“我是台湾人。”她笑着回答我。
走过museum place时，听到一阵响亮的警报声，一辆黑色越野车停在转角口，车门上一个橘黄色的报警灯一闪一闪。驾驶窗里一只小狗撑着脑袋望着我。我停下来望着它。四周无人，只有刺耳的警报声。小狗转了转脑袋，看了看方向盘，又隔着紧闭的车窗看了看我。我依依不舍地走开了。
我走进新闻学院教学楼的厕所，里面竟有一个淋浴室！
'The people who read The Times think they are ruling Britain; those who read The Guardian think they should rule Britain;those who read The Sun don't give a damn who rules Britain.'
'I was born in Serbia. I used to live there and work as a journalist there. Then war broke out. I saw too much blood and too many sad stories. I left. I went to Newzealand. I swore that I would never work as a journalist again. 11 years later, I read a locak newspaper. It depicted Milosevic as a national hero, a hero who fought against the court in the Hague. I was furious. How could Milosevic be a hero? He is responsible for all the killings that had taken place in Serbia. Then I wrote an article to the newspaper. It was published.’
'Did you receive any feedback?'
'Yes, and it was unpleasant. They sent me death letters. I couldn't have thought of it. I couldn't have thought they could reach so far as to Newzealand.'
美国决定打伊拉克、解救科威特之前——哦，我说的是上个世纪的海湾战争——一个科威特的少女声泪俱下地在“美国国会人权特派团”前控诉伊拉克士兵把科威特婴儿从育婴箱取出来丢在地上的暴行，听者也跟着少女声泪俱下，无不动容。老布什引用少女的证词，向美国人民宣称战争的正义性和人道价值。多年之后，这个少女被证明是个托，她是科威特驻美国大使的女儿，她口述的故事是一家叫hill& knowlton的公关公司的策划，因为只有打动善良的人们，国会才会通过战争决议。她叫Nayirah。这便是护士Nayirah的骗局。我总疑惑一个姑娘改用多么丰沛的泪水才能包裹住里面巨大的阴谋。我去youtube看了Nayirah哭诉的视频。我不知道这世界上还有多少泪水是可以相信的。
齐泽克为《意识形态的崇高客体》所做的中文版序：
二战中还有一次不可思议的不期而遇，它与德军的命运联系在一起。这次不期而遇发生在斯大林格勒保卫战之中，那时正值1942年12月31日，是新年除夕。俄国演员和音乐演奏家前来访问这个被重重包围的城市，给军队作慰问性演出。小提琴演奏家 Mikhail Goldstein 去战壕为士兵作独奏。一曲终了，沉寂笼罩在俄军士兵的头上。忽然，从远方喇叭里传来的声音打破了此时此地的沉寂，那声音来自敌佔区。它用结结巴巴的俄语恳求道：“再拉点巴赫的曲子吧，我们不会开枪的。” Goldstein 拿起了小提琴，开始演奏巴赫那活泼欢快的 Gavotte 舞曲。
帮倒忙者的英文是do-gooder。Fellatio是口交的意思。
“Those from Texas and California are all assholes-- worst Americans.” said Mark. He's from Indianna.
"Who do you live with?" asked the career service staff.
"A finnish girl, an American guy and an Italian." I answered.
"Oh, it's quite international. But don't pick up the American accent." the staff winked at me.
当我走进市政厅的B号屋听BBC宣讲会的时候，里面已经挤满了人。我站到了屋子后面。后面已经站了两排人。我身边紧挨着一个姑娘，一块浅蓝色的长布包住了她的脑袋和身子。"Do you want to take that seat?"她指了指前面角落里一个空着的座位。"I‘m fine."我看见她脸上飘过一丝厌恶的神情。我敏锐地察觉到如果她手里有炸弹肯定会二话不说让我从现场消失的。"Sorry, but do you feel uncomfortable if I'm standing here?"我问道。"I feel intimidated by you. I'd rather..." "OK,I'll take that seat."
那天走在皇后街上，远处传来了歌唱声和鼓叉声。一个大个子男人在大街中央一边唱歌一边跳舞，在他身后，一个男人敲着鼓叉，另一个男人吹着喇叭。他们装束简单，脑袋上打着发髻，发髻中心垂下来的小辫随着他们扭动的身体飘荡。他们用一门我听不懂的语言吟唱着一支悠扬的歌曲。大个子身上的小马褂随风飘摆，他陶醉地晃着身子，旁若无人。这条街成了他们通往远方的舞台。我不知道他们是谁，从哪里来，到哪儿去。海鸥从他们头顶掠过。他们是如此的自由自在。
我在菜市场的入口看到一个中年人坐在铁栅栏前的石板上弹着吉他，唱着歌，身前的琴箱里躺着零星的几枚硬币。从菜市场出来时，看到一个小年轻站在那个中年人面前，拍着手，蹬着脚，大声地唱着另一个调子的歌。中年人继续拨着吉他，他的歌声被小年轻生生地摁了下去。“I'm singing right.”中年人抗议道。"You're singing fucking right NOT."小年轻大声叫道，"you should sing like this, deng-da-deng-da-da." 中年人停下手中的吉他："i'm not your fucking jukebox." 等我渐渐远离他们的时候，我回头从转角的栅栏缝里看见小年轻和中年人在握手。
每当走进超市，看到60p一个青椒，50p一个蒜头，1镑一个番茄，心里那个法可，那个谢特。
我已经连续吃了一个月的面包了，我的大便出奇的好。
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