幽明

The Press of Night
Russell Edson

At night when the strings are cut; the only string is an electric cord feeding an electric light.
... No, there is no other place.
The electric light presses on the window to keep out the night.

Memory is a string caught in some dark place, beyond even memory; a tangled kite string that will not let the kite rise, even as the metamorphic winds of life will not let it fall.

Thus falls the attention into itself; the lens of the attention withdrawing from the distance; lives in the foreground, having broken from extreme depth.
Chair and table become textures. The eyes grown tactile read the room as Braille. The attention flutters like a moth caught in a room; neither through the window nor into the head of the dreaded self ...

All out there the night ...
















（往後他們會把床撤走，燈移開，除了不動的牆，房間的輪廓改變。
現在我明白了。照片，不是記存。
原來是告別。）