Untitled

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When I write out of pain, it's like squeezing the mist of pain at that while floating around in my whole body into a drop of concentrated dark black ink, gathered at the fingertips, then quickly flinging it out from the fingertips getting rid of it. My writings are just the shapes it oozes on the paper.

当我在痛苦时写作的时候，就好像把身体里当下弥散如雾的痛苦用力挤成一滴浓缩的深黑的墨汁，聚集到指尖，从指尖飞速甩出，得以摆脱了它。我写下的字就是它在纸上渗散留下的形状。

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