the post-event pattern

translated by PLS

when i was sixteen i was obsessed with exposing hypocrisies and lies.

i was already quite familiar with the tricks of the media and politicians

and could delve right to the heart of national education matters, though

in taking care of interpersonal relationships, i am rather clumsy.

you were insolvable, like a naughty temptation,

satiating my desire of invasion.

so i decided to stalk you like a detective,

entering the little universe that had karma.

on the other shore was a kingdom of commodity,

a hundred suns were giving speeches in the sky,

the thoughts about immortality, irrevocably stacking up.

when i got closer i could feel your warm, tipsy hair,

this made my brain almost allergically ashamed.

it was a magnificent dusk when we arrived at the town gate,

we walked against and through an orderly puppet brass band,

the cymbals in their hands dazzled me.

when we woke up, you and i were trapped in beauty,

you were carefully listing out the florescence of every trouble.

i met you, an argumentative youth, when i was ill

your excessive passion excited me,

you were brandishing uncontrollable strength.

you lifted me up while ascending to the throne of lion,

this made me happy, my dear,

but what unsettled me was that there’s a prophetic green snake

swirling in my deceptive goblet.

not your privilege-like stalwart body,

but the shadow it cast,

like a coldblooded lesson,

protecting me, frightening me.

my pains were scattered across the remains of the mine,

i was as embarrassed as the sand dunes after the rain.

and now you are trembling next to me,

honest as a suit,

taking blame for the accident.

the lions are roaring toward me,

they are suddenly waking from the bottom of the lake of the dry season.

i have no choice but to accept the invitation,

sheltering in your illegal autonomous territory,

the personal history won’t be witnessed.

therefore i will have to endure more violence,

my resolution is like a failed painting,

against the dictatorship of your broken promises, your humour.

deviants are gathering around gods,

but i encounter love.

secrets make fun of me for being tight lipped,

this predestined punishment has been exerted on me,

as irrational as your soberness.

8. Post-event pattern - 杰