Một ý nghĩ.

Một ý nghĩ.

A story I wrote in English:

Một đoạn văn ngắn viết chơi bằng tiếng Anh, mới "tìm thấy" lại trong một sổ tay từ vài năm trước.
Qua đây, có thể thấy điều mà một số nhà văn đã nói, rằng khi bạn chuyển sang viết bằng một ngôn ngữ khác, bạn không hoàn toàn là một với khi bạn viết bằng tiếng mẹ đẻ của bạn.

.. And they’re really big, big guys, she said, her raspy voice now muted, now jagged and/or perforated by the undulating, piercing, jerking, throbbing, shattering trumpet sound emanating, flowing, trickling, oozing, boiling out from the smoke-laden, half-hypnotized, beast-like tamed bar, and again she immersed herself in the ethereal, strikingly playful, self-absorbed, well-planned dancing improvization of her milky, slender, obsessively tapered fingers. Yeah, and surely you’ve had a good good time, I said, my eyes intensely, relentlessly drilling into hers, her eyes a distracting, disturbing wash of deep lacquer the color of a thickened, condensed, jelly-like moonless night, who’d said so before me I don’t know and don’t care, I don’t care what she’s saying to me what I’m saying to her, oh yes I don’t care, I don’t care what you think about me, the foolish way I’m saying, the dubious and ruthless way I’m looking at things, I don’t care how you find my being unable to get through to all of you the fucking message that I deadly want to be more than what I am, yeah whatever you think makes no difference to me is a cipher to me so say it in your words as you like or listen to it in my words. Yes of course now she returns her own eye-drilling to me with the same intensity with which I’ve just done mine to her how I can say about it it contains both more vigor and more venom a nexus of shapeless desires boiling devouring maelstroming hers is a far better drilling force or device than mine could ever be

Yes you’re still far from opening the deeper layers of what you have, rip yourself off and let these burst out or shut your mouth lift your ass and be gone, man

(...)

On a writer (like myself)

... Thus out he played into the bottomless abyss of the countless multitudes of his different selves, recognizing and recalling them, re-repelling and re-accepting them, refamiliarizing and re-unifying himself with them, remultiplying them, reconsolidating them, recreating them, redeconstructing them, re-generating them, re-crossbreeding them, re-dissipating them, re-ramificating them, recasting them, rekilling them, being born and reborn by them, giving and regiving birth to them, being reshaped by them and reshaping them, learning again and again to hate and again and again to love, again and again to live and again and again to die, to destroy and to mould and to smash and to care, to give and hold, to create from nothingness and deliver to nothingness.

(written in 2007)