It’s already spring. Grass grows, flowers bloom. Boars mount sows in the name of love.
已是春天，草长花开，公猪骑上母猪开始恩爱。
But my creativity whithers day by day, drooping like a sunflower whose roots have rotted.
然而，我的创造力一天天萎靡，耷拉得像烂了根的向日葵。
When Wallace reached middle age, he wrapped a rope around his neck and ended his forty-six years.
华莱士中年时，往脖子套上绳，挂掉他四十六年的一生。
He once said: life is like water, and people are fish. Don’t forget what water is.
是他说生活如水，人就是鱼，别忘了水是什么。
I heard that in my teens and remembered it for years.
我十多岁听来这个提醒，往后多年谨记于心。
But the more I look, the more I see: the water is murky. And hard to love.
只是越发看到，这水很浑浊，令人生厌。
I don’t have Wallace’s courage to die.
我没有华莱士赴死的勇气，
There’s still so much I care about. So many longings.
尚有很多牵挂和渴望，
And sometimes, in brief flashes, I still get the urge to live.
还能间歇性地勃起生活的欲望。
But desire isn’t a miracle drug.
但欲望不是神药，
And life can’t always move forward in a state of full arousal.
生活也无法承受永远充血行进之重。
My creativity is dead.
我的创造力死了，
It died even earlier than Wallace did—collapsed in spring, before it ever got to bloom.
比华莱士死得还早，还没开花就倒在春天里。
I look up, and between the sunlight and the struggle, I see clouds floating freely—me, but not me.
我抬起头，在阳光和苦难之间，看见白云悠然，似我非我。
I don’t feel pain. I feel peace.
我没有痛苦，而是平和，
The peace of a flower bud falling silently into the slow current of time.
平和如花苞掉落在悄悄的时间流水上。
I think, I’ll be dead for a long time.
我就想，我会死去很久，
Sinking to the bottom of time’s river.
彻底沉在时间的河底，
No need to hurry.
不必这么着急沉下去。
At least, open my chest once more. And say this: Fuck.
至少先敞开胸怀，提上一句：草。