一个月以后我满24岁。24岁以前每天都是23岁末。23岁末。草疯狂生长着，忽得停顿，不知道接下来该向哪一个方向蔓延。23岁末，写过很多东西。所有的文字都不是我的，是别人给的。有个人藏于三戒，隐于我心。在声色犬马之下，我代他说话。
——写给声色犬马下真实生活的人民及梵高的耳朵
May the Dark Dancers of Life Have Peace until Eternity
A month from now, I will be twenty-four. Naturally, everyday till then becomes one of the last days of my dying twenty-three years of age.
It's just at this time, in these days, one could see that the grass in the fields is growing every second and spreading almost ferociously. If you look at it long enough, you could feel that there are occasions when all the movement of the grass suddenly stops, so abruptly that the whole world seems to be muted, as if the spirit of the pasture is nothing but totally confused by where its next destination is.
And it is also in these last days, I have been writing a lot. But the words are not mine. Another entity imparts all these strange symbols that people call words on me, and he makes them stream down my fingers freely. He is in the dark, concealing himself, veiling, dancing, in me, in my blood, under my skin, inside my heart.
He asks me to speak for him in this world. I am his voice.
I write, therefore I am.