Of the 46 poems in this collection of poems, the earliest one was written in 199 1, and the latest one was written in 1998. The rest appeared in my notebook from 1992 to 1997, and then it was put on hold for a long time. At the same time, a strange collection of clippings appeared.

1998, I got a writing grant in Taipei and returned to Paris. I slowly took out those fragments with 600 words of manuscript paper in Montmartre's apartment. I modified the retouching arrangement device until each segment found its best position. Some fragments are constantly lost, trying to become another poem. This means that this pen is very important. There is also a kind of black ink, which makes people forget to cover the pen cover when their middle finger is touched with ink.

Best of all, after working all afternoon, someone knocked at the door and went out for a drink, a play and a meal.

In June 5438+1999 10, I finally finished writing 46 poems and returned to Taipei with the disk typed by my friend in February. Then I finally bought a computer and modified it with one key.

In some beautiful and strong days, I was inspired by many tentacles, dreaming of taking poetry to a strange and alienated place and freezing it quickly. Only the clear temperature at the end of reading makes them thaw slowly. Chinese characters and their images are particularly beautiful in the thinking of poetry after rapid action, shining with transparent cold light and emitting implicit smoke. This is eternal, and there is still some wild melancholy.

If you are in an ordinary teahouse and look at the people you don't know next door and the photos they just developed, you will be deeply moved to leave, because you realize that simple, ordinary and powerful life actions are irreplaceable, and you are convinced that everything can be turned into poetry, so you will simply squander it wholeheartedly.