From my bunker, the little opening above my head reveals clouds passing fast, being partially obscured by foliages blown by the wind. I stand still, alert of any movements of my body in my concrete amplifier. Drops from the outside world are leaking in, cadencing a new pace for me, filling my space with time.
I am waiting. When to stop, when to start?
“Since when had he been waiting? Waiting is always a wait for waiting, wherein the beginning is withheld, the end suspended, and the interval of another wait thus opened (1)”
Thunder.
The levels of my recording machine were not ready for this. This is not good. When will it fill my space again through the hole, and vanish gradually? My bunker sustains time but cannot hold it. I know now.
I am waiting for the thunder, it is bound to happen again, it must; I have to be quick, to respond by action, to adjust my level in time silently.
Tensions.
When will it come? The drops and gusting wind are forgotten for some time.
There!
It was louder than I expected. But I think I got it, yet I know it will come again; It could be better; maybe it will last longer, or it will have more variations in its sustain?
Waiting ends without having to put an end to the waiting.
The thunder is now a foghorn.
I always had a liking for this low resonant sounds coming from afar and getting lost in a different horizon. I feel great satisfaction with my new capture. It envelops warmly as a felt shroud.

I move. I become as thick as resonant. Is there anyone out there? I can hear you breathe. The monologue turns into a dialogue.
Voicing out myself out of my body, I fill the space, I hear my form being shaped and transformed. A certain dizziness. I am intoxicated with my feedback. I am circular and wide, I am moving fast, yet still.
A gust of wind takes over as I am only flesh and bones again.
It’s time to leave before darkness put an end to the difference of light between outside and inside my concrete cylinder.
………
1: Maurice Blanchot, 1997.Awaiting Oblivion ‘Trans’John Gregg’ Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, p.25

從我的碉堡,頭上的小窗泄露了雲朵快速的經過,被風吹的樹葉遮掩了碉堡的一部份。我仍然站著,提醒我的身體動作在這混凝土製的放大器中。外界的水滴滲漏進來,為我帶來新的節拍速度,隨著時間充滿了我的空間。

我在等待。何時停止,何時開始?

「從什麼時候開始,他就一直在等待?等待經常是等待著等待,開始時被壓制,終結時被中止,在起、止之間展開另一場等待。」[1]

雷鳴。

我的錄音機沒有為此做好準備。這不太好。甚麼時候它再穿過孔穴填滿我的空間,並逐漸消失?我的碉堡維持了一段時間,但不能保持下去。我現在知道了。我等待著雷鳴,它勢必再次發生,它必須;我要快,用行動來回應,靜靜的調整我的高度。

緊張形勢。

什麼時候會來?水滴和陣風被遺忘了好一段時間。

那兒!

它比我想像的更響亮。但我認為我找住了它,我知道它還會再來;下次可能更好;也許它會持續更長的時間,或者當中會有更多變化?

等待結束,而無需結束等待。

現在雷鳴有如霧笛。好

我一直喜歡這種由遠方傳來,且於不同地平線迷失的低沉洪亮的聲音。我非常滿意自己的新錄音,它就像獲遮蔽物暖暖的包圍著。

我移動。我有如共鳴般厚重。有沒有人在那裡?我能聽到你的呼吸。獨白變成了對話。

我叫自己走出這身體,填滿這空間,我聽見自己被塑造和轉化。一陣暈眩。我陶醉於我的反嚮之中。我既圓且寬,我快速移動,亦然。

一陣風到來接替,我再次剩下肉與骨。

是時候離開,在黑暗把我的混凝土圓筒內外不同光線吞噬前。

[1] 莫理斯.布朗修 (Maurice Blanchot) 著,約翰·格雷格(John Gregg) 譯,《等

   待遺忘》 (Awaiting Oblivion), 林肯: 內布拉斯加大學出版,1997,25。

[echoes]