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被提醒在一天初始回家,让身体变得仁慈,与2号线地铁的律动同步。我的眼睑像手风琴一样重复地上升、下降,在一辆前往布鲁克林的地铁那精疲力尽的轨道上嘎吱作响。我醒来,三位年轻人将他们自己囚禁在通勤的人群紧凑的禁锢中,我立刻看着他们。我看着被白色胶带裹着的手指从干燥、疲惫、另类虐待式的猛烈击打声中伸手到坚定而中空的鼓点声中。我看着这些手伸开,伸展过了大洋,击打成了塞内加尔、塞伦盖蒂以及其它遥远大陆的声音集合,与从我耳机出来的内陆的震动不同。我看着他闭着眼睛迷失着自己,在那里他正在旅行。横贯
Be reminded to go home early in the day to become more compassionate and to synchronize with the rhythm of Metro Line 2. My eyelids repeatedly rose and fell like an accordion, crunching on the exhausted track of a Metro to Brooklyn. I woke up and the three young men imprisoned themselves in the tight confinement of commuters, and I immediately looked at them. I watched my fingers wrapped in white tape reach out to a firm and hollow drum from the dry, exhausted, alternative abusive battering noise. I watched these hands open, stretched across the ocean, hitting Senegal, Serengeti, and other distant continents as a collection of sounds different from the inland vibrations that came out of my headphone. I watched him lose himself with his eyes closed, where he was traveling. Transversal