[Continue]

Its front legs would also come to a halt in synchrony, whilst its ‘wolf-toe’ hovered silently in mid-air above a stainless-steel disc —— a disc that radiated perfect roundness and luminosity in the morning light —— smooth underside of that disc resembling one of its front legs spinning endlessly, with its ‘wolf-toe’ as the central pivot —— the disc’s upright, open rim resembles one of its ‘wolf-toe, its curved claw endlessly racing upright along the edge of a full moon —— the disc is as exquisite as the nail of a ‘wolf-toe', forever chasing itself yet never able to perceive the ‘wolf-toe’—— that disc is as elegant as a ‘wolf's claw’s’ nail, forever in ceaseless flight alongside an infinitely rotating foreleg, yet never able to draw near the ‘wolf-toe’—— that disc is as perfect as a ‘wolf’-toe’—— from origin to end, its head and tail are utterly smooth and slippery —— that disc is so flat it has no protrusions or sharp edges —— that disc is so steady it has never been blown over by any gale nor trampled down by any heavy foot —— that disc is so serene it has never clashed with the surrounding wooden or concrete slabs —— that disc is so tranquil it has never been eroded by the surrounding wind and rain or by flowers and grass —— that disc is so smooth it has never been gnawed or pecked at by insects, ants, birds or beasts from all directions —— that disc can hold rainwater and cleanse itself of dust and grime —— that disc gathers sunlight and becomes a mirror of its own accord —— that disc is incredibly firm —— that disc never rusts —— that disc is made entirely of steel —— that disc was created quite simply by the hand of a machine —— that disc is both an everyday object and a work of art —— that disc is a second-hand kitchen item I bought from a second-hand shop —— that round disc is also an absolute necessity for ‘Chiang-Chiang’, as cheap as can be yet as practical as can be—that round disc is even more a small gift I have bestowed upon ‘me’ and ‘ego’, one that both encapsulates fleeting moments and saves a great deal of time —— that round dish is a bond and a tacit understanding between ‘me’ and ‘Chiang-Chiang’—— that plate is also a cryptic code and an echo between me and ‘Chiang-Chiang’—— that plate is even more a blind spot and a dead angle between me and  ‘Chiang-Chiang’ —— that disc is not a solitary one, but two identical ones —— that disc is at times two nested and superimposed into one —— that disc is at times two placed side by side or in parallel on a single plane —— that disc is at times two scattered or forgotten in different circumstances —— that disc is two unmarked ‘hands’ that are indistinguishable from one another —— one “hand” of that disc is filled with clear water —— the other “hand” of that disc holds seventy-seven mechanized works, resembling both spherical sweets and rough pebbles, lying quietly and exuding a rich scent of “grain and flesh mingled”…

Each withdraws their gaze, each return to their silence, each retreat into their own sounds, each withdraws to their own situations, each shrinks back into their own skin…

Its head is drawn into the rich fragrance…

Its gaze is cast into the round disc…

Its tactile hairs are drawn towards the rough surface…

The tip of its nose glides across the flat surface…

The tip of its tongue wanders through the open mouth…

Its fangs clatter…

Its ears caress the rim of the dish…

Its throat vibrates beneath its fur…

Its esophagus tugs at the tip of its tail…

The echoes coil into my skull…

Doors and windows shift my gaze…

My footsteps are stripped away by words…

My illuding is dispersed by silence…

At that time —— or perhaps at that very moment —— I did not write a single word; I had nothing to say about its ‘cooperation’, nor could I find the words to describe my own ‘acting’, and I was utterly speechless in the face of its ‘hesitation to speak’… It never exposed my favoritisms and prejudices towards the ‘hand’ (for favoritism is prejudice), nor did it ever pierce through my certainty and misconception about ‘thinking’ (for certainty is misconception), and even less did it ever jolt me awake from my linguistic and expressive inertia (for linguistic inertia is expressive inertia)… To rouse is not to ‘pierce’ one dream after another ——‘dreams’ are merely sheer fragments of intuition randomly pieced together in the idle moments when the burden is laid down and the origin is gazed upon; nor is it to ‘pierce through’ the countless illusions within my dreams ——‘illusions within dreams’ are merely fragments of desire flowing from sheer intuition in a confined state that both embraces and resists silence; nor is it a matter of piercing the ‘impulsive me’, the ‘passionate me’, the ‘vivid me’, the ‘lively me’, the ‘ardent me’, the ‘persistent me’, the ‘hopeful me’, the ‘idealistic me’, the ‘affectionate me’, the ‘me who cherishes my beloved’”, “the optimistic me”, “the pessimistic me”, “the excited me”, “the pain-structuring me”, “the void-imagining me”, “the desiring me”—piercing me into wakefulness or stinging me awake with agony. Rather, it is the ‘narrow-minded me’, the ‘me who goes with the flow’, the ‘me who parrots others’, the ‘me who takes things at face value’, the the ‘me’ who forgets ‘sheerness’, “the ‘me’ who ignores ‘dead angles’”, “the ‘me’ who turns a blind eye to “pain-structuring”, “the ‘me’ who allows ‘love’ to be molded into perfection or deconstructed into fragments”, “the ‘me’ who lets ‘love-thinking' be sealed into immutability or allowed to flow without boundaries”, “the ‘me’ who is arrogant”, “the ‘me’ who illudes whilst feigning sleep” —— all of these are pricked into awakening or stung into vigilance.

Three million years ago, all ‘wolf-toes’ were thumbs, and none of the ‘wolves’ were actually wolves.

Ten thousand years ago, there were no symbolic characters, yet ‘wolves’, ‘dogs’, ‘humans’ and ‘sapiens’ all existed concurrently.

All ‘wolf-toes’ and all ‘Chiang-Chiang’ have a single owner —— but who exactly is it?

All ‘scripts’ and all ‘languages’ also had a single owner; who, then, was that?

Those ancient ‘rock paintings’ I have seen were not ‘paintings’—— could they have been non-symbolic characters?

The ‘Chiang-Chiang' of ten thousand years ago —— with what ‘gaze’ did it become a comrade-in-arms, sharing life and death?

I am left bewildered and ignorant. As shown in the illustration below.

Chiang-Chiang's tail, with its bullet-tip-like aesthetics, its elegant curves, and its remarkable ability to twist and bend free-willed, does not seem like a masterpiece of nature —— after all, that long, shaggy tail, ‘thick on the outside, thin on the inside’, is linked to pain-structuring; rather, it resembles the posthumous artistic expression of ‘hand’ and ‘think’ —— it is a work of art that is both forgotten and left behind —— it is a work of art that is both expressing and illuding —— it is a work of art that is both silent and speaking —— it is a work of art that is both gliding and slipping away —— a work of art that is both adapting and revising —— a work of art that both resists form and trusts in form —— a work that both trusts in art and resists art—a work that both beautifies the ‘claw’ and purifies the ‘hand’—— a remnant that is both like a work of art and unlike one —— a last will that is both like an object and unlike one —— a letter that is both like a last will and unlike one —— this is a ‘letter’… Whenever he ‘bites down’ hard on his tail, the ‘middle section’ of that tail is severely punished by the combined upward and downward pressure of its sixteen premolars —— not to ‘bite through’ or ‘inflict a wound’ —— nor is it as if it were ‘pressing a button’ or ‘massaging’ —— but rather ‘pressing to ask’ something or ‘pressing to restrain’ something —— or perhaps ‘suppressing’ or ‘compressing’ something —— or rather, ‘recalling’ or ‘forgetting’ something; its upper and lower jaws tremble and struggle, its cranial cavity and oral cavity seem to be violently shaking, its nostrils and ear canals appear to have been suddenly sealed shut, and its neck, quivering, seems to be both dragging the spine and pulling at the skull, its coccyx seems, in silence, to reach both into the cervical vertebrae and towards the roots of its teeth; the tips of its teeth seem capable, in an instant, of piercing through all the quills and down on its tail —— straight to the coccyx and the nerves of the tail —— and straight to the spine and the nerves of the back —— and even to the cervical vertebrae and the skull —— connecting the entire skeletal structure and neural network into a complete closed loop…

That instant's ‘punishment’ came upon it suddenly—three, five, seven “biting presses…”

That instant's ‘gaze’ was frenzied and wild; he was mad, he was wild, and he chewed at his tail in a berserk, savage frenzy…

Before that instant, his ears were swatting away mosquitoes and flies, his tail lay flat as he drifted off to sleep…

After that instant, its gaze was clear as ever, its jaws having forgotten a thousand years of sorrowful struggle…

Have I, too, ever seen one sapien after another —— use their incisors to ‘bite down’ on the tip or nail of their thumb —— or use their incisors to ‘bite down’ on the nerve of their lower lip or the blood vessels of their upper lip —— or using their incisors to ‘bite down’ on the end of a pencil or ballpoint pen—or using their left hand to ‘slap’ their left cheek —— or using their right hand to ‘punch’ the right side of their skull —— or ‘slapping’ the outer side of the left thigh with the left palm —— or ‘tapping’ the outer side of the right calf with a racket clenched in the right hand —— or ‘scratching’ the surface of the skin on the right wrist with a small shard of glass held tightly between the fingertips of the left hand —— or ‘tearing’ page after page of a diary with the thumbs and index fingers of both hands?

Seen —— is not necessarily seen with both eyes —— what sort of eye is it that sees?

Chiang-Chiang’s tail —— why is it regarded as a letter ——  a letter spanning across ten thousand years?

What sort of gaze from ten thousand years ago is conveying this letter through one dog’s tail after another?

Woods will rot, stones will erode —— could it be that the dog’s tail is a non-symbolic script that will never decay?

[Unfinished. To be Continued]