Translator’s note: Chi Ta-wei’s 紀大偉 short story, “Beneath His Eyes, in Your Palm, a Red, Red Rose Is About to Bloom” 他的眼底, 你的掌心, 即將綻放一朵紅玫瑰 (1994), is a queer, prophetic, postmodern, posthuman, drug-fuelled cyberpunk pastiche, a descent into a stygian labyrinth of memory. The narrative jumps jarringly between the intrusive mode of a second-person voice inside the reader’s head and internal (or is it external?) dialogue. Chi weaves the generic hallmarks of dial-up modem era cyberculture together with Greek myth, Taiwanese science fiction, literary theory and philosophy to produce a visceral, drug-fuelled neo-noir Möbius strip of memory, enfolded in fractal layers of meaning that transcend cyberpunk cliché through an eerie prophecy, one that heralds our current moment of surveillance capitalism edging towards techno-feudalism.
The story is literally psychedelic, that is, mind-revealing. On an unknown planet, a character searching for clues about a drug epidemic on behalf of the vast conglomerate that produces it plummets into a labyrinth of repressed trauma. Their discovery? Google-search, Select, Copy, Paste in Donna Haraway: “Cyborg replication is uncoupled from organic reproduction. Modern production seems like a dream of cyborg colonisation work, a dream that makes the nightmare of Taylorism seem idyllic… a cyborg orgy, coded by C3I, command-control-communication-intelligence” (A Cyborg Manifesto, p. 6).
Chi’s story prefigures a number of themes central to the neo-baroque strain of Taiwanese speculative fiction: a catastrophic, post-apocalyptic Oedipal-Confucian confrontation with the family order. Consciousness and biological existence can be downloaded, uploaded, copied and pasted, overwritten, erased or hacked; waking life and dreaming, life and death, are rendered indiscernible. The chimeric, postmodern, modular, modifiable and glitch-ridden nature of the text is its message.
[TRANSLATION] “Beneath His Eyes, In Your Palm, a Red Rose is About to Bloom” (1984) by Chi Ta-wei, translated by Nathaniel Isaacson
((( Beloved child, do you still remember that optical illusion? Roll a piece of paper into a cylinder, hold it up to your left eye and open both eyes wide, and a hole appears in your right hand. You have to admit this trick—this illusion—would stimulate fear and excitement in your childhood self. On the last trip, you summoned the spraying waves in your memory, wasteland and desert, and sipped on your generic whisky. You pick up an SM promotional card, roll it into a paper tube, fashion a crude telescope and survey the hazy nebula outside the window, and the unfamiliar outpost you are about to land at. )))
((( You are just like an intriguing story, and I am reading you. In your ever-turning pages, I discover loose threads and flaws. Me reading you like this, is it an intrusion? You should be able to sympathise, because this is necessary for understanding you. Don’t forget: we are of the same body, we have to live together; I have to get to know you well. Now you are feeling drowsy and can’t pay any mind to my reading. In that case, have a good sleep. I’m a quiet reader. This time, let me accompany you quietly, protect you serenely. )))
((( From the vestigial memories in your brain, I read the experience of your being dispatched to a strange place. At that time, you get to the unfamiliar outpost, pull on your old rain jacket, and make your way into the murky grey streets, kicking grey-green pebbles out of your way. Sometimes your rain boots splash in peaty puddles, your revolver buried deep in your pocket. You see the thinly scattered passers-by, darkly clothed, all men, but you don’t see any women. You also catch a fleeting glimpse of a familiar shadow flashing by in the dark alleyway. It seems like a colleague from the Work Unit. You convince yourself you were mistaken. Since you were dropped off here by your work unit, you must just be reminiscing about your co-workers for some reason. That must be it, you figure. )))
((( You are a total stranger here, an outsider; a demagnetised compass needle. The air quality is poor and polluted, and after passing from outer space into the atmosphere all you can see is mired in yellow-grey shadow. The stars in the sky are invisible. An unconscious urge compels you to cover your nose, and suddenly you notice your stubble scraping your hand. The gloomy streets are lit with SM Sun Lamps. You know that SM Sun Lamps are different from the old sun lamps; only SM Sun Lamps can produce artificial light that accurately mimics real sunlight. Underneath these lights you can see the pink lustre of sunlight shimmering through a lock of hair. All along the way you’ve been seeing SM brand pulp-burger stores. The beef in these hamburgers is made from compressed recycled paper mixed with cockroaches and night soil to increase the protein content. The texture and flavour are quite close to the real thing, but it’s actually only 1:1,200 parts genuine beef. You buy a burger to hold off the vague sensation of hunger rising in your stomach. On the wrapper, you catch a glimpse of a watermark: “SM is omniscient. SM is omnipotent. SM is omnipresent.” You realise there is nothing clear-cut about SM’s influence here. )))
((( You know: SM Enterprises and Diguo—EMPIRE—Corporation are the same, both are multi-pronged enterprises that have grown to prominence over the last few years. People used to be ruled by nation-states, like the kingdoms, commonwealths and republics of yore; but countries in the new century have fallen into decline and enterprises are the masters of destiny for the new humanity. All of the big enterprises compete fiercely for supremacy, partitioning up the stars in and beyond the galaxy. But SM isn’t entangling in colonial prospecting like that. Because SM doesn’t occupy soil; SM just occupies people’s senses, their feelings and dreamscapes. You know what these two letters—SM—mean, it’s SIMULATE MIRACLES, and this is SM’s corporate philosophy. Time and again, as the solar system’s material resources are gradually depleted, SM seizes the moment to release an artificial replacement, or provide an experience that mimics the real, like man-made light and man-made beef, asserting their dominion over consumers’ nervous systems. Despite the fact that SM is able to fulfil quite a few human urges that aren’t easily met, time and again they also come under attack: is there any difference between offering human beings simulacra that border on the real and cheating them? Isn’t it immoral? Isn’t it illegal? But just as you had worried, unfortunately, few people are inclined to contemplate metaphysical questions like this. You ought to know: on the surface of a lonely little planet, getting to see rose-coloured sunshine or eat a piping hot hamburger is a rare treat for most. In this age of toil most people can’t help but stubbornly hope for something “real.” )))
((( Then again, you know that SM really is beyond the pale. Some people facetiously say that SM means sadomasochism—a game of giving and receiving sexual abuse. )))
((( All along the road you see vending machines for cocaine and heroin. Some people are using right there next to the machines, some sitting and some lying down, a cacophony of yelling, moans and obscenity. You can’t help but furrow your brow and shake your head at their destitution, as a wave of grieving indignation surges up in your heart. Psychotropic drugs make you think of Alicia. The two of you who depended on each other for survival; this girl who lost her life to psychotropic drugs. Why, why couldn’t she hang on? For her sake, you want to find the answer in the helter-skelter jumble of your memories: why, why couldn’t she hang on? And there you are, like the reader of a lost fragment of some work of meta-fiction, all of this toilsome searching and conjecture cannot be in vain. The psychotropics of the old days, “drugs” denounced by all, have now become a commodity readily available for purchase. Given the size of the market, all of the major corporations of the new era have thrown their lot into making the massive psychotropic market a key part of their portfolio. Of course, SM, the company most well known for being shrouded in secrecy, would not be left out. SM’s flagship commodity, Black Mirror, is a sensory tool capable of stimulating hyperreal pleasures.1 You’ve probably seen that SM commercial that was broadcast last year: a group of elementary school students on Earth go to Brazil for a hiking trip, and all they see is desert; in their hopelessness the kids all whip out children’s formula Black Mirror Frozen Juice Bars, and dig in. Next thing you know, they’re all seeing tropical forests that were overtaken by the wasteland years ago, and the incomparably large, legendary Amazon River comes surging out of the desert. The ad ends with everyone cheering joyfully. You still remember when the ad came out there was quite a public outcry: in fact, the debate wasn’t about exaggerated claims in advertising; since SM products had always been efficacious, their efficacy was something people had a love-hate relationship with. Finally, ever-prideful of their product, SM made a public statement: children’s formula Black Mirror only contains one percent pure product, whereas the adult standard is five percent, so consumers can use it without concern, and so on. However, to your knowledge, in comparison to traditional psychotropics, Black Mirror is much more potent. Its effects last longer and the hallucinations it induces are more vivid. Naturally, you’d expect because of this, Black Mirror is even easier to get addicted to, and its side effects are even more dreadful. But even though Black Mirror has been on the market for many years, so far it is still in its promotional phase, and it hasn’t fulfilled its anticipated distribution network. From the beginning Black Mirror has been too controversial, so not only did most consumers take on a wait-and-see approach, unwilling to just go out and buy it; many retailers also just waited to see which way the wind blew. But all it would take is for SM to have another go at gaining consumers’ trust and Black Mirror’s market potential will be boundless. The truth is, in anarchic times like these, if it weren’t for the hesitance of consumers, the influence of a drug like this would really be uncontrollable; aside from consumers, only organisations crusading for justice or those with some other benefit in mind could interfere with the natural demand such a drug commands these days. For example, the Work Unit you so loyally serve. )))
((( Why have you been dispatched to this unfamiliar planet? It seems you are still being kept in the dark, even though this clearly concerns you. You remember toiling away at the Work Unit for decades; you have hardly even dreamed of taking a vacation, but all of a sudden the Work Unit has had the generosity to send you back to Earth for a break. Earth? To you, Earth is a distant symbol in space time. As soon as Alicia died on the shore of the Mediterranean Sea, you left Planet Earth, determined to take up work in some far flung foreign land. Why did you become part of that Work Unit? So many years after the incident, not even you can recall the real reason why. You have always thought that the person you were then wanted to get away from that painful place, so you wandered as far as you could stray, in order to just leave it all behind. Your performance in the Work Unit was not exactly noteworthy, and quite astonishingly, out of the blue the Work Unit has you return to Earth for vacation. On the eve of your departure, the Higher Ups that you have never even seen suddenly come forth with a demand: before arriving on Earth, you will be transferring flights on some planet; so the Higher Ups would like you to finish up an investigation while you are there as a business excursion. What kind of investigation? The Higher Ups want you to investigate a Black Mirror epidemic here, and to see what you can dig up on SM. The Higher Ups have indicated that highly pure Black Mirror is all over the market here: at the club that the Higher Ups have told you to go and check out, for example. And especially among the vendors of high purity Black Mirror. It is rumoured that up to 100 percent pure Black Mirror is reaching the market. My God, you think, one percent pure Black Mirror will have you seeing the Amazon River; fifty percent must have you seeing Heaven and Hell at the same time. Clearly, fifty percent pure Black Mirror is in violation of galactic law. Although contemporary laws are not able to, and have never been able to, regulate commerce, you figure some benevolent organisation like your Work Unit would be able to step in. This “convenient” excursion stirs up two contradictory sets of emotions: the first is that this is no simple task, because SM Enterprises are a seemingly watertight and omnipotent intelligence system, and you can only do your best; but this mission also demonstrates the Higher Ups’ confidence and faith in you, and you feel like you ought to have a sense of pride.
And moreover, it is because of Black Mirror that Alicia, whom you were mutually dependent upon for survival, disappeared from your life. So of course you would put your all into the assignment to investigate SM and Black Mirror, come to this unknown and inauspicious place carrying the familiar cold steel of your revolver, is that not so? )))
((( You seem to remember: the mysterious Higher Ups gave you a fake club membership card made by the Work Unit to help you with your task. The front of the card has the faint watermark of SM, and the back side is an LCD panel displaying directions to get to the club. So even though you are completely unfamiliar with this place, and even though the mass transit here is inoperative, you are still able to navigate your way through the winding labyrinth of streets. You make your way around a series of dark and foreboding buildings; and finally there is the club, awaiting your arrival. You pass through the main entryway, which is adorned with the letters M–I–N–O–S in neon lights, and a dim passageway leads you to a mysterious basement and an interior door, where you swipe your counterfeit membership card, which doubles as a key. As soon as you open the door you are stunned by what your eyes behold: before you is an infinitely vast space under a canopy of twinkling stars. But your astonishment is misplaced. Clearly you have walked into the cramped basement of a planet with a polluted atmosphere. In fact you ought to know: seeing as this club is an SM affiliated enterprise, all sorts of seemingly real wonders are likely to appear. Later, Feifei explains: it is infinitely vast because they have installed SM’s Infinite Lens, and the canopy of stars is because they have installed SM’s Night Lamp—a parallel product for Sun Lamp. Feifei says the Mirror and the Lamp, which represent the impulses of human artistic creativity, are the two distinguishing features of this club. )))
((( Who is Feifei? She could be one of the designers and managers of the club, or maybe she is a shareholder with SM. Based on Feifei’s thorough familiarity with SM, you could surmise a few official titles to give her. But it is up to your heart to figure out what Feifei is really about, and this girl Feifei is… really… a… mystery. You noticed Feifei not long after you got to the club. Or that is to say, you noticed that pair of deep eyes, as if that pair of seemingly familiar pupils had been awaiting your arrival all along, pulling you in like an abyss. You stare straight into her eyes; but you probably have not heard of the philosopher Nietzsche, who once said that, “when you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss also gazes into you.” )))
((( You cannot deny: you had certain intentions with her, but you also know that these intentions were not exclusively sexual in origin. What were you really expecting from her? To be blunt, when you first visited the club, as you were still feeling hungry, you discreetly brought up the subject of dinner. It is not just pulp burgers here too, is it? Unexpectedly, Feifei greets you warmly in Mediterranean, then carries out Macedonian roast lamb and Thracian wine. To you, this is without a doubt a severe shock: surprisingly, with one look she could see that you are an Earthling from the Mediterranean. Astoundingly, she also speaks your mother tongue with ease. Somehow this place is able to furnish the traditional foods of home. She explains to you: it is because SM is just that miraculous; whether it is sushi or roast duck, sorghum or rice wine, they can put it all on the table here at the club just the same. You are pleasantly surprised. You practically cast aside your original mission and dignity as you tear into the genuine, savoury flavour of roasted mutton fibre intermingled with basting sauce. Feifei greets other members fluently in a myriad of languages you have never even heard before, and as you listen you realise that one of those languages is Huhui,2 and another is the indigenous language of the Argentinian Pampas. Finally, you are able to truly understand why this club is a playground for the nouveau riche and migrants. Under the basement’s simulated skies, in the gentle midst of Feifei’s native languages, you can see that every consumer is entranced by the wondrous food set before them. They have no need to ruminate on artificial hamburgers or choke down vitamin and fibre pills. They can really eat. When the senses override the intellect, people are not interested in anything else. )))
((( After a number of visits, you are able to get some material out of Feifei. This young lady named Fidela, who everyone calls Feifei, speaks quite openly with you about Black Mirror. She says SM sees looking glasses as observers. Because a mirror is a creator constituted entirely of frozen matter, its coldness makes it an indifferent witness to all, whether or not it is visible to humankind. Often the so called invisible is just a matter of the limitations of the human eye, and naturally we are led to believe that a looking glass can only reflect the image of that which is visible to the naked eye. SM pointed out that human beings are only indirect, secondary observers: in front of a looking glass, through the naked eye or another image recording device, human beings are limited to appreciating that fraction of the image reflected therein. SM noted that, generally speaking, looking glasses are not necessarily flat, shiny objects either; they can be other types of observers—for example, an insect, a curious lover, an unmanned satellite—all could be said to fit SM’s broad definition of a looking glass. So, a researcher who was interested in the works of Lewis Carroll came up with a plan for synthesising the psychotropic compound in Black Mirror. Black Mirror gazes into the thirsts and desires of the human soul, and human beings rely on Black Mirror to get a glimpse of themselves, satiating themselves with its narcotic properties. SM has produced Black Mirror in a number of forms, including pills, carbonated drinks, false teeth, suppositories up to 69mm, neuromagnetic strips, and the like. Altogether there are 666 varieties. Feifei points out that the unit that synthesised Black Mirror had expended significant effort, reading the ancient Gnostic classics, notebooks of alchemists, Tibetan oral histories and poetic traditions, the complete works of the Marquis de Sade, Jungian psychiatry, Diderot’s Encyclopédie, and finally China’s Materia Medica; you are dumbstruck, so you exclaim that SM really has unusual methods. “Methods?” Feifei shakes her head. She says what is different about SM is not the materials they use or their methods, it is their perspective. “Perspective?” You can only feel even more baffled. After that, you are reminded of those winding alleyways that brought you to Club M—I—N—O—S; the labyrinthine streets that surround it form the spiralling arm of an eddy; the club is a black whirlpool that swallows all. Moreover, you think, is not SM’s truly genius production formula the arm itself? You stay on as an interloper in the warm tiger’s den of the club, intent upon getting information from Feifei and the other members of the club. As you gather more and more information, your understanding of matters grows poorer and poorer, to the point that the world you once knew has slowly begun to disintegrate under the sardonic sneer of this information. )))
((( You stay in the small hostel that Feifei introduced you to. All four walls of the room are covered in metallic mirrors. Having heard Feifei talk about SM’s Black Mirror, this room makes you a bit uncomfortable. From behind those mirrors on all four sides, who knows whether there are countless eyes spying on you? You push your face up against the cold surface of the mirror and scrutinise it carefully. Since humans are dependent on lenses, they are observers of observers; you hope to see whether the mirror can pick out anything on you. Spiritless, turbid white eyes and a weary face. In a wave of dizziness, you seemingly sense Alicia, from another time, brushing up against your face, her pink fingertips pressing up against the backs of your ears. )))
((( Maybe to sate your lust, a few days later you bring someone back to this room. You take off each other’s clothing, allowing limbs and organs to intertwine with one another, smearing bodily fluid on one another’s necks like conjoined volcanoes. Hot sweat running down your brows, you look up at the mirrors; the surfaces of those mirrors wrap closely around you on all sides, reproducing an infinite regression of meat bodies. Your heart skips a beat as you realise: the two of you are poised on the precipice of finitude and infinity. This room is at once the narrowest cell and at the same time a never ending labyrinth. )))
((( That person whom you brought back to your room is someone you met at the dance. Feifei was particularly insistent that you go to this impromptu dance. On this key night, you experience even more Earth foods at the club, meet more people who had put down roots here, and even some who were willing, or perhaps unwilling, exiles. You do not seem to notice any women; just like any number of other extraterrestrial planets—the environment of some planets suits women and the environment of some planets suits the bodily composition of men—this place happens to suit male inhabitants. You see quite a few men paired off with one another, but then again you have seen quite a bit of this at the Work Unit as well, so you do not find it odd. Playing host, Feifei shuttles back and forth dressed to the nines, engaging in animated conversation with the guests in all kinds of languages. Once again you are struck by her capacity for languages. The music picks up, pon cha cha, pon cha cha, one two three, one two three, and the guests spontaneously start dancing the cha cha. On the dance floor, pair after pair of passionate gay dancers form into unusually well ordered ranks resonating with syncopated rhythm, like a file of marching troops, but more provocative. You ask a familiar looking worker at the club (you really think you have seen him someplace else unexpected, but you cannot believe it), and then you realise that dancing the cha cha together at midnight is the distinguishing feature of dance parties at this club. You dance once with Feifei, but only that one dance; and when Feifei switches partners, your roiling hot pulse is on the verge of bursting through the cold, hard top of your skull. But you do not go back to being lonely: an unfamiliar hand suddenly grasps your warm shoulder. You look into your partner’s eyes; surprisingly, somewhere deep in the profundity is also Feifei’s abyss. So you do not say a word, taking hold of your partner’s two cold hands as you segue into the next tango, the next foxtrot, the next Black Danube. Neither of you says anything. He is a young man, but his youthful physique just does not match his melancholic disposition. In this young man’s eyes, you are seemingly able to see Alicia. You laugh to yourself, why bother with such spurious associations? First Feifei reminded you of Alicia, and now this young man reminds you of her. Alicia the omnipresent. She has buried countless mines in the folds of your cerebral aqueduct; her ashen countenance is made of the precursor ingredients for gunpowder. What seems more likely to you is that perhaps this boy who goes by the name Theseus is one of Feifei’s siblings. (Oh. You think they are siblings? Actually, these two people are related by blood, but they are not siblings.) Then you and Theseus down two glasses of Sicilian Amaro. Who knows if it is that Sicilian vigour or not, but you take Theseus, with his translucent blushing face, back to your room with you. Actually, the partner you had been imagining was Feifei. But many days after having arrived on this planet, on a climactic night, you bring someone else back to that bed surrounded by mirrors on all sides. Mount Etna erupts; the broad surfaces of those four mirrors shatter into a blizzard of reflective shards. Theseus leaves ruddy youthful tooth marks on your back. Nightmarish magma swallows the two of you. }}}
((( You are still catching your breath, but you have not forgotten: actually, you can also gather information from Theseus. You casually mention SM to him. For some reason, Theseus is very forthcoming. Oh, it is so unfair, so very unfair; could you really not have sensed it: Feifei and Theseus have no reason to be so up front with a stranger like you about SM. But they were both very forthcoming. When the mystery you have been trying to solve is so simply revealed to you, there must be some reason for it that is not simple in the slightest. But the back story that Theseus reveals actually has a profound impact upon the story you are wrapped up in. There in the bed, he talks with you about Black Mirror, and the way he talks is almost the same as Feifei. How can Theseus know about these things? He vaguely explains: he and Feifei have a certain blood relation, and he has worked inside SM. You think, since Theseus can speak so candidly with you about SM, whether what he says is true or false, it must be valuable one way or another. So although your meat body is in a torpor, your spirit is invigorated. You delicately probe for answers about SM, big and small. For example, you ask about Feifei’s surprising skills as a polyglot. Theseus says that has to do with the specialised training regimen of the “Babel” language programme. )))
((( “Babel?” Originally, many years ago, a linguist employed by SM who was familiar with ancient Christian classics pointed out: the human beings of myth used a shared language, but because their plans to construct the “Tower of Babel,” which would reach all the way to the Kingdom of Heaven, were an affront to the God of ancient Christianity, God caused their common language to split apart into different branches, preventing human beings from cooperating with one another. When the common language divided, the tower crumbled to pieces. This researcher at SM believed that this religious fable was not without educational value: if the result of building a tower up was the fragmentation of languages, then why could linguistic research methods that went in the opposite direction not bring about the unification of languages? After many years of investigation, this researcher finally developed a new language that could be used throughout the entire galaxy: “Back to Babelese.” Referring to “Back to Babel” was an allusion to the potential for human languages, which had diverged in all directions, to be united once again. And so, as death approached, this researcher for SM, who had investigated over 10,000 languages, used “Back to Babelese” to write her lamentation on a stone stele: she thought that “Back to Babelese” had no actual use value because it was in fact impossible to force every person in the galaxy to learn the same language. It has been said that her sense of hopelessness was actually the result of her own personal circumstances: this researcher, surnamed Zhao, from the Asia Pacific region of Planet Earth, who in her earlier years had used the planet Sappho as an outpost and the many languages she was skilled in to take up with elegant and talented women; but in her later years, when Zhao was using the “Babylonian” she was so proud of to seek the affection of women from other planets, she ran into a number of snags. They were turned off by the coldness of Zhao’s language; it was too logical, too pedantic. Zhao was disheartened, and thought that those girls had not rejected her because of the coldness of the language, but because they were turned off by the fact that she was getting on in years. And whether for the public or private life of an academic, old age was an incomparable misfortune. Researcher Zhao bemoaned her standardised language, but the management at SM did not see it like that. The way SM saw it, since “Back to Babelese” was the cornerstone of the “Tower of Babel,” and the various languages of the universe were the capstones, then it would merely take using “Back to Babelese” to reconstruct the tower for SM to be able to seize control of the entirety of the new replica of the tower of language. So SM created the “Babel” language programme: first by learning “Back to Babelese,” then using SM’s specialised methodologies to study the principles of differential development of languages, pupils are given great capacity to master the innumerable languages of the universe. Feifei has been taking this type of training for quite some time. )))
((( The next thing Theseus discloses is perhaps even more of a shock to you. Theseus casually intimates that, in fact, all of the foods sold at the club are also made with a technique similar to that of the “Tower of Babel.” Theseus says: as it turns out, the “Tower of Babel” language methodology influenced another pilot programme at SM. Since SM had the ability to take control of countless languages by means of their technique for reassembling the sundered fragments of a broken tower, then SM could also apply this set of specialised language construction principles to seizing control of other types of “language.” For SM’s part, they also thought that food was a “language,” generally speaking, and SM decided to invest in the broad “linguistic” category of “food.” SM developed Alimentary Resin types A and B, and a universal application liquid. Using just the aforementioned three things as base material, and manipulating 69 other variables in the production process, the first two could each be made into high quality imitations of all kinds of animal and plant fibres, and the latter could be used as the basis of all types of beverages. After compression moulding, the ever changing SM simulated food is complete; its texture and flavour are exactly the same as the real thing. And thus, this surprisingly long and comprehensive menu became another one of the accomplishments demonstrating SM’s disdain for the universe. But while these foodstuffs were easier to produce than the real thing, their exorbitant cost could not compete with typical ingredients for market share. It seems that public opinion led to opposition and attacks against this new product, and so, for the time being, this “Menu of Babel” had to be promoted under the close supervision of SM, and had not been officially brought to market. The promotional territory is limited to SM’s key outposts in the universe, like, for example, this club you patronise. Actually, “promotion” is just the term SM used for it. The fact of the matter is it is an “experiment,” and the guests at the club, like you, are willing subjects. After hearing what he says, you fly into a rage, feeling gravely deceived. Faced with your seething curses, Theseus’s serene demeanour does not change. He says everyone knows: SM is selling “illusions,” they have never offered “reality”; when you came to SM, should you not have prepared yourself psychologically for facing simulations? Theseus goes on to say that, considering how mad you are, he really does not know if he should keep talking to you about the mysterious “seasoning” SM is putting into food. Of course you press on with more questions. Originally, both Alimentary Resins A and B contained Black Mirror. SM wanted to really captivate their consumers. Through promotional campaigns, SM wanted to engrave the Babel Tower menu and Black Mirror on the hearts of consumers at the same time. Not only did the food at the club fulfil club members’ longing for home, the Black Mirror in the food also quietly worked its way into guests’ hearts; unbeknownst to its subjects, the Mirror unearthed their darkest desires and used them to stir up even more monstrous appetites and expectations, and then, even more insidiously, fulfilled their senses and hearts. SM laid this bait, this bewitchment; you wonder, will SM be able to hook the hearts of everyone in the galaxy, and everything else, everything? At least, at least, SM has hooked you. )))
16X5.that seems man child heart state singular front to white quality oforigin.3
((( Theseus the youth says that, in the club, members can partake in even higher quality, even purer Black Mirror experiences. So you ask directly, like what? Theseus says SM put low-purity Black Mirror on the market long ago, so that even a kid could buy Black Mirror candies from a vending machine. But how could SM be satisfied with that? SM has most certainly synthesised Black Mirror of very high purity. So SM plans to promote high purity Black Mirror at strategic locations throughout the universe. You also ask why it is that you have been to the club so many times, but you have never seen any Black Mirror promotions. Theseus explains that the equipment and super high purity Black Mirror used in this experiment were of considerable expense. Moreover, the experiment could not be carried out on typical club members, so only those who had really thrown their money around at the club and were known to have indulged in regular Black Mirror a number of times were able to try it. You also ask Theseus: if the club seems so boundlessly expansive because they have installed SM’s Infinity Mirror, but the actual structure is not all that big, where do they find the space to carry out their experiments with high purity Black Mirror? Theseus cryptically responds: a few days ago, were not the dark and narrow alleyways you made your way through prior to the apparently even narrower path to the club themselves an infinite underground space you had never before imagined existed? After all, the upshot is you have gone from a limited, material space, to an infinite realm of the senses; behind it is nothing more than what appears to be an ordinary dingy secret passageway into a basement. Now, you find yourself facing another infinity, do you not? Could it be possible for you to use a similar pattern to the one before to push on into yet another unfathomable dark underground? You think this must point to a secret passageway from the club in the basement to an even deeper underground realm. Going from the surface to the basement is going from limited space to infinite space; going from the basement to the basement of the basement must mean going from finite–infinite space to infinite–infinite space. You assume this is quite possible: not only could SM have possibly set up a sub basement, SM could have even built a subterranean castle in the sky; perhaps SM had even created an underground metropolis beneath the surface of the planet. You also ask Theseus about the side effects of Black Mirror. You feel strange: high purity Black Mirror must have even more deleterious side effects; so how could anyone be willing to experience a dose of high purity Black Mirror? Theseus smiles coldly, explaining that SM is a rational enterprise, so SM is not about to harm their consumers; besides, Black Mirror’s side effects are not in the same category as those of regular hallucinogens; in fact, you cannot use the term side effects at all to describe the side effects of Black Mirror.)))
White and moist. Great which apparent changed¥ ! in until lightly, play thus achieved originally.
((( That was precisely the season when the days were short and nights were long, and the club would open as soon as the cyan sun had set. So, not having rested up much, you roll over and get out of bed, and put on a dignified face, planning to go to the club and investigate further. Walking in the dark streets, you absent-mindedly fumble about in the pocket of your rain jacket. The cold, raw revolver is still nestled snugly in the depths of your pocket. You let out a sigh and think, who knows what else could happen at the club? The truth is, you don’t know, just wait and see what else could happen at the club. You stroke the barrel, and brush up against something else. It feels kind of prickly. )))
.16X5 best when ask yourself since, when finally down and out naturally! In until lightly, play this achieved..
((( Are you coming around? Can you speak? )))
..I.. □□※□ ¥ of which type a strike.
((( Can you still feel something in your coat pocket? )))
…It’s the □□※□ ¥ gift Theseus gave me.
A long object, red at one end and dark green at the other. It must be some kind of ancient plant; I must have seen it in an encyclopaedia, but I am not sure what it is. When I was getting dressed, right before I left the hostel, Theseus grabbed me and put this prickly object in my hand. He said it was a gift. I asked him what kind of gift. He said this ancient plant represents strength, wisdom, mystery, and it also represents love. I asked him why he would give me a gift like this, and he said it was because he was very happy to have been able to meet me. He said this is a “rose”. I gaze at the blood red petals of the “rose”, feeling uncanny, because I never knew, it turns out, how beautiful ancient plants were.
((( Exactly. In short, you went into the underground club another time, and in the end you really did find a secret passage to an infinite space, did you not? )))
As soon as Feifei □□※□ ¥ isn’t paying attention, I slip into the secret passage. I. Actually, in the end I really did enter another infinite space. Black from earth to sky, not a single star is visible. But, standing all around is a myriad of light-proof silver phone booths. Wave upon wave of eerie cries issue forth from inside of each chrysalis-like phone booth. I don’t know what is going on
((( Not long after that you experience it yourself. )))
It turns out □□※□ ¥ I am standing in a silver forest, aside from that it’s all just darkness. I feel a rush of faintness, like something isn’t right. All of a sudden one of the phone booth-like structures envelops me. It turns out to be a wraparound mirror shaped like half of a pill capsule, it’s incredibly bright inside, before my eyes I see innumerable images of myself gyrating and flying about
((( That’s a mirror capsule SM designed specifically for the purpose of high purity experiences. )))
At first I thought I had been incar□□※□ ¥ cerated by SM, I thought this was the beginning of a torture, but, that’s not it. I suddenly feel very relaxed, very comfortable, there is no pressure. My chest is filled with warm air
((( High purity Black Mirror vapour begins to disperse inside the mirror capsule. You feel blissed-out, which is because you have eaten quite a bit of food at the club containing Black Mirror, so you have become addicted to it. You cannot shake Black Mirror’s comfort, so the Black Mirror vapour brings you infinite happiness. What do you see next? I need to know. )))
I □□※□ ¥ my own image, endlessly replicating itself, flying around inside the mirror capsule.
Finally, all of the images intertwine with one another until they form a wriggling black curtain.
I feel like I am seeing □ paramecia, Datura and top□□※□ ¥ologial Mobius strips, taking form in space and overlapping with one another, the whirling fractal bobs up and down before me.
I realise I have finally returned to the Mediterranean Sea I long for in my dreams.
But it’s not just that. I have returned to the Mediterranean Sea of decades ago, the sea as young as me. I’ve heard the Mediterranean used to be a dead sea, but, now I can see with my own two eyes blue waves billowing before me ceaselessly. Exactly. I’ve traveled through time. I’ve returned to the Mediterranean shores of thirty years ago: a pure and naïve time. Barefoot, I walk and skip in the sand, white grains of sand sticking to my feet, clever sand crabs skitter about in front □□※□ ¥ and behind me.
The beach is devoid of people, so I take off my jacket, then shed everything else. After stripping down completely, I experience a private shock: my own naked body was once so young and supple. Just like Theseus’ young body. After all, I am nature’s only child; I am the precocious treasure of the ocean. I jump into the ocean with a splash. Wa. So cold. Hoo. I allow a stream of warm piss to disperse freely in the ocean waters, just like the unrestrained days of my youth. But
Huh?
Hey, who covered my eyes? Cut it out, take your hands off me. Who is it?
It’s you. Alicia. It’s really you. Let me get another good look at you, feel you. You’re as beautiful as the Alicia in my memory. Your eyes are so bright. Can I crawl inside your pupil, hide out there and talk with you, observe this miraculous world right there with you? I want to
3What, you want me to get dressed? Why? There’s no one else here. And moreover you are my good sister, what’s the matter? You should take off your clothes too. You say I’m already sixteen, so we can’t be so carefree? Don’t worry so much. You ask me how I got to this moment thirty years ago? I think, it has something to do with Black Mirror. You don’t want me to touch Black Mirror? Black Mirror isn’t good? The truth is, I didn’t want to touch Black Mirror either. Well then, why did I get involved with Black Mirror? It’s complicated, I don’t know how to explain it. In a word, Black Mirror really can make you happy. If it weren’t for Black Mirror, I wouldn’t have been able to come to the old days on the shores of the Mediterranean, to see you again. We should play. I want to play under the sun to my heart’s content. Don’t speak, why don’t we go for a swim? Don’t want to? Why not? Ai, take off your clothes, stop being so obstinate. Take them off. You won’t? If you won’t do it, will I have to do it for you? Ai, I’m not letting you get away. Don’t run. Alicia, Alicia. I am your brother, you are my little sister, I love you so much, how could I hurt you? Look, you’re totally soaked. Ok, ok. Stop screaming. Just stop screaming and I’ll let you go. I told you, stop screaming. Oh, so you’re going to bite me? You think just because I’ve taken Black Mirror that I can’t feel pain? Fine, I’ll dunk your whole head under the water, drown you to death. Suffocate you. Now what kind of tricks are you trying to pull? What is that? Struggle. Keep that up. Stopped moving? Hey, you are a kid who grew up on the seaside too, there’s no way you could wind up drowning in the ocean, is there? Alicia, get up. Alicia?
Alicia. Alicia.
Ali□□※□ci□□□a
((( Hippolytus, perhaps this is exactly what the side effects of Black Mirror on your body are. Your lost personal history has unexpectedly been revived under the influence of the high purity drug. You thought you had recalled those lost memories, and were shocked to learn that the one using Black Mirror that year was actually you; your most beloved sister Alicia was lost at the hands of you and the ocean. And so, by your reckoning, in order to erase the memory of this unbearable episode, in order to cast off the responsibility piercing your heart, you finally left Planet Earth, eventually accepting employment and training at the Work Unit. Unexpectedly, before returning to Earth, you are baffled to find yourself facing the unmatched discomfort of experiencing high-strength Black Mirror on a foreign planet. This course of events represents your present understanding of the facts, does it not? What else have you seen? Tell me. )))
I stare wide □○正□ eyed as Alicia slips away from my hands in the water, I can’t help but cry out madly. It turns out the one who destroyed Alicia was me all along. As I slip into a fugue of madness, someone pats me on the shoulders again. Who is it? Who is it? I turn around and there’s Alicia again. You, but, she says she’s not Alicia; she’s Feifei. Feifei? Why are you here too? You want to take me away from here. You say I shouldn’t have come to the mirror capsule. Why? I don’t want to leave Alicia, I don’t want to go, you don’t know how much I love her, you don’t understand, it doesn’t matter if she’s real or fake, alive or dead, she will always be the one I love, I never want to leave.
I discover that Feifei appears to have found some strong assistants. At first, behind Feifei, I see a surge of waves roiling behind her, resembling a herd of snow-white, majestic steeds galloping across the churning ocean waves. I cannot make out their shape, having merely the vague sensation that they are all powerful men. Could it be that they have come to tear me away from Alicia? You should never dare do such a thing. Alicia is mine. Even if she is just a corpse, even if she died at my hand, Alicia will always belong to me.
In the midst of my outcry, the waves, the sand, and the sunshine all disappear, and I have returned once again to the mirror capsule, but Feifei and her assistants are still lined up before me. Feifei has me cover my naked body with my jacket, as she explains: the club has its principles; I should not have tried high purity Black Mirror vapour without proper authorisation. By now I am so overwrought that tears are streaming down my face. Stop talking, stop talking, just… stop… talking. I do not care if all of you are real or fake, principled or ignorant. In any case, you took away my Alicia, deprived me of my irretrievable youth. Then my youthful body becomes middle-aged once again, the corners of my eyes still welling up with the bitter tears of youth. Afterward, in that clouded field of vision, behind Feifei I see a well-muscled man dragging Alicia out of the ocean. In this moment, Alicia resembles a delicate, artificial narcissus. Out of nowhere, that coarse muscleman tears Alicia to tatters in an instant as he holds her in his grasp, bluntly saying: it is just a fibreglass replica, it is all an illusion, nothing to get bent out of shape over. Bent out of shape? I cannot take it. I cannot take it any more. I remember the unfired revolver in my raincoat pocket. I, I want to show this guy something.
But I do not know why I pulled out the cold black gun. But the revolver flushes a burning shade of blood red; for a moment I even feel like I am grasping a petulant, throbbing member, but it also feels like a springy, bloodthirsty blade. Let us just call it a knife. Come on. Come on.
Then I went crazy. I charge forward, raising the revolver, the penis, the hot knife, high in my hands; the blade’s edge flashes as it just slides into his eye.
((( You really have gone mad, mad, mad. Actually, what you pull out is not a weapon or a blade, or a penis, and definitely not a revolver. Your revolver is still lying in your pocket, having never fired a bullet. Hallucinations have muddled your senses, so you pulled out the wrong thing. What you drew out was the blood-red rose that Theseus gave you, its power, wisdom, a symbol of mystery; it is also love. You put the stem beneath his eyes; sanguine drops of blood and sanguine flower petals scatter on the floor. You also probably were not aware: this is an artificial flower produced in SM’s greenhouse. And you definitely have not noticed the barely visible watermark imprinted on the flower petals: “SM is omniscient. SM is omnipotent. SM is omnipresent.” )))
Think □□※□ ¥ from sound water level now line big again gold peace gather body type one strike
((( Hyppolitus, are you still suffering? )))
Help □□※□ ¥ year love home □□※□ ¥ gold peace gather body wealth one strike
((( In the end it was nothing. It is all right. In that moment of unanticipated chaos, I helped you escape through a secret door. If Feifei had managed to get hold of you then, the outcome would have been unthinkable. But you really did tear the club apart. As a result, the club’s vitality suffered, and you yourself fell into poor health, not to mention the investigation that the Work Unit had assigned you. What can you do? Given the current situation, the only option is to hide out and recuperate. )))
□○正□ wealth goes change substance of which type one strike
((( After that, your wits got severely muddled; I have examined the memories in your brain and found a number of lacunae, blanks, and errors. What is left for you to do? Listen, Hippolytus. Now that the story has developed to this point, I ought to explain a few truths. That is right, real truths. My child, you have been blinded all along, and that has not been fair to you. Listen calmly to my detailed explanation. )))
True □※□ truths, not manufactured truths, right
((( For someone like you who has experienced so many mirages, unfortunately the truth is not easily established, and it is not exactly a necessity. But now I would like to tell you a story that does not seem related to you at first glance. Seeing as we have to live with one another, you will need to know this story. )))
((( The story took place a hundred years ago. Rick Deckard and Roy Baty were a pair of schoolboys who shared a deep affection. They studied topology, physical and psychological heredity, and Greek and Roman literature together, and they both went to work at SM Corp. together. Their mutual friendship deepened into love, and the couple became the subject of everyone’s envy at SM. The inexorable, unfeeling force of time turned Deckard and Baty from boys into young men, and from there pressed them on into middle age. The pair of student lovers suddenly realised that they did not want to grow old and die this way. The two had witnessed the swift waning of the days and the hopeless desolation of old age. So, like people of ancient times, they sought to extend their lives. How would they extend them? They would have a child, and the child would extend their lives. Of course, they could have adopted someone else’s child, or the two of them could have looked for a woman to serve as a surrogate. But what they wanted was a child completely and totally born of the two of them. The intimacy Deckard and Baty shared was such that they could not tolerate the idea of the child benefiting from the sperm or eggs of another. Given that both possessed specialised knowledge, and that they were in the good graces of the advanced researchers at SM Corp., they were destined to leave their mark. So they began to carry out a plan that had not undergone approval with the higher—ups at SM. They believed that since sperm and eggs were both human reproductive cells, the two must have interchangeable properties. Using specially treated sperm should serve as a better replacement for the ovum than bio engineered cells. They found that after treating Deckard’s sperm, it could mimic the properties of an ovum quite well. So they used Baty’s sperm to inseminate Deckard’s bio engineered sperm ovum, and programmed the uncanny fertilised egg to develop into a male. To mark the child’s unique significance, they used both fathers’ names to create a name pregnant with meaning: RiRoCk DeBatyCkard. There was, of course, another layer of significance to taking Baty’s name and inserting it in the middle of Deckard’s. The name hinted that if one man were inserted into another man, a third man could be born. And so it came to pass that they had a bouncing baby boy born of two men. They believed that the obedient child would grow up and take on the mantle of his fathers, extending their lives. )))
((( But then, this is not a fairy tale, and they were not two kings joined in matrimony. It could never have been that simple, living happily ever after like that. It turns out the massive burden created by this experiment sparked a fuse of domestic conflict. They began to argue, to give each other the cold shoulder, and to strike one another. Gone were the after breakfast kisses, and the two fathers no longer slept in the same bed at night. The simplest of questions, like “which father do you love the most?”, would have the two of them at each other’s throats. In the end, one unremarkable weekend night, Deckard came home from working overtime and found no trace of Baty and the boy. Gone. They were really gone. The two most important men in Deckard’s life were suddenly and coldly swept away. Deckard knew Baty, and only Baty, was responsible for taking the boy. He inquired with insiders at SM as to Baty’s whereabouts, and learned that Baty had not reported to work in some time. Deckard fell gravely ill, and after recovering, he set to work on an even more audacious plan. He thought, since Baty had treated him so poorly, there was no need for his existence in his life; and since half of the child came from Baty as well, there was no need for the bastard. The thing was, Deckard still wanted a child, just this time he wanted one that was his in each and every way. There was no way he could trust someone else; he could not take any more betrayal. So this time, he himself was inseminated. Deckard inseminated his own bio engineered sperm ovum with his own sperm. And in that manner, he nurtured a whole series of children one after another. Ordered based on the Greek alphabet, and in consultation with a book of classical literature he had read long ago, he gave the children Greek names. For example, the first child’s name started with A—Adonis; the second started with B—Bacchus, and so on. In his solitude, Deckard’s desire for control only grew, and so he would select the sex, intelligence, and temperament while they were still gestating in the petri dish. The children’s sex was male, of course, their intelligence average, and their temperament affable. These were the only kind of children he could be comfortable with; the only kind he could properly educate. He decided to approach raising them as an experiment, and so he gave them weak personalities, in order to avoid any interference with the experiment. In a sealed room, each child received an education specially tailored for their individual aptitude. The children came entirely from him, so he was acutely aware of their needs. Of course, there were moments when the experiment did not work out. The children were not real children, so rather than death, they simply came to an end. Adonis met his end beneath the paws and teeth of a GMO mammal in the lab, and his younger sibling Bacchus was poisoned by alcohol. But he felt no sadness or remorse when the experiments failed. He figured this was just an experiment, and the subjects were merely versions of himself, not other human beings. All that said, he grew more and more adept, and although his meat body continued to age, with the gradual refinement of his experiment he edged closer to immortality. )))
((( Nor did he forget Baty: the lover who had betrayed him. It turned out Baty had been recruited by another outfit; that company was Diguo—EMPIRE—have you heard of them? Of course you have, you must have. Why was Diguo willing to pay so much to recruit Baty? Because Baty had proposed the research plan of the century to SM: the blueprint for Black Mirror. So when Diguo bought Baty out, they terraformed one hundred square kilometres of Mediterranean beach on Pluto to serve as a villa and laboratory where he could concentrate on developing Black Mirror. Black Mirror was produced by SM Corp., while Diguo’s imitation Black Mirror sits in a test tube to this day. Of course, Diguo was not about to roll over easily—as soon as they got the chance, they would take a bite out of the hallucinogens market. So what did Baty do in his imitation Mediterranean on Pluto? He stirred up trouble. He brought an entourage of boy toys with him, and they revelled in a series of Greco Roman orgies on the seaside, whiling away their days in ritual exchange of bodily fluids. Aside from that, he kept making changes to the child. He treated RiRoCk like a guinea pig, changing their sex a number of times, and even giving them the failed version of Black Mirror. Since the child in Baty’s custody kept changing sex, Deckard, unwilling to surrender, changed his children’s too. So one juvenile incarnation of Deckard, the one whose name began with Ph-, was endowed with the ability to change sex at will. And what happened to Baty? Eventually he lost his position at Diguo, and disappeared without a trace. RiRoCk, poisoned by tainted Black Mirror, went mad at the terraformed Mediterranean, threw himself into the ocean, and wound up in a coma. Nevertheless, Diguo was not about to let RiRoCk’s remaining value go untapped. The child was the product of two spermatozoa, had taken a large quantity of Black Mirror, and had changed sex a number of times. The child was a true wonder; the epitome of biological experimentation, one might say. So Diguo protected the child for many years, storing them away for decades. This year, when Diguo wanted to spy on SM’s market success with Black Mirror, RiRoCk, the child they had been cultivating all these years, came to mind. The child, special through and through, was the perfect subject for testing out SM’s successful version of Black Mirror. So they took RiRoCk out of storage, reconfigured his memory, gave him a new name, and tricked him into believing he was some kind of inspector. The child was nothing more than Diguo’s white mouse. Diguo had the white mouse taste Black Mirror for them. Of course, aside from putting the experimental version out there, Diguo furnished an observer for their experiment. They had the observer disguise themselves as a guard at the SM Club, waiting to see what would happen when RiRoCk got a strong dose of Black Mirror. Of course, Diguo did not predict that their fake operative, RiRoCk, would take a rose and try to stab the real operative in the eyes with it; the eyes of whom were necessary to their observations. )))
How do you □□¥□ know this
((( I’ve been with SM all along. It’s no surprise that SM Corp. got access to Diguo’s files. What’s surprising is that Diguo was so foolish. )))
What are you talking about. I □□ don’t want to hear □○正□¥□ and I don’t understand
((( You need to know the real truth, you need to understand. Hippolytus, you are RiRoCk DeBaTyCkard. “Hippolytus” is the temporary nickname the Work Unit gave you. The Higher Ups in the Work Unit you refer to are comprised of 30 percent of Diguo Corp.’s SM portfolio. You thought you were an operative with the Work Unit, but in fact you were not. Diguo sent you to the club to see what experiencing Black Mirror would do to you. The colleague you bumped into in those dark streets was dispatched by the Work Unit. He had his eye stabbed out by the thorny stem of a rose, spattering carmine blood. The “Mediterranean” where you were born and raised was Diguo’s spatial simulation; you never left the Earth. You have never even seen the real Mediterranean. Baty tested out a whole series of different, failed versions of Black Mirror on you, as well as sex change experiments, leaving you with the false memory of having fallen in love with your sister, Alicia. You actually only fell in love with your sex changed self. )))
You’re lying. That’s madness. Bas□○正□tard. It’s not true. There’s an ID from the Work Unit and a photo of Alicia at the Mediterranean Sea in my wallet. That disproves your pack of lies. You’re just spewing delusions at me; a bunch of Black Mirror hangover garbage. You – who do you think you are
((( I will tell you exactly who I am. You are part of me, Phaedra is me, Theseus is me, I am at least 24 Greek letters. But I am not Alpha or Omega, I am neither Theseus, nor Phaedra, nor you. I am the simplest and the most complex, Rick Deckard. You are the first thing Baty and I made. Phaedra is one of the Selves born of my body. You were originally named Pluto, but you were subjected to Baty’s sex-change experiments during the gestation period, so I changed your name to Phaedra. Theseus is my twelfth self, and my parasitic host of late. Did you know that human parasitism is one of SM’s recent experimental projects? If you want to attain immortality, it is not enough to keep reproducing generations of offspring; all those generations of offspring just keep the meat-body of their ancestor alive, not their intellect and spirit. Relying on mere eugenics, education, brainwashing, and Black Mirror gets you no guarantees. You have to remove the brain and spinal column from the body of the mature sage and transplant it into a young meat-body alongside a set of biochemical chips. That gets you to a new combination—the ability to have youth and wisdom at the same time. SM has been quite supportive of me experimenting on myself. For one thing, I am a prized researcher for SM, and they could not bear to watch me grow old and die, so they put everything they had into keeping me young. For another, I have a number of copies of myself whose physical and mental state is subject to my control, so I am the ideal candidate for achieving immortality that way. After going off the deep end, I rescued you from the club; at the time, I was still using Theseus as my host body, but following the assessment, I decided to transplant into your meat-body. Right here, right now, there are two lives between you and me, but just your one body, because I dwell in the deepest depths of your brain. Everything I have just said has been spoken to your mind. I may only be familiar with half your corporeal self, I can only control your right side, and your nervous system is less than ideal. But I can get by, I will stick around here in your body for the time being. We may be of the same blood, but our time together has been so very limited. Moreover, you have experienced such a theatrical version of life, and I would like to sift through it some more. Just share your body with me. )))
Lies ¥□○正□ not true. I don’t know any Deckard or Baty, all I know is I am Hippolytus. You can’t live inside of me.
((( Let me prove it to you now. Look at your right hand there. It is attached to your body, but you do not know what it is going to do next. But I do, because I am the master of your right side. Watch as your right hand pulls three very important forged items out of your wallet. The first is a fake member’s card for the club produced by Diguo, indistinguishable from the real thing. You ought to know that if Diguo can forge SM cards, they can forge other forms of identification, like the next card you pull out of the wallet: your worker’s ID from the Work Unit. The third item is the photo of the person you call Alicia. The photo itself is real, but the person in the photo is not Alicia; it is you. Now, I am going to take out the gun. Diguo gave it to you; you have never used it and would not know how. Watch how I am in total control as I use the weapon to smash those three fake artefacts. )))
Do□¥□n’t
This is my right hand. This is my revolver—the cylinder opens to the left. This is the only picture I have of my lover. You stop me. You shut me up. You, you can fuck off. Look. Look look look. My left hand grabs the revolver from my right. Grabs it back. You’re done. You’re dead. Get the fuck out. You say you can control my right hand; fine. Fine. I’m going to destroy that hand. Don’t think I won’t do it. I’m one of the hard men from the Work Unit. I’ll show you. You dare to lie to me, laugh at me, curse me, play around with my picture of Alicia. You say you are a parasite inside my brain? Okay, see what happens when I smash it, smash the palm of this traitorous right hand. And then watch, watch and see if I can’t hold the barrel up to my temple, and knock your smug ass out of here. Think I won’t do it? That’s it for you. First I’m going to put a hurting on this hand of yours. Now□○正 now.
Now, my left fingers delicately stroke the trigger of the revolver. The cold barrel presses up against my treacherous right palm. I am going to make a □□ flower bloom there.
- Translator’s note: “Black Mirror” in the Chinese original is 冥鏡. Literally, the compound may be rendered as “dark mirror” or “nether mirror,” since 冥 denotes darkness, obscurity, or the underworld, and 鏡 means mirror. The English rendering “Black Mirror” here was adopted at an early stage of the translation, preceding the appearance of the television programme of the same name. Any association with that programme is therefore coincidental. The title is retained because it continues to convey, with precision, the text’s concern with reflection, obscurity, and the unsettling visibility of what is normally concealed. ↩︎
- Translator’s note: “Huhui” is the imaginary language spoken by the Huhui people that features prominently in Chang His-kuo’s The City Trilogy (Cheng sanbuqu). ↩︎
- Translator’s note: The non-alphabetic symbols that appear intermittently in the text, for example □□, ○, 正, ¥, are not typographical errors or corrupt characters. They are present in the Chinese original and are reproduced deliberately in the translation. Their function is narrative rather than technical, signalling moments of disruption, distortion, or interruption in the narrator’s perception and memory. ↩︎
How to cite: Isaacson, Nathaniel and Chi Ta-wei. “Beneath His Eyes, In Your Palm, a Red Rose is About to Bloom.” Cha: An Asian Literary Journal, 24 Dec. 2025, chajournal.blog/2025/12/24/beneath-his-eyes.
Chi Ta-wei 紀大偉 (author) is a queer writer and scholar. His science fiction novel The Membranes, first published in Chinese, has been translated into Korean, Japanese, French, English, Italian, Danish, Finnish, Spanish, Portuguese, and Czech. The English edition, translated by Ari Heinrich, has been recognised as an Amazon (USA) “Best of #BookTok” title. His academic monograph A History of Tongzhi Literature, written in Chinese, traces LGBT literature in Taiwan from the 1960s to the new millennium. The book is currently being translated into Korean, Japanese, and English. Many of his works, available in multiple languages, can be found in audiobook and ebook formats. He teaches Taiwanese Literature at National Chengchi University in Taiwan. Visit taweichi.com to find out more.
Nathaniel Isaacson (translator) is Professor of Modern Chinese Literature in the Department of World Languages and Cultures at North Carolina State University. His research interests include Chinese science fiction, Chinese cinema, cultural studies, and literary translation. He has published articles in The Oxford Handbook of Modern Chinese Literatures and in journals including Osiris and Science Fiction Studies, as well as translations of non-fiction, poetry, and fiction in the translation journals Renditions, Pathlight, and Chinese Literature Today. His book, Celestial Empire: The Emergence of Chinese Science Fiction (Wesleyan University Press, 2017), examines the emergence of science fiction in late Qing China and its relationship to Orientalism.
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