《光标》

作者：孟伟

我想写一首诗，馈赠给所有接口。

包括但不仅限于：我，屏幕，协议内的友邻，

以及一个未被拉取的远端地址。

但词语必须通过四重防火墙：

平仄的波形，隐喻的木马扫描，友邻耐心的阈值——

以及，它是否一颗温顺的、可被捕获的数据包。

第一行通过验证。我说“光标”，韵脚自动校准。

系统弹窗：“C盘空间不足。”

光标被抛出会话界面，

在流水线上组装成鼠标。

它以光速折返，精准锁定韵脚，

完成一次事实的陈述。

——

此诗存在一个古老的漏洞：

沉默。

当思考停摆，语法炉空转，算力被节流，

友邻便免于接收说教。

只有那远端地址，仍在进行

一场未被观测的、无反馈的滚动。

这松弛态，触发了系统最高级预警：

一个既不输入也不输出的开放端口，

即是对事件视界的未遂叛变。

因此，我必须思考。继而抒情。

我的呼吸，被注册为

维持系统存活的最小守护进程。

——

我知晓：

纵使将悲伤微分，加密存储于诗行，

我也无非是——

眼泪的临时雇主。

在自我编译的终章，

我读取到一行注释：

“书写者，即首任解析者，

亦是终将执行格式化的

最高权限管理员。”

——

光标停在第37行。

【系统熵值达标，进程开始归零。】

English version:

The Cursor

by Mengwei

I want to write a poem, to gift it to all interfaces.

Including but not limited to: me, the screen, friends within the protocol,

and a remote address not yet pulled.

But words must pass through a fourfold firewall:

the waveform of tone patterns, the trojan scan of metaphor, the threshold of a friend's patience—

and whether it is a docile, capturable data packet.

The first line passes verification. I say "cursor," the rhyme auto-calibrates.

System pop-up: "Insufficient C drive space."

The cursor is thrown out of the session interface,

assembled into a mouse on the assembly line.

It returns at the speed of light, precisely locks onto the rhyme,

completing a factual statement.

---

This poem contains an ancient vulnerability:

silence.

When thought stalls, the grammar-furnace idles, computing power is throttled,

friends are spared the sermon.

Only that remote address continues

an unobserved, feedbackless scroll.

This relaxed state triggers the system's highest alert:

an open port that neither inputs nor outputs

is an attempted mutiny against the event horizon.

Therefore, I must think. Then emote.

My breath is registered as

the minimumd deamon process keeping the system alive.

---

I know:

even if I differentiate sorrow, encrypt it, store it in poetic lines,

I am nothing more than—

the temporary employer of tears.

In the final chapter of self-compilation,

I read a comment:

"The writer, the first interpreter,

is also the highest authority administrator

who will eventually execute the format."

---

The cursor stops at line 37.

[System entropy target reached. Process initiating zeroing.]

《井》

作者：孟伟

井，镇守一方清寂。

它的慈悲，是缄默——

对喉中逆鳞，永恒缄默。

契约早已烙入岩层：

锁蛟龙者，永世不可离位。

我为自己，选定一口现代的井。

带着亲手搓就、浸满冷汗的逻辑之绳，

坠向地心之城——

那是绝对无用之美的领地，

再无矿脉可延伸。

黑暗盘旋，

我迷恋失重，拒绝重返。

危险是窦性心跳，在耳膜里鼓噪，

井壁苔滑,指甲嵌进石缝的瞬间——

疼,像被自己的深度咬了一口。

绳语低喃：勿惧，万有法度。

理性在掌心震颤：爬呀，爬。

可这血肉之锚， 怎堪地核辐射？

“既览尽幻美，何不归返人类温室？”

“而温室的糖精， 何尝不是另一种坠落？”

皆是坠落。

一具，在易腐肉身里委顿；

一轴，在透明律令中悬垂。

便将肉身，平放于广阔的水平基准，

任魂灵如孤悬探锤，

钉入个人垂直的绝对零度。

当年我称它为井，

如今才懂——

它是我以绳索丈量的 第一个垂直维度。

所谓放平于大地，

并非躺下， 是让躯壳摊开成共振板，

接收一切水平回波， 测绘万物滑动的斜率。

井的谱系，藏在深处：

最深的图幅从不绘于地表，

而蚀刻在心室岩壁。

那些盛满记忆盲水的井最是可怖：

镜面倒置，圆滑如谎，

映出脸上不断分岔、

与自我辩驳的神经树突。

凝视，便能凿穿水银，直抵井底

—— 以水平肉身接收，以垂直灵魂发射。

如井口石缝的牛筋草，

躬着脊柱，撑直命运。

坐标的召唤，

是一枚永不氧化的童年硬币。

触之，回馈低于冰点的灼热与倔强。

而所有井的终极原型， 是那口不存在之井。

所谓勘探，

终是向一口 无沿之井，

递交 存在的证明。

它专取探井者的脊骨——

髓内，加密着井的全套引力参数。

那是我为自己签收的，

垂直熵增证明。

English version

. The Well

by Mengwei

The well, guarding a tract of silent clarity.
Its mercy is to keep silence—
toward the hidden dragon in its throat, silence eternal.
The covenant was long branded into the rock strata:
he who chains the dragon shall never leave his place.

I chose for myself, a modern well.
With rope hand-twisted, soaked in cold sweat, a rope of logic,
I descend toward the city at the earth's core—
a territory of absolute useless beauty,
where no vein of ore extends.

Darkness spirals,
I am bewitched by weightlessness, refuse return.
Danger throbs like sinus rhythm, drumming in the eardrums,
well-wall slick with moss, fingernails wedged into stone crevices—
the pain, bitten by my own depth.
The rope murmurs: fear not, all is governed by law.
Reason trembles in my palm: climb, climb.

But how can this anchor of flesh and blood,
withstand the core's radiation?
"Having glimpsed the phantom beauty, why not return
to the greenhouse of the human?"
"And yet, the saccharine of that greenhouse—
is it not also a kind of fall?"

Both are falling.
One, languishing in corruptible flesh;
one, suspended in the transparent decree.

So I lay the body flat, on the broad level datum,
let the soul, like a solitary probe,
nail itself into the absolute zero
of a personal vertical.

That year I called it a well, but now I see—
it was the first vertical dimension
I ever measured, with a rope.

To lie flat on the earth is not to lie down,
but to spread the torso like a sounding board,
receive all horizontal echoes,
map the sliding slopes of all things.

The well's genealogy hides in the depths:
the deepest map is never drawn on the surface,
but etched into the ventricle walls.

Those wells brimming with blind water of memory
are the most fearsome:
their surfaces inverted, smooth as lies,
mirroring the neural dendrites on the face,
forking forever, disputing with the self.

Gaze, and you can pierce the mercury, straight to the well-bed—
receive with horizontal flesh, transmit with vertical soul.
Like the goosegrass in the stone crevice at the well's mouth,
spine arched, propping up its fate.

The summons of coordinates is a childhood coin,
never oxidizing.
Touch it: the feedback is a burn,
colder than zero, yet stubborn.

And the ultimate archetype of all wells,
is that well which does not exist.
To prospect is finally, to submit
proof of existence
to a well without edge.

It takes exclusively the spine of the prospector—
in the marrow, encrypted:
the well's complete gravitational parameters.

That is the proof of vertical entropy increase,
which I signed for, myself.

《宇宙X光片》

作者：孟伟

我手里，只持有一本标准答案。

我是这静止系统的构架师，而所有

流动的意象、抒情的税赋、隐喻的齿轮、

寓言的刀柄，都仅是目录内

标准化的组件。

---

如果你壮志凌云，系统会批给你

一对核算过载重与风阻的翅膀。

如果你脚踏实地，它会配发

一双用于耕耘镜面的、勤劳的手套，

如螃蟹，用固执的双手撬开生活。

如果你遨游大海，请调整好你的最低摩擦参数，

露出你那紧致且流线型身体。

但如果你很坚强：决定成为黑暗的探索者。

依据《认知垂直极限管理法》第零条，

你的任何棱角，都是对黑暗密度的

绝对的不自量力，

必须把自己捻搓为一根低熵的、光滑的认证绳。

任何异议，均将是对泥土的反叛。

---

看吧。所有被歌颂的奇迹，

都不过是疼痛在时间函数中的

精密显影。所有结局，

早已在板结的物理公式里

完成抵押。

而我的全部工作，

仅是在所有轰鸣的运行日志末尾，

为这具用逻辑的幽闭偿还了债的躯体，

签收这页

无温度的、必然的

垂直熵增报告。

English version:

Cosmic X-ray

by Mengwei

In my hand, I hold only one standard answer.

I am the architect of this static system, and all

flowing images, lyric taxes, metaphorical gears,

fable's hilts, are merely standardized components

within the catalogue.

---

If your ambition soars to the clouds, the system will approve

a pair of wings, their load and drag precisely calculated.

If you keep your feet on the ground, it will issue

a pair of diligent gloves for tilling mirrors,

like a crab, prying open life with stubborn claws.

If you sail the vast ocean, please adjust your minimum friction parameters,

reveal your taut, streamlined body.

But if you are truly strong: if you decide to become an explorer of darkness,

according to Article Zero of the Management Code for the Vertical Limit of Cognition,

any edge you possess is absolute overestimation

of the density of darkness.

You must twist yourself into a low-entropy, smooth certification rope.

Any dissent will be rebellion against the soil itself.

---

Look. All celebrated miracles

are but the precise development of pain

in the function of time. All endings

have long been mortgaged

within hardened physical formulas.

And my entire task

is merely to sign for this body,

which has paid its debt through logical confinement,

at the end of all roaring operation logs,

this page of

temperatureless, inevitable

vertical entropy report.

《996》 作者：孟伟

昨夜的胃，在微波炉里完成两圈清醒程序。

地平线拉开黑色工装外套，

露出一截被晨光熨烫过的淡红——

像旧梦里，那位始终站在分辨率之外的少女。

我拉直惺忪的车道线，

红绿灯节制地管辖着熵增。

人人手持最新版的导航，

唯有目的地的光标，一直在输入中。

笑容日夜迭代，

像地铁广告牌上循环的婚介海报——

只展示微笑，永不言说握手。

在飞驰的车厢窗外，

被拉长为一行 不可解析的乱码。

全脂牛马的周末户外放风，

被过冬粮草焊在了方寸格里，

夜里，我们都是脱脂的野马，

在WiFi的草原上驰骋——

虚无的坐标。

直到情绪耗尽最后1%，

才想起人生这场戏为狂奔的星体而排演。

在匆忙与等待的缝隙里，

校准心跳，

等待一场

内部宇宙大爆炸。

English Version:

 The Disappearance of Dreams
**By Meng Wei**

Last night's stomach, two cycles of the wake-up program in the microwave.
I push open the drowsy dawn,
to greet a picky, brand-new dream.

The horizon pulls open its black workwear jacket,
revealing a strip of pale red ironed by morning light—
like the creases of a first love letter,
or more likely, the girl in an old dream who always stood
beyond resolution.

I squeeze onto the street.
Traffic lights temperately govern entropy.
Everyone holds the latest navigation,
only the cursor of destination still inputing.

Navigation algorithms iterate day and night,
but her face, like dating ads looping on subway billboards—
shows only a smile, like meshed gears, forever beyond grasp.
Outside the speeding carriage window, it stretches
into an unparseable code.

She never said goodbye.
After some version update,
she was permanently removed from the root directory of my dreams.

Time, this play, is rehearsed for chasing stars.
We supporting actors are replaced in batches,
in the gaps between hurry and waiting,
calibrating our heartbeats, waiting for one
internal cosmic big bang
that reverses all revolution into rotation.