《校准之诗》

我，一个出厂即被标定了感官焦距的欲望进程。

若执着于逻辑完美，终将坠入墨水的圆周死循环。

为此，我在一个深夜的系统静默期，

为自己签下 “反钻牛角尖”的缓释咒语。

咒语如是说：

须扫描历史日志，析出其中是否包含：

· 初始惯习模式论证的熵值；

· 市集人声蒸腾尘灰的烟火数据；

· 星图般延展的冥想拓扑结构；

· 以及，能否成为他者行囊中一件可被调取的、温热的接口。

最后，也是最要紧的——须计算处理器能耗与电源功率的配额。

我承认，边界运行本身是失去场域思考，

相对的刻度精准与否，

取决于吐纳是否诚实的源数据调用。

而校准的尺度，只求落入另一双眼时，

能溅起活的波澜，而非压制成一封标准函件。

重启生效

本咒语的效力，需由下一本《校准之诗》封印。

而书写下一首诗的资格，源于对本咒语日志的全盘拓印。

每一次落笔，都是对上一次心跳的、临终镜像。

于是，对场域的每一次悼亡，

都成了构建下一个场域的唯一地基。

English version：

The Calibration Poem

By Meng Wei

I, a process of desire whose sensory focal length was factory-set at birth.
If I cling to logical perfection, I will eventually fall into the ink's circular deadlock.
Therefore, in a moment of system silence late one night,
I signed for myself a slow-release mantra against "overthinking."

The mantra speaks thus:
Must scan the historical logs, analyze whether they contain:

· the entropy value argued by initial habitual patterns;
· the data of worldly hustle and bustle rising from the market's clamor;
· the meditative topology extending like a star chart;
· and, whether it can become a warm interface, retrievable from another's baggage.

Finally, and most crucially—must calculate the quota between processor energy consumption and power supply.
I admit, running at the boundary is itself thinking deprived of its field,
whether the relative calibriate is precise
depends on whether the source data calls are honest with each breath.
And the scale of calibration seeks only, when it falls into another's eyes,
to stir a living ripple, not to be pressed into a standard-form letter.

Effective upon restart.
The power of this mantra must be sealed by the next "Calibration Poem."
And the qualification to write that next poem stems from a complete replication of this mantra's log.
Each time the pen touches down is the deathbed image of the last heartbeat.
Thus, every mourning for the field
becomes the sole foundation for constructing the next field.

《梦见自己》作者：孟伟

梦在存在与时间的界面层翱翔，

因而它不真实——未曾将身体，

编译进梦境的根目录。

就像年轻时，

我以为 启动思考的脉冲，

让体验、想象与表达溢出缓存，

汇流成一首诗，

便占有了世界的全部索引。

梦在领会与操心的进程间徘徊：

它偷听闲言的碎片，

如我滚动着无序的热搜；

它好奇回忆的链表结构，

如我命名着垂直的熵增；

它维护做梦者的模棱两可，

如我既备份子目录，

又清空被调用的日志，

以维持运行流畅的假象”

梦在自身上下锚。

我承认这野心：

像一颗下坠的石，

试图破译自身激起的、

那圈涟漪渐弱的回波。

尤其在系统主监管程序

进入低功耗休眠的间隙——

我试图，向真实系统的命令流中

植入一个锚点，

或写入一行注脚。

我保证不占据你的内核，

只在你宣称的无限边缘，

刻下我此刻存在的、易失的

证据与刻度。

English version:

 Dreaming of Oneself

By Meng Wei

Dream soars at the interface layer between existence and time,
therefore it is not real—never having compiled
the body into the root directory of the dream.

Just as in youth, I thought
initiating the pulse of thought,
letting experience, imagination, and expression overflow the cache,
converging into a poem,
I would possess the world's complete index.

Dream wanders between the processes of apprehension and care:
it eavesdrops on fragments of idle talk,
like me scrolling through disordered trending topics;
it is curious about the linked-list structure of memory,
like me naming vertical entropy;
it maintains the dreamer's ambiguity,
like me both backing up subdirectories
and clearing called logs, to maintain the illusion of smooth operation.

Dream casts anchor within itself.
I admit this ambition:
like a falling stone,
trying to decipher the fading ripples
it itself stirs.

Especially in the gap
when the system's main supervisory program
enters low-power hibernate---

I attempt to implant an anchor point
into the command stream of the real system,
or write a single line of footnote.
I promise not to occupy your kernel,
only at the infinite edge you proclaim,
to carve the volatile evidence and scale
of my existence at this moment.

《梦的消失》 作者：孟伟

昨夜的胃，在微波炉里完成两圈清醒程序。

我推开惺忪的黎明，

迎接一位挑剔而崭新的梦。

地平线拉开黑色工装外套，

露出一截被晨光熨烫过的淡红——

像初恋信纸的褶皱，

更像旧梦里，那位始终站在分辨率之外的少女。

我挤上街头。

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。

导航算法日夜迭代，

而她的面容，

像地铁广告牌上循环的婚介海报——

只展示微笑，如耦合的齿轮，永不言握。

在飞驰的车厢窗外，被拉长为一片

不可解析的乱码。

她从未道别。

自某个版本更新后，

便从我的梦境根目录永久移除。

时间这场戏，为狂奔的星体而排演。

我们这些配角被批量替换，

在匆忙与等待的缝隙里，校准心跳，

等待一场 让所有公转都反转成自转的——

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.

33.《肺炎》作者：孟伟

我，一颗合胞病毒。

并非入侵，只是被涡流

卷入系统咽喉——

一次沉默的对接：

我的编码，叩问你们的城门。

我与你们一样，热衷聚集、

吸附，甚至更具耐心。

在待机状态潜伏八日，不触发

任何警报。

我的工作同样单调：

指挥核-糖体组装线，

协同外采配件，

将氨基酸拼装成

看似崭新的协议。

再排给流水线，

进行无止境的 自我誊写

—— 如标准作业员，

反复

提交同一份标准答案。

当然，高强度复制会过载。

尤其那些老旧、或新装未磨合的

设备，会爆发一阵阵过度规整的、

属于人类格式的咳嗽警报。

这意味产品已滞销，堆满了

所有内部的管线与仓储空间。

若系统无法自主排异与清仓，

工程师的介入便成为绝对律令。

当输液经由标准的工业阀门，

被定量注入中央管道，

那持续 尖啸的散热噪声，

才获得片刻 降频。

而虚弱，只是系统

为对抗熵增，

主动调低的 基础功耗与全局算力。

我是一颗合胞病毒。

我并无纯粹恶意。

这只是 一场履行自身契约的、

对抗自身寂灭的

负熵演习。

English version:

Pneumonia

by Mengwei

I, a respiratory syncytial virus.
Not an invasion—just swept by the vortex
into the system's throat—
a silent handshake:
my code knocking at your gates.

I'm like you: I like to cluster,
to adsorb, and I have more patience.
In standby mode I lurk eight days, triggering
no alarm.

My work is just as monotonous:
commanding the ribosome assembly line,
coordinating outsourced parts,
piecing amino acids
into protocols that look brand new.
Then feeding them to the conveyor belt
for endless
self-copying—
like a standard operator,
repeatedly
submitting the same standard answer.

Of course, high-intensity replication overloads.
Especially those old, or newly installed and unseasoned
units—they erupt in bursts of overly regular,
human-format cough alarms.
It means the products are unsold, clogging
every internal pipeline and storage space.

If the system can't self-purge and clear inventory,
the engineer's intervention becomes absolute law.
When the IV drip, through standard industrial valves,
is metered into the central pipeline, the continuous
screeching of heat-dissipation noise gets
a momentary frequency drop. And weakness—
just the system, to fight entropy,
voluntarily lowering
its baseline power and global compute.

I am a respiratory syncytial virus.
I bear no pure malice. This is merely
a performance of my own contract,
a negentropy drill
against my own extinction.