The moment she opened her eyes she was wide awake. She awoke with a violent start, as if the sight of the world and its human paraphernalia28 were a shock. Instantly she was in full activity, lashing29 about like a great python. What annoyed her was the light! She awoke cursing the sun, cursing the glare of reality. The room had to be darkened, the candles lit, the the windows tightly shut to prevent the noise of the street from penetrating30 the room. She moved about naked with a cigarette dangling31 from the comer of her mouth. Her toilet was an affair of great preoccupation; a thousand trifling32 details had to be attended to before she could so much as don a bathrobe. She was like an athlete preparing for the great event of the day.
From the roots of her hair, which she studied with keen attention, to the shape and length of her toe-nails, every part of her anatomy33 was thoroughly inspected before sitting down to breakfast. Like an athlete I said she was, but in fact she was more like a mechanic overhauling34 a fast plane for a test flight. Once she slipped on her dress she was launched for the day, for the flight which might end perhaps in Irkutsk or Teheran. She would take on enough fuel at breakfast to last the entire trip. The breakfast was a prolonged affair: it was the one ceremony of the day over which she dawdled35 and lingered. It was exasperatingly36 prolonged, indeed. One wondered if she would ever take on, one wondered if she had forgotten the grand mission which she had sworn to accomplish each day. Perhaps she was dreaming other itinerary38, or perhaps she was not dreaming at all but simply allowing time for the functional39 processes of her marvellous machine so that once embarked40 there would be no turning back. She was very calm and self-possessed at this hour of the day; she was like a great bird of the air perched on a mountain crag, dreamily surveying the terrain42 below. It was not from the breakfast table that she would suddenly swoop43 and dive to pounce44 upon her prey45. No, from the early morning perch41 she would take off slowly and majestically46, synchronizing47 her every movement with the pulse of the motor. All space lay before her, her direction dictated48 only by caprice. She was almost the image of freedom, were it not for the Saturnian weight of her body and the abnormal span of her wings. However poised49 she seemed, especially at the take-on, one sensed the terror which motivated the daily flight. She was at once obedient to her destiny and at the same time frantically50 eager to overcome it. Each morning she soared aloft from her perch, as from some Himalayan peak; she seemed always to direct her flight towards some uncharted region into which, if all went well, she would disappear forever. Each morning she seemed to carry aloft with her this desperate, last-minute hope; she took leave with calm, grave dignity, like one about to go down into the grave. Never once did she circle about the flying field; never once did she cast a glance backward towards those whom she was abandoning. Nor did she leave the slightest crumb51 of personality behind her; she took to the air with all her belongings52, with every slightest scrap53 of evidence which might testify to the fact of her existence. She didn't even leave the breath of a sigh behind, not even a toe-nail. A clean exit, such as the Devil himself might make for reasons of his own. One was left with a great void on his hands. One was deserted54, and not only deserted, but betrayed, inhumanly55 betrayed. One had no desire to detain her nor to call her back; one was left with a curse on his lips, with a black hatred56 which darkened the whole day. Later, moving about the city, moving slowly in pedestrian fashion, crawling like the worm, one gathered rumours57 of her spectacular flight; she had been seen rounding a certain point, she had dipped here or there for what reason no one knew, she had done a tailspin elsewhere, she had passed like a comet, she had written letters of smoke in the sky, and so on and so forth58. Everything she had done was enigmatic and exasperating37, done apparently59 without purpose. It was like a symbolic60 and ironic61 commentary on human life, on the behaviour of the ant-like creature man, viewed from another dimension.
Between the time she took off and the time she returned I lived the life of a full blooded schizerino. It was not an eternity62 which elapsed, because somehow eternity has to do with peace and with victory, it is something man-made, something earned: no, I experienced an entr'acte in which every hair turns white to the roots, in which every millimetre of skin itches63 and burns until the whole body becomes a running sore. I see myself sitting before a table in the dark, my hands and feet growing enormous, as though elephantiasis were overtaking me at a gallop64. I hear the blood rushing up to the brain and pounding at the ear-drums like Himalayan devils with sledge65 hammers; I hear her flapping her huge wings, even in Irkutsk, and I know she is pushing on and on, ever further away, ever further beyond reach. It is so quiet in the room and so frightfully empty that I shriek66 and howl just to make a little noise, a little human sound. I try to lift myself from the table but my feet are too heavy and my hands have become like the shapeless feet of the rhinoceros67. The heavier my body becomes the lighter68 the atmosphere of the room; I am going to spread and spread until I fill the room with one solid mass of stiff jelly. I shall fill up even the cracks in the wall; I shall grow through the wall like a parasitic69 plant, spreading and spreading until the whole house is an indescribable mass of flesh and hair and nails. I know that this is death, but I am powerless to kill the knowledge of it, or the knower. Some tiny particle of me is alive, some speck70 of consciousness persists, and, as the inert71 carcass expands, this flicker26 of life becomes sharper and sharper and gleams inside me like the cold fire of a gem72. It lights up the whole gluey mass of pulp73 so that I am like a diver with a torch in the body of a dead marine74 monster. By some slender hidden filament75 I am still connected with the life above the surface of the deep, but it is so far away, the upper world, and the weight of the corpse so great that, even if it were possible, it would take years to reach the surface. I move around in my own dead body, exploring every nook and cranny of its huge, shapeless mass. It is an endless exploration, for with the ceaseless growth the whole topography changes, slipping and drifting like the hot magma of the earth. Never for a minute is there terra firma, never for a minute does anything remain still and recognizable: it is a growth without landmarks76, a voyage in which the destination changes with every least move or shudder77. It is this interminable filling of space which kills all sense of space or time; the more the body expands the tinier becomes the world, until at last I feel that everything is concentrated on the head of a pin. Despite the floundering of this enormous dead mass which I have become, I feel that what sustains it, the world out of which it grows, is no bigger than a pinhead. In the midst of pollution, in the very heart and gizzard of death, as it were, I sense the seed, the miraculous78, infinitesimal lever which balances the world. I have overspread the world like a syrup79 and the emptiness of it is terrifying, but there is no dislodging the seed; the seed has become a little knot of cold fire which roars like a sun in the vast hollow of the dead carcass.
When the great plunder-bird returns exhausted80 from her flight she will find me here in the midst of my nothingness, I, the imperishable schizerino, a blazing seed hidden in the heart of death. Every day she thinks to find another means of sustenance81, but there is no other, only this eternal seed of light which by dying each day I rediscover for her. Fly, 0 devouring82 bird, fly to the limits of the universe! Here is your nourishment83 glowing in the sickening emptiness you have created! You will come back to perish once more in the black hole; you will come back again and again, for you have not the wings to carry you out of the world. This is the only world you can inhabit, this tomb of the snake where darkness reigns84.
And suddenly for no reason at all, when I think of her returning to her nest, I remember Sunday mornings in the little old house near the cemetery85. I remember sitting at the piano in my nightshirt, working away at the pedals with bare feet, and the folks lying in bed toasting themselves in the next room. The rooms opened one on the other, telescope fashion, as in the good old American railroad flats. Sunday mornings one lay in bed until one was ready to screech86 with well-being87. Towards eleven or so the folks used to rap on the wall of my bedroom for me to come and play for them. I would dance into the room like the Fratellini Brothers, so full of flame and feathers that I could hoist88 myself like a derrick to the topmost limb of the tree of heaven. I could do anything and everything singlehanded, being double-jointed at the same time. The old man called me "Sunny Jim", because I was full of "Force", full of vim89 and vigour90. First I would do a few handsprings for them on the carpet before the bed; then I would sing falsetto, trying to imitate a ventriloquist's dummy91; then I would dance a few light fantastic steps to show which way the wind lay, and zoom92! Like a breeze I was on the piano stool and doing a velocity93 exercise. I always began with Czemy, in order to limber up for the performance. The old man hated Czemy, and so did I, but Czemy was the plat du jour on the bill of fare then, and so Czemy it was until my joints94 were rubber. In some vague way Czemy reminds me of the great emptiness which came upon me later. What a velocity I would work up, riveted to the piano stool! It was like swallowing a bottle of tonic95 at one gulp96 and then having someone strap97 you to the bed. After I had played about ninety-eight exercises I was ready to do a little improvising98. I used to take a fist-full of chords and crash the piano from one end to the other, then sullenly99 modulate100 into "The Burning of Rome" or the "Ben Hur Chariot Race" which everybody liked because it was intelligible101 noise. Long before I read Wittgenstein's Tractatvs Logico-PhilosophicusI was composing the music to it, in the key of sassafras. I was learned then in science and philosophy, in the history of religions, in inductive and deductive logic102, in liver mantic, in the shape and weight of skulls103, in pharmacopeia and metallurgy, in all the useless branches of learning which gives you indigestion and melancholia before your time. This vomit104 of learned truck was stewing105 in my guts106 the whole week long, waiting for it to come Sunday to be set to music. In between "The Midnight Fire Alarm" and "Marche Militaire" I would get my inspiration, which was to destroy all the existent forms of harmony and create my own cacophony107. Imagine Uranus108 well aspected to Mars, to Mercury, to the Moon, to Jupiter, to Venus. It's hard to imagine because Uranus functions best when it is badly aspected, when it is "afflicted109", so to speak. Yet that music which I gave off Sunday mornings, a music of well-being and of well-nourished desperation, was born of an illogically well-aspected Uranus firmly anchored in the 7th House. I didn't know it then, I didn't know that Uranus existed, and lucky it was that I was ignorant. But I can see it now, because it was a fluky joy, a phony well-being, a destructive sort of fiery110 creation. The greater my euphoria the more tranquil111 the folks became. Even my sister who was dippy became calm and composed. The neighbours used to stand outside the window and listen, and now and then I would hear a burst of applause, and then bang, zip! like a rocket I was off again - Velocity Exercise No. 9471/2. If I happened to espy112 a cockroach113 crawling up the wall I was in bliss114: that would lead me without the slightest modulation115 to Opus Izzi of my sadly corrugated116 clavichord117. One Sunday, just like that, I composed one of the loveliest scherzos imaginable - to a louse. It was Spring and we were all getting the sulphur treatment; I had been pouring all week over Dante's Infernoin English. Sunday came like a thaw118, the birds driven so crazy by the sudden heat that they flew in and out of the window, immune to the music. One of the German relatives had just arrived from Hamburg, or Bremen, a maiden119 aunt who looked like a bull-dyker. Just to be near her was sufficient to throw roe120 into a fit of rage. She used to pat me on the head and tell me I would be another Mozart. I hated Mozart, and I hate him still, and so to get even with her I would play badly, play all the sour notes I knew. And then came the little louse, as I was saying, a real louse which had gotten buried in my winter underwear. I got him out and I put him tenderly on the tip of a black key. Then I began to do a little gigue around him with my right hand, the noise had probably deafened121 him tenderly on the tip of a black key. Then hypnotized, it seemed, by my nimble pyrotechnic. This trance-like immobility finally got on my nerves. I decided122 to introduce a chromatic123 scale coming down on him full force with my third finger. I caught him fair and square, but with such force that he was glued to my fingertip. That put the St. Vitus' Dance in me. From then on the scherzo commenced. It was a pot-pourri of forgotten melodies spiced with aloes and the juice of porcupines124, played sometimes in three keys at once and pivoting125 always like a waltzing mouse around the immaculate conception. Later, when I went to hear Prokofief, I understood what was happening to him; I understood Whitehead and Russell and Jeans and Eddington and Rudolf Eucken and Frobenius and Link Gillespie; I understood why, if there had never been a binomial theorem, man would have invented it; I understood why electricity and compressed air, to say nothing of sprudel baths and fango packs. I understood very dearly, I must say, that man has a dead louse in his blood, and that when you're handed a symphony or a fresco126 or a high explosive you're really getting an ipecac reaction which was not included in the predestined bill of fare. I understood too why I had failed to become the musician I was. All the compositions I had created in my head, all these private and artistic127 auditions128 which were permitted me, thanks to St. Hildegarde or St. Bridget, or John of the Cross, or God knows whom, were written for an age to come, an age with less instruments and stronger antennae129, stronger eardrums too. A different kind of suffering has to be experienced before such music can be appreciated. Beethoven staked out the new territory - one is aware of its presence when he erupts, when he breaks down in the very core of his stillness. It is a realm of new vibrations131 - to us only a misty132 nebula133, for we have yet to pass beyond our own conception of suffering. We have yet to ingest this nebulous world, its travail134, its orientation135. I was permitted to hear an incredible music lying prone136 and indifferent to the Sorrow about me. I heard the gestation137 of a new world, the sound of torrential rivers taking their course, the sound of stars grinding and chafing138, of fountains clotted139 with blazing gems140. All music is still governed by the old astronomy, is the product of the hothouse, a panacea141 for Weltschmerz. Music is still the antidote142 for the nameless, but this is not yet music.Music is planetary fire, an irreducible which is all-sufficient; it is the slate-writing of the gods, the abracadabra143 which the learned and the ignorant alike muff because the axle has been unhooked. Look to the bowels144, to the unconsolable and ineluctable! Nothing is determined145, nothing is settled or solved. All this that is going on, all music, all architecture, all law, all government, all invention, all discovery - all this is velocity exercises in the dark, Czemy with a capital Zed riding a crazy white horse in a bottle of mucilage.
One of the reasons why I never got anywhere with the bloody146 music is that it was always mixed up with sex. As soon as I was able to play a song the cunts were around me like flies. To begin with, it was largely Lola's fault. Lola was my first piano teacher. Lola Niessen. It was a ridiculous name and typical of the neighbourhood we were living in then. It sounded like a stinking147 bloater, or a wormy cunt. To tell the truth, Lola was not exactly a beauty. She looked somewhat like a Kalmuck or a Chinook, with sallow complexion148 and bilious-looking eyes. She had a few warts149 and wens, not to speak of the moustache. What excited me, however, was her hairiness; she had wonderful long fine black hair which she arranged in ascending150 and descending151 buns on her Mongolian skull. At the nape of the neck she curled it up in a serpentine152 knot. She was always late in coming, being a conscientious153 idiot, and by the time she arrived I was always a bit enervated154 from masturbating. As soon as she took the stool beside me, however, I became exdted again, what with the stinking perfume she soused her armpits with. In the summer she wore loose sleeves and I could see the tufts'of hair under her arms. The sight of it drove me wild. I imagined her as having hair all over, even in her navel. And what I wanted to do was to roll in it, bury my teeth in it. I could have eaten Lola's hair as a delicacy155, if there had been a bit of flesh attached to it. Anyway she was hairy, that's what I want to say and being hairy as a gorilla156 she got my mind off the the music and on to her cunt. I was so damned eager to see that cunt of hers that finally one day I bribed157 her little brother to let me have a peep at her while she was in the bath. It was even more wonderful than I had imagined: she had a shag that reached from the navel to the crotch, an enormous thick tuft, a sporran, rich as a hand-woven rug. When she went over it with the powder puff158 I thought I would faint. The next time she came for the lesson I left a couple of buttons open on my fly. She didn't seem to notice anything amiss. The following time I left my whole fly open. This time she caught on. She said, "I think you've forgotten something. Henry." I looked at her, red as a beet130, and I asked her blandly159 what ?
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1
crater
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| n.火山口，弹坑 | |
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blemish
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| v.损害；玷污；瑕疵，缺点 | |
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robin
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| n.知更鸟，红襟鸟 | |
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innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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petal
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| n.花瓣 | |
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alluringly
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| 诱人地，妩媚地 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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exuded
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| v.缓慢流出，渗出，分泌出( exude的过去式和过去分词 )；流露出对（某物）的神态或感情 | |
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riveted
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| 铆接( rivet的过去式和过去分词 )； 把…固定住； 吸引； 引起某人的注意 | |
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lithe
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| adj.(指人、身体)柔软的，易弯的 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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marvel
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| vi.(at)惊叹vt.感到惊异；n.令人惊异的事 | |
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relic
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| n.神圣的遗物，遗迹，纪念物 | |
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slumber
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| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
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animation
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| n.活泼，兴奋，卡通片／动画片的制作 | |
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notch
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| n.(V字形)槽口，缺口，等级 | |
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deception
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| n.欺骗，欺诈；骗局，诡计 | |
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skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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effulgence
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| n.光辉 | |
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engulfing
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| adj.吞噬的v.吞没，包住( engulf的现在分词 ) | |
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metallic
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| adj.金属的；金属制的；含金属的；产金属的；像金属的 | |
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heinous
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| adj.可憎的，十恶不赦的 | |
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flickered
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| （通常指灯光）闪烁，摇曳( flicker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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flicker
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| vi./n.闪烁，摇曳，闪现 | |
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shutter
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| n.百叶窗；(照相机)快门；关闭装置 | |
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paraphernalia
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| n.装备；随身用品 | |
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lashing
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| n.鞭打；痛斥；大量；许多v.鞭打( lash的现在分词 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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penetrating
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| adj.（声音）响亮的，尖锐的adj.（气味）刺激的adj.（思想）敏锐的，有洞察力的 | |
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dangling
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| 悬吊着( dangle的现在分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
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trifling
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| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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anatomy
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| n.解剖学，解剖；功能，结构，组织 | |
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overhauling
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| n.大修；拆修；卸修；翻修v.彻底检查( overhaul的现在分词 )；大修；赶上；超越 | |
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dawdled
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| v.混（时间）( dawdle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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exasperatingly
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exasperating
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| adj. 激怒的 动词exasperate的现在分词形式 | |
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itinerary
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| n.行程表，旅行路线；旅行计划 | |
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functional
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| adj.为实用而设计的，具备功能的，起作用的 | |
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embarked
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| 乘船( embark的过去式和过去分词 )； 装载； 从事 | |
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perch
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| n.栖木，高位，杆；v.栖息，就位，位于 | |
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terrain
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| n.地面，地形，地图 | |
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swoop
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| n.俯冲，攫取；v.抓取，突然袭击 | |
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pounce
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| n.猛扑；v.猛扑，突然袭击，欣然同意 | |
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prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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majestically
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| 雄伟地； 庄重地； 威严地； 崇高地 | |
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synchronizing
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| v.同步，整步adj.同步的 | |
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48
dictated
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| v.大声讲或读( dictate的过去式和过去分词 )；口授；支配；摆布 | |
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poised
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| a.摆好姿势不动的 | |
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frantically
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| ad.发狂地, 发疯地 | |
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crumb
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| n.饼屑，面包屑，小量 | |
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belongings
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| n.私人物品，私人财物 | |
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scrap
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| n.碎片；废料；v.废弃，报废 | |
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54
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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inhumanly
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| adv.无人情味地，残忍地 | |
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hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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rumours
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| n.传闻( rumour的名词复数 )；风闻；谣言；谣传 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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60
symbolic
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| adj.象征性的，符号的，象征主义的 | |
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61
ironic
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| adj.讽刺的，有讽刺意味的，出乎意料的 | |
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62
eternity
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| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
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63
itches
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| n.痒( itch的名词复数 )；渴望，热望v.发痒( itch的第三人称单数 ) | |
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64
gallop
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| v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔；飞速发展 | |
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65
sledge
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| n.雪橇，大锤；v.用雪橇搬运，坐雪橇往 | |
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66
shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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67
rhinoceros
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| n.犀牛 | |
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68
lighter
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| n.打火机，点火器；驳船；v.用驳船运送；light的比较级 | |
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69
parasitic
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| adj.寄生的 | |
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70
speck
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| n.微粒，小污点，小斑点 | |
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71
inert
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| adj.无活动能力的，惰性的；迟钝的 | |
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72
gem
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| n.宝石，珠宝；受爱戴的人 [同]jewel | |
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73
pulp
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| n.果肉，纸浆；v.化成纸浆，除去...果肉，制成纸浆 | |
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74
marine
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| adj.海的；海生的；航海的；海事的；n.水兵 | |
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75
filament
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| n.细丝；长丝；灯丝 | |
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76
landmarks
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| n.陆标( landmark的名词复数 )；目标；（标志重要阶段的）里程碑 ~ (in sth)；有历史意义的建筑物（或遗址） | |
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77
shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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78
miraculous
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| adj.像奇迹一样的，不可思议的 | |
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79
syrup
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| n.糖浆，糖水 | |
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80
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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81
sustenance
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| n.食物，粮食；生活资料；生计 | |
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82
devouring
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| 吞没( devour的现在分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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83
nourishment
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| n.食物，营养品；营养情况 | |
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84
reigns
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| n.君主的统治( reign的名词复数 )；君主统治时期；任期；当政期 | |
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85
cemetery
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| n.坟墓，墓地，坟场 | |
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86
screech
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| n./v.尖叫；(发出)刺耳的声音 | |
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87
well-being
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| n.安康，安乐，幸福 | |
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88
hoist
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| n.升高，起重机，推动；v.升起，升高，举起 | |
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89
vim
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| n.精力，活力 | |
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90
vigour
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| （=vigor）n.智力，体力，精力 | |
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91
dummy
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| n.假的东西；(哄婴儿的)橡皮奶头 | |
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92
zoom
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| n.急速上升；v.突然扩大，急速上升 | |
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93
velocity
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| n.速度，速率 | |
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94
joints
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| 接头( joint的名词复数 )； 关节； 公共场所（尤指价格低廉的饮食和娱乐场所） （非正式）； 一块烤肉 （英式英语） | |
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95
tonic
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| n./adj.滋补品，补药，强身的，健体的 | |
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96
gulp
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| vt.吞咽，大口地吸（气）；vi.哽住；n.吞咽 | |
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97
strap
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| n.皮带，带子；v.用带扣住，束牢；用绷带包扎 | |
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98
improvising
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| 即兴创作（improvise的现在分词形式） | |
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99
sullenly
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| 不高兴地，绷着脸，忧郁地 | |
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100
modulate
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| v.调整，调节(音的强弱)；变调 | |
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101
intelligible
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| adj.可理解的，明白易懂的，清楚的 | |
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102
logic
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| n.逻辑(学)；逻辑性 | |
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103
skulls
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| 颅骨( skull的名词复数 )； 脑袋； 脑子； 脑瓜 | |
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104
vomit
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| v.呕吐，作呕；n.呕吐物，吐出物 | |
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105
stewing
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| 炖 | |
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106
guts
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| v.狼吞虎咽，贪婪地吃，飞碟游戏（比赛双方每组5人，相距15码，互相掷接飞碟）；毁坏（建筑物等）的内部( gut的第三人称单数 )；取出…的内脏n.勇气( gut的名词复数 )；内脏；消化道的下段；肠 | |
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107
cacophony
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| n.刺耳的声音 | |
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108
Uranus
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| n.天王星 | |
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109
afflicted
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| 使受痛苦，折磨( afflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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110
fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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111
tranquil
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| adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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112
espy
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| v.（从远处等）突然看到 | |
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113
cockroach
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| n.蟑螂 | |
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114
bliss
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| n.狂喜，福佑，天赐的福 | |
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115
modulation
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| n.调制 | |
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116
corrugated
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| adj.波纹的；缩成皱纹的；波纹面的；波纹状的v.（使某物）起皱褶(corrugate的过去式和过去分词) | |
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117
clavichord
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| n.（敲弦）古钢琴 | |
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118
thaw
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| v.（使）融化，（使）变得友善；n.融化，缓和 | |
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119
maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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120
roe
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| n.鱼卵；獐鹿 | |
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121
deafened
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| 使聋( deafen的过去式和过去分词 )； 使隔音 | |
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122
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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123
chromatic
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| adj.色彩的，颜色的 | |
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124
porcupines
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| n.豪猪，箭猪( porcupine的名词复数 ) | |
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125
pivoting
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| n.绕轴旋转，绕公共法线旋转v.（似）在枢轴上转动( pivot的现在分词 )；把…放在枢轴上；以…为核心，围绕（主旨）展开 | |
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126
fresco
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| n.壁画；vt.作壁画于 | |
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127
artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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128
auditions
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| n.（对拟做演员、歌手、乐师等人的）试听，试音( audition的名词复数 ) | |
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129
antennae
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| n.天线；触角 | |
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130
beet
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| n.甜菜；甜菜根 | |
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131
vibrations
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| n.摆动( vibration的名词复数 )；震动；感受；（偏离平衡位置的）一次性往复振动 | |
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132
misty
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| adj.雾蒙蒙的，有雾的 | |
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133
nebula
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| n.星云，喷雾剂 | |
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134
travail
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| n.阵痛；努力 | |
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135
orientation
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| n.方向，目标；熟悉，适应，情况介绍 | |
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136
prone
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| adj.(to)易于…的，很可能…的；俯卧的 | |
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137
gestation
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| n.怀孕；酝酿 | |
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138
chafing
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| n.皮肤发炎v.擦热（尤指皮肤）( chafe的现在分词 )；擦痛；发怒；惹怒 | |
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139
clotted
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| adj.凝结的v.凝固( clot的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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140
gems
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| growth； economy； management； and customer satisfaction 增长 | |
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141
panacea
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| n.万灵药；治百病的灵药 | |
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142
antidote
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| n.解毒药，解毒剂 | |
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143
abracadabra
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| n.咒语，胡言乱语 | |
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144
bowels
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| n.肠，内脏，内部；肠( bowel的名词复数 )；内部，最深处 | |
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145
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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146
bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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147
stinking
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| adj.臭的，烂醉的，讨厌的v.散发出恶臭( stink的现在分词 )；发臭味；名声臭；糟透 | |
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148
complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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149
warts
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| n.疣( wart的名词复数 )；肉赘；树瘤；缺点 | |
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150
ascending
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| adj.上升的，向上的 | |
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151
descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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152
serpentine
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| adj.蜿蜒的，弯曲的 | |
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153
conscientious
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| adj.审慎正直的，认真的，本着良心的 | |
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154
enervated
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| adj.衰弱的，无力的v.使衰弱，使失去活力( enervate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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155
delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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156
gorilla
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| n.大猩猩，暴徒，打手 | |
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157
bribed
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| v.贿赂( bribe的过去式和过去分词 )；向（某人）行贿，贿赂 | |
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158
puff
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| n.一口(气)；一阵(风)；v.喷气，喘气 | |
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159
blandly
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| adv.温和地，殷勤地 | |
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