There was no such thing as a thing,because the concept "thing" was missing.
I say it was a New World I was describing, but like the New World which Columbus discovered it turned out to be a far older world than any we have known. I saw beneath the superficial physiognomy of skin and bone the indestructible world which man has always carried within him; it was neither old nor new, really, but the eternally true world which changes from moment to moment. Everything I looked at was palimpsest and there was no layer of writing too strange for me to decipher. When my companions left me of an evening I would often sit down and write to my friends the Australian Bushmen or to the Mound8 Builders of the Mississippi Valley or to the Igorotes in the Philippines. I had to write English, naturally, because it was the only language I spoke9, but between my language and the telegraphic code employed by my bosom10 friends there was a world of difference. Any primitive11 man would have understood me, any man of archaic12 epochs would have understood me: only those about me, that is to say, a continent of a hundred million people, failed to understand my language. To write intelligibly13 for them I would have been obliged first of all to kill something, secondly14, to arrest time. I had just made the realization15 that life is indestructible and that there is no such thing as time, only the present. Did they expect me to deny a truth which it had taken me all my life to catch a glimpse of? They most certainly did. The one thing they did not want to hear about was that life is indestructible. Was not their precious new world reared on the destruction of the innocent, on rape16 and plunder17 and torture and devastation18? Both continents had been violated; both continents had been stripped and plundered19 of all that was precious - in things.No greater humiliation20, it seems to me, was meted21 out to any man than to Montezuma; no race was ever more ruthlessly wiped out than the American Indian; no land was ever raped22 in the foul23 and bloody24 way that California was raped by the gold-diggers. I blush to think of our origins - our hands are steeped in blood and crime. And there is no let-up to the slaughter25 and the pillage26, as I discovered at first hand travelling throughout the length and breadth of the land. Down to the closest friend every man is a potential murderer. Often it wasn't necessary to bring out the gun or the lasso or the branding iron - they had found subtler and more devilish ways of torturing and killing28 their own. For me the most excruciating agony was to have the word annihilated29 before it had even left my mouth. I learned, by bitter experience, to hold my tongue; I learned to sit in silence, and even smile, when actually I was foaming30 at the mouth. I learned to shake hands and say how do you do to all these innocent-looking fiends who were only waiting for me to sit down in order to suck my blood.
How was it possible, when I sat down in the parlour at my prehistoric31 desk, to use this code language of rape and murder? I was alone in this great hemisphere of violence, but I was not alone as far as the human race was concerned. I was lonely amidst a world of thingslit up by phosphorescent flashes of cruelty. I was delirious33 with an energy which could not be unleashed34 except in the service of death and futility35. I could not begin with a full statement - it would have meant the strait-jacket or the electric chair. I was like a man who had been too long incarcerated36 in a dungeon37 - I had to feel my way slowly, falteringly38, lest I stumble and be run over. I had to accustom39 myself gradually to the penalties which freedom involves. I had to grow a new epidermis40 which would protect me from this burning light in the sky.
The ovarian world is the product of a life rhythm. The moment a child is born it becomes part of a world in which there is not only the life rhythm but the death rhythm. The frantic41 desire to live, to live at any cost, is not a result of the life rhythm in us, but of the death rhythm. There is not only no need to keep alive at any price, but, if life is undesirable42, it is absolutely wrong. This keeping oneself alive, out of a blind urge to defeat death, is in itself a means of sowing death. Every one who has not fully43 accepted life, who is not incrementing life, is helping44 to fill the world with death. To make the simplest gesture with the hand can convey the utmost sense of life; a word spoken with the whole being can give life. Activity in itself means nothing: it is often a sign of death. By simple external pressure, by force of surroundings and example, by the very climate which activity engenders45, one can become part of a monstrous46 death machine, such as America, for example. What does a dynamo know of life, of peace, of reality? What does any individual American dynamo know of the wisdom and energy, of the life abundant and eternal possessed47 by a ragged48 beggar sitting under a tree in the act of meditation49? What is energy?What is life?One has only to read the stupid twaddle of the scientific and philosophic50 textbooks to realize how less than nothing is the wisdom of these energetic Americans. Listen, they had me on the run, these crazy horsepower fiends; in order to break their insane rhythm, their death rhythm, I had to resort to a wavelength51 which, until I found the proper sustenance52 in my own bowels53, would at least nullify the rhythm they had set up. Certainly I did not need this grotesque54, cumbersome55, antediluvian56 desk which I had installed in the parlour; certainly I didn't need twelve empty chairs placed around in a semicircle; I needed only elbow room in which to write and a thirteenth chair which would take me out of the zodiac they were using and put me in a heaven beyond heaven. But when you drive a man almost crazy and when, to his own surprise perhaps, he finds that he still has some resistance, some powers of his own, then you are apt to find such a man acting57 very much like a primitive being. Such a man is apt not only to become stubborn and dogged, but superstitious58, a believer in magic and a practiser of magic. Such a man is beyond religion - it is his religiousness he is suffering from. Such a man becomes a monomaniac, bent59 on doing one thing only and that is to break the evil spell which has been put upon him. Such a man is beyond throwing bombs, beyond revolt; he wants to stop reacting, whether inertly60 or ferociously61. This man, of all men on earth, wants the act to be a manifestation62 of life. If, in the realization of his terrible need, he begins to act regressively, to become unsocial, to stammer63 and stutter, to prove so utterly64 unadapted as to be incapable65 of earning a living, know that this man has found his way back to the womb and source of life and that tomorrow, instead of the contemptible66 object of ridicule67 which you have made of him, he will stand forth68 as a mmin his own right and all the powers of the world will be of no avail against him.
Out of the crude cipher7 with which he communicates from his prehistoric desk with the archaic men of the world a new language builds up which cuts through the death language of the day like wireless69 through a storm. There is no magic in this wavelength any more than there is magic in the womb. Men are lonely and out of communication with one another because all their inventions speak only of death. Death is the automaton70 which rules the world of activity. Death is silent, because it has no mouth. Death has never expressedanything. Death is wonderful too - after life.Only one like myself who has opened his mouth and spoken, only one who has said Yes, Yes, Yes, and again Yes! can open wide his arms to death and know no fear. Death as a reward, yes! Death as a result of fulfillment, yes! Death as a crown and shield, yes! But not death from the roots, isolating71 men, making them bitter and fearful and lonely, giving them fruitless energy, filling them with a will which can only say No! The first word any man writes when he has found himself, his own rhythm, which is the life rhythm is Yes! Everything he writes thereafter is Yes, Yes, Yes - Yes in a thousand million ways. No dynamo, no matter how huge - not even a dynamo of a hundred million dead souls - can combat one man saying Yes!
The war was on and men were being slaughtered72, one million, two million, five million, ten million, twenty million, finally a hundred million, then a billion, everybody, man, woman and child, down to the last one. "No!"they were shouting, "No! they shall not pass!"And yet everybody passed; everybody got a free pass, whether he shouted Yes or No. In the midst of this triumphant73 demonstration74 of spiritually destructive osmosis I sat with my feet planted on the big desk trying to communicate with Zeus the Father of Atlantis and with his lost progeny, ignorant of the fact that Apollinaire was to die the day before the Armistice75 in a military hospital, ignorant of the fact that in his "new writing" he had penned these indelible lines, "Be forbearing when you compare us
With those who were the perfection of order.
We who everywhere seek adventure,
We are not your enemies.
We would give you vast and strange domains76
Where flowering mystery waits for him would pluck it."
Ignorant that in this same poem he had also written:
"Have compassion77 on us who are always fighting on the frontiers Of the boundless79 future,
Compassion for our errors, compassion for our sins." I was ignorant of the fact that there were men then living who went by the outlandish names of Blaise Cendrars, Jacques Vache, Louis Aragon, Tristan Tzara, Rene Crevel, Henri de Montherlant, Andre Breton, Max Ernst, George Grosz; ignorant of the fact that on July, 14,1916, at the Saal Waag, in Zurich, the first Dada Manifesto80 had been proclaimed -"manifesto by monsieur antipyrine" - that in this strange document it was stated "Dada is life without slippers81 or parallel . . . severe necessity without discipline or morality and we spit on humanity." Ignorant of the fact that the Dada Manifesto of 1918 contained these lines. "I am writing a manifesto and I want nothing, yet I say certain things, and I am against manifestoes as a matter of principle, as I am also against principles ... I write this manifesto to show that one may perform opposed actions together, in a single fresh respiration82, I am against action; for continual contradiction, for affirmation also, I am neither for nor against and I do not explain for I hate good sense .. . There is a literature which does not reach the voracious83 mass. The work of creators, sprung from a real necessity on the part of the author, and for himself. Consciousness of a supreme84 egotism where the stars waste away . . . Each page must explode, either with the profoundly serious and heavy, the whirlwind, dizziness, the new, the eternal, with the overwhelming hoax85, with an enthusiasm for principles or with the mode of typography. On the one hand a staggering fleeing world, affianced to the jingle-bells of the infernal gamut86, on the other hand: new beings..."
Thirty-two years later and I am still saying Yes! Yes, Monsieur Antipyrine! Yes,Monsieur Tristan Bustanoby Tzara! Yes, Monsieur Max Ernst Geburt! Yes! Monsieur Rene Crevel, now that you are dead by suicide, yes, the world is crazy, you were right. Yes, Monsieur Blaise Cendrars, you were right to kill. Was it the day of the Armistice that you brought out your little book -J'ai tue?Yes, "keep on my lads, humanity..." Yes, Jacques Vache, quite right - "Art ought to be something funny and a trifle boring." Yes, my dear dead Vache, how right you were and how funny and how boring the touching87 and tender and true: "It is of the essence of symbols to be symbolic88." Say it again, from the other world! Have you a megaphone up there? Have you found all the arms and legs that were blown off during the melee89? Can you put them together again? Do you remember the meeting at Nantes in 1916 with Andre Breton? Did you celebrate the birth of hysteria together? Had he told you, Breton, that there was only the marvellous and nothing but the marvellous and that the marvellous is always marvellous - and isn't it marvellous to hear it again, even though your ears are stopped? I want to include here, before passing on, a little portrait of you by Emile Bouvier for the benefit of my Brooklyn friends who may not have recognized me then but who will now, I am sure..
". . . he was not all crazy, and could explain his conduct when occasion required. His actions, none the less, were as disconcerting as Jarry's worst eccentricities90. For example, he was barely out of hospital when he hired himself out as a stevedore91, and he thereafter passed his afternoons in unloading coal on the quays92 along the Loire. In the evening, on the other hand he would make the rounds of the cafes and cinemas, dressed in the height of fashion and with many variations of costume. What was more, in time of war, he would strut93 forth sometimes in the uniform of a lieutenant94 of Hussars, sometimes in that of an English officer, of an aviator95 or of a surgeon. In civil life, he was quite as free and easy, thinking nothing of introducing Breton under the name of Andre Salmon96, while he took unto himself, but quite without vanity, the most wonderful titles and adventures. He never said good morning nor good evening nor good-bye, and never took any notice of letters, except those from his mother, when he had to ask for money. He did not recognize his best friends from one day to another..."
Do you recognize me, lads? Just a Brooklyn boy communicating with the red-haired albinos of the Zuni region. Making ready, with feet on the desk, to write "strong works, works forever incomprehensible", as my dead comrades were promising97. These "strong works" - would you recognize them if you saw them? Do you know that of the millions who were killed not one death was necessary to produce "the strong work"? New beings,yes! We have need of new beings still. We can do without the telephone, without the automobile98, without the high-class bombers99 - but we can't do without new beings. If Atlantis was submerged beneath the sea, if the Sphinx and the Pyramids remain an eternal riddle100, it is because there were no more new beings being born. Stop the machine a moment! Plash back! Flash back to 1914, to the Kaiser sitting on his horse. Keep him sitting there a moment with his withered101 arm clutching the bridle102 rein103. Look at his moustache! Look at his haughty104 air of pride and arrogance105! Look at his cannon-fodder lined up in strictest discipline, all ready to obey the word, to get shot, to get disembowelled, to be burned in quicklime. Hold it a moment, now, and look at the other side: the defenders106 of our great and glorious civilization, the men who will war to end war. Change their clothes, change uniforms, change horses, change flags, change terrain107. My, is that the Kaiser I see on a white horse? Are those the terrible Huns? And where is Big Bertha? Oh, I see -1 thought it was pointing towards Notre Dame108? Humanity, me lads, humanity always marching in the van . . . And the strong works we were speaking of? Where are the strong works? Call up the Western union and dispatch a messenger fleet of foot - not a cripple or an octogenarian, but a young one! Ask him to find the great work and bring it back. We need it. We have a brand new museum ready waiting to house it - and cellophane and the Dewey Decimal system to file it. All we need is the name of the author. Even if he has no name, even if it is anonymous109 work, we won't kick. Even if it has a little mustard gas in it we won't mind. Bring it back dead or alive - there's a $25,000 reward for the man who fetches it.
And if they tell you that these things had to be, that things could not have happened otherwise, that France did her best and Germany her best and that little Liberia and little Ecuador and all the other allies also did their best, and that since the war everybody has been doing his best to patch things up or to forget, tell them that their best is not good enough, that we don't want to hear any more this logic6 of "doing the best one can", tell them we don't want the best of a bad bargain, we don't believe in bargains good or bad, nor in war memorials. We don't want to hear about the logic of events - or any kind of logic. "Je ne parle pas logique,"said Montherlant, "je parle generosite."I don't think you heard it very well, since it was in French. I'll repeat it for you, in the Queen's own language; "I'm not talking logic, I'm talking generosity110." That's bad English, as the Queen herself might speak it, but it's clear. Generosity -do you hear? You never practise it, any of you, either in peace or in war. You don't know the meaning of the word. You think to supply guns and ammunition111 to the winning side is generosity; you think sending Red Cross nurses to the front, or the Salvation112 Army, is generosity. You think a bonus twenty years too late is generosity; you think a little pension and a wheel chair is generosity; you think if you give a man his old job back it's generosity. You don't know what the fucking war means, you bastards113! To be generous is to say Yes before the man even opens his mouth. To say Yes you have to first be a Surrealist or a Dadaist, because you have understood what it means to say No. You can even say Yes and No at the same time, provided you do more than is expected of you. Be a stevedore in the day time and a Beau Brummel in the night-time. Wear any uniform so long as it's not yours. When you write your mother ask her to cough up a little dough114 so that you may have a clean rag to wipe your ass27 with. Don't be disturbed if you see your neighbour going after his wife with a knife: he probably has good reason to go after her, and if he kills her you may be sure he has the satisfaction of knowing whyhe did it. If you're trying to improve your mind, stop it I There's no improving the mind. Look at your heart and gizzard - the brain is in the heart.
Ah yes, if I had known then that these birds existed -Cendrars, Vache, Grosz, Ernst, Apollinaire - if I had known that then, if I had known that in their own way they were thinking exactly the same things as I was, I think I'd have blown up. Yes, I think I'd have gone off like a bomb. But I was ignorant. Ignorant of the fact that almost fifty years previously115 a crazy Jew in South America had given birth to such startlingly marvellous phrases as "doubt's duck with the vermouth lips" or "I have seen a fig78 eat an onager" - that about the same time a Frenchman, who was only a boy, was saying: "Find flowers that are chairs" . . . "my hunger is the black air's bits" . . . "his heart, amber116 and spunk117". Maybe at the same time, or thereabouts, while Jarry was saying "in eating the sound of moths118", and Apollinaire repeating after him "near a gentleman swallowing himself", and Breton murmuring softly "night's pedals move uninterruptedly", perhaps "in the air beautiful and black" which the lone32 Jew had found under the Southern Cross another man, also lonely and exiled and of Spanish origin, was preparing to put down on paper these memorable119 words: "I seek, all in all, to console myself for my exile, for my exile from eternity120, for that unearthing(destierro) which I am fond of referring to as my unheavening ... At present, I think that the best way of writing this novel is to tell how it should be written. It is the novel of the novel, the creation of creation. Or God of God, Deus de Deo."Had I known he was going to add this, this which follows, I would surely have gone off like a bomb... "By being crazy is understood losing one's reason. Reason, but not the truth, for there are madmen who speak truths while others keep silent. . ." Speaking of these things, speaking of the war and the war dead, I cannot refrain from mentioning that some twenty years later I ran across this in French by a Frenchman. 0 miracles of miracles! "Il fautle dire121, il y a des cadavres que je ne respecte qu'a moitie"Yes, yes, and again yes! O, let us do some rash things - for the sheer pleasure of it! Let us do something live and magnificent, even if destructive! Said the mad cobbler: "All things are generated oat of the grand mystery, and proceed out of one degree into another. Whatever goes forward in its degree, the same receives no abominate122."
Everywhere in all times the same ovarian world announcing itself. Yet also, parallel with these announcements, these prophecies, the gynecological manifestoes, parallel and contemporaneous with them new totem poles, new taboos123, new war dances. While into the air so black and beautiful the brothers of man, the poets, the diggers of the future, were spitting their magic lines, in this same time, 0 profound and perplexing riddle, other men were saying: "Won't you please come and take a job in our ammunition factory. We promise you the highest wages, the most sanitary124 and hygienic conditions. The work is so easy that even a child could do it" And if you had a sister, a wife, a mother, an aunt, as long as she could manipulate her hands, as long as she could prove that she had no bad habits, you were invited to bring her or them along to the ammunition works. If you were shy of soiling your hands they would explain to you very gently and intelligently just how these delicate mechanisms125 operated, what they did when they exploded, and why you must not waste even your garbage because... et ipso facto e pluribus unum. The thing that impressed me, going the rounds in search of work, was not so much that they made me vomit126 every day (assuming I had been lucky enough to put something into my guts), but that they always demanded to know if you were of good habits, if you were steady, if you were sober, if you were industrious127, if you had ever worked before and if not why not. Even the garbage, which I had gotten the job of collecting for the municipality, was precious to them, the killers128. Standing129 knee-deep in the muck, the lowest of the low, a coolie, an outcast, still I was part of the death racket. I tried reading the Infernoat night, but it was in English and English is no language for a catholic work. "Whatever enters in itself into its selfhood, viz. into its own lubet.. ." Lubet! If I had had a word like that to conjure131 with then, how peacefully I might have gone about my garbage collecting! How sweet, in the night, when Dante is out of reach and the hands smell of muck and slime, to take unto oneself this word which in the Dutch means "lust132" and in Latin 'lubitum" or the divine beneplacitum. Standing knee-deep in the garbage I said one day what Meister Eckhart is reported to have said long ago: "I truly have need of God, but God has need of me too." There was a job waiting for me in the slaughterhouse, a nice little job of sorting entrails, but I couldn't raise the fare to get to Chicago. I remained in Brooklyn, in my own palace of entrails, and turned round and round on the plinth of the labyrinth133. I remained at home seeking the "germinal vesicle", "the dragon castle on the floor of the sea", "the Heavenly Harp134", "the field of the square inch", "the house of the square foot", "the dark pass", "the space of former Heaven". I remained locked in, a prisoner of Forculus, god of the door, of Cardea, god of the hinge, and of Limentius, god of the threshold. I spoke only with their sisters, the three goddesses called Fear, Pallor and Fever. I saw no "Asian luxury", as had St. Augustine, or as he imagined he had. Nor did I see "the two twins born, so near together, that the second held the first by the heel". But I saw a street called Myrtle Avenue, which runs from Borough135 Hall to Fresh Pond Road, and down this street no saint ever walked (else it would have crumbled), down this street no miracle ever passed, nor any poet, nor any species of human genius, nor did any flower ever grow there, nor did the sun strike it squarely, nor did the rain ever wash it. For the genuine Inferno130 which I had to postpone136 for twenty years I give you Myrtle Avenue, one of the innumerable bridlepaths ridden by iron monsters which lead to the heart of America's emptiness. If you have only seen Essen or Manchester or Chicago or Levallois-Perret or Glasgow or Hoboken or Canarsie or Bayonne you have seen nothing of the magnificent emptiness of progress and enlightenment. Dear reader, you must see Myrtle Avenue before you die, if only to realize how far into the future Dante saw. You must believe me that on this street, neither in the houses which line it, nor the cobblestones which pave it, nor the elevated structure which cuts it atwain, neither in any creature that bears a name and lives thereon, neither in any animal, bird or insect passing through it to slaughter or already slaughtered, is there hope of "lubet", "sublimate137" or "abominate". It is a street not of sorrow, for sorrow would be human and recognizable, but of sheer emptiness: it is emptier than the most extinct volcano, emptier than a vacuum, emptier than the word God in the mouth of an unbeliever.
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lucid
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| adj.明白易懂的，清晰的，头脑清楚的 | |
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formulated
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| v.构想出( formulate的过去式和过去分词 )；规划；确切地阐述；用公式表示 | |
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backbone
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| n.脊骨，脊柱，骨干；刚毅，骨气 | |
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progeny
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| n.后代，子孙；结果 | |
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iota
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| n.些微，一点儿 | |
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6
logic
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| n.逻辑(学)；逻辑性 | |
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7
cipher
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| n.零；无影响力的人；密码 | |
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mound
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| n.土墩，堤，小山；v.筑堤，用土堆防卫 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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12
archaic
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| adj.(语言、词汇等)古代的，已不通用的 | |
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13
intelligibly
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| adv.可理解地，明了地，清晰地 | |
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14
secondly
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| adv.第二，其次 | |
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realization
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| n.实现；认识到，深刻了解 | |
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rape
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| n.抢夺，掠夺，强奸；vt.掠夺，抢夺，强奸 | |
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plunder
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| vt.劫掠财物，掠夺；n.劫掠物，赃物；劫掠 | |
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devastation
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| n.毁坏；荒废；极度震惊或悲伤 | |
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plundered
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| 掠夺，抢劫( plunder的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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humiliation
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| n.羞辱 | |
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meted
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| v.（对某人）施以，给予（处罚等）( mete的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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raped
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| v.以暴力夺取，强夺( rape的过去式和过去分词 )；强奸 | |
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foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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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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slaughter
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| n.屠杀，屠宰；vt.屠杀，宰杀 | |
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pillage
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| v.抢劫；掠夺；n.抢劫，掠夺；掠夺物 | |
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ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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annihilated
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| v.（彻底）消灭( annihilate的过去式和过去分词 )；使无效；废止；彻底击溃 | |
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foaming
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| adj.布满泡沫的；发泡 | |
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prehistoric
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| adj.（有记载的）历史以前的，史前的，古老的 | |
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lone
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| adj.孤寂的，单独的；唯一的 | |
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delirious
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| adj.不省人事的，神智昏迷的 | |
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unleashed
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| v.把（感情、力量等）释放出来，发泄( unleash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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35
futility
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| n.无用 | |
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36
incarcerated
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| 钳闭的 | |
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37
dungeon
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| n.地牢，土牢 | |
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38
falteringly
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| 口吃地，支吾地 | |
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39
accustom
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| vt.使适应，使习惯 | |
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40
epidermis
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| n.表皮 | |
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41
frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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42
undesirable
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| adj.不受欢迎的，不良的，不合意的，讨厌的；n.不受欢迎的人，不良分子 | |
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43
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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44
helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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45
engenders
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| v.产生（某形势或状况），造成，引起( engender的第三人称单数 ) | |
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46
monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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47
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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48
ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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49
meditation
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| n.熟虑，（尤指宗教的）默想，沉思，（pl.）冥想录 | |
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50
philosophic
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| adj.哲学的，贤明的 | |
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51
wavelength
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| n.波长 | |
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52
sustenance
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| n.食物，粮食；生活资料；生计 | |
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53
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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54
grotesque
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| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
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55
cumbersome
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| adj.笨重的，不便携带的 | |
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56
antediluvian
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| adj.史前的，陈旧的 | |
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57
acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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58
superstitious
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| adj.迷信的 | |
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59
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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60
inertly
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| adv.不活泼地，无生气地 | |
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61
ferociously
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| 野蛮地，残忍地 | |
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62
manifestation
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| n.表现形式；表明；现象 | |
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63
stammer
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| n.结巴，口吃；v.结结巴巴地说 | |
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64
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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65
incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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66
contemptible
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| adj.可鄙的，可轻视的，卑劣的 | |
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67
ridicule
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| v.讥讽，挖苦；n.嘲弄 | |
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68
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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69
wireless
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| adj.无线的；n.无线电 | |
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70
automaton
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| n.自动机器，机器人 | |
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71
isolating
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| adj.孤立的，绝缘的v.使隔离( isolate的现在分词 )；将…剔出（以便看清和单独处理）；使（某物质、细胞等）分离；使离析 | |
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72
slaughtered
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| v.屠杀，杀戮，屠宰( slaughter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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74
demonstration
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| n.表明，示范，论证，示威 | |
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75
armistice
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| n.休战，停战协定 | |
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76
domains
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| n.范围( domain的名词复数 )；领域；版图；地产 | |
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compassion
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| n.同情，怜悯 | |
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78
fig
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| n.无花果(树) | |
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79
boundless
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| adj.无限的；无边无际的；巨大的 | |
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80
manifesto
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| n.宣言，声明 | |
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81
slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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82
respiration
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| n.呼吸作用；一次呼吸；植物光合作用 | |
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83
voracious
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| adj.狼吞虎咽的，贪婪的 | |
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84
supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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85
hoax
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| v.欺骗，哄骗，愚弄；n.愚弄人，恶作剧 | |
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86
gamut
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| n.全音阶，(一领域的)全部知识 | |
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87
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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88
symbolic
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| adj.象征性的，符号的，象征主义的 | |
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89
melee
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| n.混战；混战的人群 | |
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90
eccentricities
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| n.古怪行为( eccentricity的名词复数 )；反常；怪癖 | |
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91
stevedore
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| n.码头工人；v.装载货物 | |
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92
quays
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| 码头( quay的名词复数 ) | |
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93
strut
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| v.肿胀，鼓起；大摇大摆地走；炫耀；支撑；撑开；n.高视阔步；支柱，撑杆 | |
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94
lieutenant
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| n.陆军中尉，海军上尉；代理官员，副职官员 | |
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95
aviator
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| n.飞行家，飞行员 | |
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96
salmon
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| n.鲑，大马哈鱼，橙红色的 | |
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97
promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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98
automobile
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| n.汽车，机动车 | |
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99
bombers
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| n.轰炸机( bomber的名词复数 )；投弹手；安非他明胶囊；大麻叶香烟 | |
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100
riddle
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| n.谜，谜语，粗筛；vt.解谜，给…出谜，筛，检查，鉴定，非难，充满于；vi.出谜 | |
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101
withered
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| adj. 枯萎的，干瘪的，（人身体的部分器官）因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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102
bridle
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| n.笼头，束缚；vt.抑制，约束；动怒 | |
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103
rein
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| n.疆绳，统治，支配；vt.以僵绳控制，统治 | |
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104
haughty
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| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
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105
arrogance
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| n.傲慢，自大 | |
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106
defenders
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| n.防御者( defender的名词复数 )；守卫者；保护者；辩护者 | |
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107
terrain
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| n.地面，地形，地图 | |
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108
dame
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| n.女士 | |
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109
anonymous
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| adj.无名的；匿名的；无特色的 | |
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110
generosity
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| n.大度，慷慨，慷慨的行为 | |
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111
ammunition
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| n.军火，弹药 | |
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112
salvation
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| n.（尤指基督）救世，超度，拯救，解困 | |
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113
bastards
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| 私生子( bastard的名词复数 )； 坏蛋； 讨厌的事物； 麻烦事 （认为别人走运或不幸时说）家伙 | |
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114
dough
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| n.生面团；钱，现款 | |
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115
previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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116
amber
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| n.琥珀；琥珀色；adj.琥珀制的 | |
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117
spunk
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| n.勇气，胆量 | |
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118
moths
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| n.蛾( moth的名词复数 ) | |
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119
memorable
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| adj.值得回忆的，难忘的，特别的，显著的 | |
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120
eternity
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| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
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121
dire
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| adj.可怕的，悲惨的，阴惨的，极端的 | |
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122
abominate
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| v.憎恨，厌恶 | |
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123
taboos
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| 禁忌( taboo的名词复数 )； 忌讳； 戒律； 禁忌的事物（或行为） | |
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124
sanitary
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| adj.卫生方面的，卫生的，清洁的，卫生的 | |
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125
mechanisms
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| n.机械( mechanism的名词复数 )；机械装置；[生物学] 机制；机械作用 | |
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126
vomit
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| v.呕吐，作呕；n.呕吐物，吐出物 | |
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127
industrious
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| adj.勤劳的，刻苦的，奋发的 | |
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128
killers
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| 凶手( killer的名词复数 )； 消灭…者； 致命物； 极难的事 | |
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129
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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130
inferno
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| n.火海；地狱般的场所 | |
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131
conjure
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| v.恳求，祈求；变魔术，变戏法 | |
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132
lust
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| n.性(淫)欲；渴(欲)望；vi.对…有强烈的欲望 | |
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133
labyrinth
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| n.迷宫；难解的事物；迷路 | |
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134
harp
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| n.竖琴；天琴座 | |
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135
borough
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| n.享有自治权的市镇；(英)自治市镇 | |
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136
postpone
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| v.延期，推迟 | |
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137
sublimate
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| v.(使)升华，净化 | |
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