摘自封底: 「我」叩門，門就開了，只一個空房／一糰漆黑，夾雜活人封塵的唸白或哭喪，亡魂未能冥滅，在嚎叫。「我在想念，同時忘記。「我」寫的又怎能是妳。期間「我」老了少許。道德世界給轟成核子塵的時候，那一段靜默和停頓--- 「我」看見那朵煙花--- 世界的簡寫：世界之簡化為一個標號--- 那是永生和死亡下棋的籌碼，陀思妥也夫斯基的流行曲誓辭...... 當「追悔」變成最新近流行在前端的文學潮流，「我」高興得害怕了高興。渴望温柔。悔咎成癮。「我」看見，那朵煙花，「我」看見妳，「我」想著要找到妳。「我」在妳耳畔訴說。妄念無痛的前生。無玷的童貞女、聖靈冥滅，靜夜之華是妳。 Taken up the pseudo-confessional voice of "I," the narrator is trapped in the most difficult situation of choosing between two kinds of women in his "final bet after too many desperate stakes of losing" - one that makes him smoke, the other stops him from smoking - from there a flight of self-fashioned interrogations and a sadomasochism between the split selves take off. Carelessly invoking Nietzsche or Fante, Oxford dictionary and Che Guevara to ornament a melancholic boredom that is irreducible and reactionary. The narrative swerves around in-between cliches typical of travelers writer books, brutally dismantled by existentialist non-action, persecution paranoia reminiscent of the Freudian Schreber's, and at times frank lament of unrequited love and classic Goth motifs reinvented.