Here the readers gather to watch the books die. They die suddenly, as if thrown from an airplane, or from spontaneous cardiac arrest. They live, and then suddenly they die, and the reader who watches this is at the moment of the books' death bombarded with images documented through the smiling lipstick face of a journalist who has shown up to report on the death of the books. The milk was poisoned and forty-two babies died, she laughs, as she fondles the ashes of the dead books. And the death of forty-two babies is equal in value to the death of this book which is equal in value to the ninety-year old woman who shot herself while the sheriff waited at her door with an eviction notice which is equal in value to the collapsing of the global economy which is equal to the military in country XYZ seizing the land of the semi-nomadic hunters and cultivators of crops who have lived in the local rain forest for thousands of years. The reader opens a dead book and finds an infinite amount of burnt ash between the bindings, and when the ash blows in the wind the lipstick says that every death in the world is equal to every other death in the world which is equal to every birth in the world which is equal to every act of dismemberment which is equal to the death of a jungle which is equal to the collapse of the global economy; and hey look there’s another lady falling out of a window; she looks about equal to the poet hurled out of his country for words he wrote but which did not belong to him and whose death is about equal to the girl who was shot on the bus on her way to school this morning which is just about the same as the bearded man whose head was shoved into a sac while water was dumped over it and he died for an instant and came back to life and talked and talked and that’s about equal to the steroid illegally injected into the arm of a beautiful man who makes forty million dollars a year for injecting his arms with steroids so he can more skillfully wave a wooden stick at a ball, and in the ash we see the truest democracy there ever was: hey look it’s a little baby found in a dumpster how equal you are says the smiling lipstick to the civilized nation whose citizens walk the flooded streets looking for their homes, and in the ashes of the dead book the dead streets are equal to the eating disorders of movie stars which are equal to the dead soldiers who are equal to the homeruns which are equal to the bomb dropped by country ABC over weddings in the village of country XYZ which is equal to the earth swallowing up and devouring all of its foreigners which is just about equal to the decline in literacy in the most educated nation in the planet. There is no end to this book. There are no paragraph breaks to interrupt the smiling lipstick that goes on and on in one string of ashy words about how the declaration of peace is equal to the resumption of war and how the bodies that fall are equal to the birds that ascend and how the bomb in the Eiffel Tower is equal to the rising cost of natural gas, and the murmurs of the voices in the mud are equal to the murmurs of the expensive suits falling out of buildings and these are equal to the silence that kills with one breath and coddles life with another.

在这里读者扎堆看书籍死亡。它们死得很突然，就像被从飞机上扔下去，或者死于自发的心脏骤停。它们活着，然后突然死掉了，读者看着它们死同时看着那些在死亡现场出现的涂着口红微笑的记者脸纪录下的死亡图像的狂轰滥炸。牛奶是有毒的造成42个婴儿死亡，当她抚弄着死去的书的灰烬。42个婴儿的死亡相等于这本书的死亡相等于一个90岁的老太太当警长拿着驱逐令站在她门口时开枪自杀相等于全球经济的崩溃相等于XYZ国的军队占领了已经在雨林里靠半游牧和种玉米生活了几千年的原住民的土地。读者打开一本死去的书在绑线之间发现无穷的灰烬，当风吹走这些灰烬的时候那个口红嘴说世界上的每一个死亡都相等于其他的死亡也相等于世界上的每一个新生儿相等于每一次分尸相等于丛林的消失相等于全球经济的崩溃；还有嗨看呐这儿又有一位女士从窗户里摔出来；她大约相等于那些被从一个国家赶出去的诗人因为他写的字但那些字又不属于他而他的死又大约相等于那个今早上学时在公车上被枪击的女孩而她大约相等于那个留胡子的男人他的头被推进一个口袋而口袋里灌满了水他死去了一会儿后来又活过来了一直说啊说啊说啊不停地说而这大约相等于类固醇被注射在一个漂亮男人的胳膊里他每年能赚4000万美元因为他注射类固醇所以他可以更熟练地用木杆击球，在这灰烬中我们看到有史以来最真实的民主：嗨看呐这儿有一个婴儿被从垃圾堆里发现是多么地相等于那个口红嘴在说的在文明国家公民穿过发洪水的街道寻找他们的房子，在这死去的书和死去的街道的灰烬里这些又相等于电影明星的饮食失调相等于那些全垒打相等于ABC国家在XYZ国家的村庄婚礼上投下炸弹相等于地球拱起大包吞没所有生活在上面的异类又大约相等于在地球上教育程度最高的国家文学水平的下降。这本书永无止境。它没有段落空行来打断微笑的口红嘴关于一个化为灰烬的词汇的说啊说她说的是为什么和平声明相等于重新开战为什么跌落的婴儿相等于下降的鸟儿为什么艾菲尔铁塔上的炸弹相等于天然气价格的上升，那些在污泥里的呻吟相等于当昂贵的西装从楼上掉下去时的念叨而这一切都相等于那可以用一次呼吸杀人而用另一次呼吸宠爱人的寂静。