I’ve noticed in bookstores they never seem to know where to put my stuff. And when I deal with magazine editors they’re a little puzzled by me also. I’ll try to explain myself: Everything I do comes out of the ground and everything that matters eventually sinks back into the earth’s embrace. Everything. The words, the lies, the love. I’ll tell you where I come from and where I am headed. I’ll go to ground. About a month ago, I was standing on the island of Bali looking down into a hole that measured maybe 12 feet across and 3 or 4 feet deep. On October 12, three bombs went off in a 55-second span. One took fire right behind me at Paddy’s Club, a two-story saloon that now is roofless and has a mezzanine sagging down like a burned and tired tongue. The second one went off in a parked van—the transmission flew like a bird for about 400 yards—and produced the fine hole in the street I’m now staring down into. It also took out a place called the Sari Club, an openair saloon with thatched ramadas, lots of young and lusty folk, and plenty to drink. The Sari Club is now mainly dust and little bits of rubble. The third bomb went off a mile or so away at the U.S. consulate, but this one was kind of a detail, like putting the address on an envelope after you’ve already typed out a long letter and are about to post it. I am standing here with a small notebook and a fine-point black-ink pen because this seems to be what I do. Everyone around me is a foot shorter—almost every Australian or European has cleared out and governments have issued warnings to avoid this place because more bombs are rumored to be in some pipeline called terror. I’m staying at the Hard Rock Hotel here in Kuta Beach, the strip of boozing spots and high-end shops that has become the acceptable face of Asia for so many. The hotel provides each guest with a Hard Rock dictionary so that I will be up to speed with the experience of living in a mausoleum of dead guitars and drinks with little umbrellas. I am

中文翻译：

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信条：归零地

我注意到在书店里，他们似乎永远不知道把我的东西放在哪里。当我与杂志编辑打交道时，他们也对我感到有些困惑。我会试着解释自己：我所做的一切都是从土里出来的，所有重要的东西最终都会沉入大地的怀抱。一切。言语，谎言，爱。我会告诉你我从哪里来，我要去哪里。我会去地面。大约一个月前，我站在巴厘岛上俯视一个大约 12 英尺宽、3 或 4 英尺深的洞。10 月 12 日，三枚炸弹在 55 秒内爆炸。一个在我身后的帕迪俱乐部发生了火灾，这是一个两层楼的沙龙，现在没有屋顶，夹层下垂，就像被烧伤和疲惫的舌头一样。第二个在一辆停着的货车里爆炸了——变速箱像一只鸟一样飞了大约 400 码——并在我现在正盯着的街道上留下了一个小洞。它还带走了一个叫做 Sari Club 的地方，这是一个露天沙龙，里面有茅草屋，有很多年轻而精力充沛的人，还有很多酒水。纱丽俱乐部现在主要是灰尘和少量碎石。第三颗炸弹在距离美国领事馆一英里左右的地方爆炸，但这是一个细节，就像在你已经打完一封长信并准备寄出后把地址放在信封上一样。我站在这里，拿着一个小笔记本和一支细尖的黑色墨水笔，因为这似乎就是我所做的。我周围的每个人都矮了一英尺——几乎每个澳大利亚人或欧洲人都已经撤离，政府已经发出警告，要避开这个地方，因为有传言说，有更多的炸弹正在被称为恐怖分子的管道中。我住在库塔海滩的硬石酒店，这里有很多喝酒的地方和高端商店，已经成为很多人可以接受的亚洲面孔。酒店为每位客人提供了一本 Hard Rock 词典，这样我就可以快速了解住在坟墓里的吉他和带小雨伞的饮料的经历。我是 酒店为每位客人提供了一本 Hard Rock 词典，这样我就可以快速了解住在坟墓里的吉他和带小雨伞的饮料的经历。我是 酒店为每位客人提供了一本 Hard Rock 词典，这样我就可以快速了解住在坟墓里的吉他和带小雨伞的饮料的经历。我是