Recently, I feel a little tired and my mental state is not good. I took a taxi to Shuangliu yesterday afternoon to accompany my grandma. I originally wanted to push her out for a walk, but the weather was not good and I insisted on a little rain. I got up very early in the morning, took a taxi back to Chengdu in the rain, sat for two hours, and returned to my kennel, not even bothering to order takeaway.
Bury your head heavily into the sofa, like a person who has not taken drugs for a long time, indulging in the wonderful feeling of breathing in and out, and then, there is endless emptiness left, and the world is spinning. Struggling to get up and sitting quietly, I always feel that in such a fine weather, sleeping is a waste, so I packed my computer bag and went to the milk tea shop downstairs, wanting to write a book that I haven¡¯t written for a long time, and let those few in People who watch my writing know that I'm still writing.
The friend from the milk tea shop actually opened his mouth and added the word "old" in front of my surname. He was choked by the air and wanted to say something, but gave up. Looking at her smiling face without any wrinkles, full of collagen, I sighed that the years had killed me before they fed me fat. So, to put it in a bad philosophical tone, man, against time, time is the murderer, and sadly, we have no way of prosecuting. It is a pair of black hands stained with blood, casually picking out the mocked lamb.
Going to a bookstore is an uncomfortable experience.
During this period, there is a deep inferiority complex, a proud disdain, and a blindness.
The low self-esteem is that there are so many books on the face, and the mental pressure from all over the world, it seems that those high realms are unattainable. When I bow my head, I am humble, and when I look up, I admire. Imagining what a huge mountain has been written by these observers throughout the ages, it is overwhelming. Just as it is difficult for a Zen practitioner to become a Buddha, if one has to understand the greatness between the lines, perhaps one can only see the way of living in the next life and the next life. And some people took it here just to take a few beautiful photos. As a human being, they also have a humble sense of inferiority towards these hardworking character creators.
What is disdainful is that, looking through the stacked books, it is difficult to find the title page that allows me to stay, and it is difficult to find the words that can resonate. I couldn't help cursing in my heart: What kind of shit are you writing about! People can't help but think of the phrase "shit tastes bad". You can see in many books that someone¡¯s chicken was raped by someone¡¯s duck, and a few eggs were laid, and then the owner of the duck said that the eggs belonged to him; On the road, I taught my grandson how to touch porcelain, but the police discovered that the old lady was forced to do it by her daughter-in-law; The young masters scramble to grab it, not for anything else, but for her simplicity. If you compare books to prostitutes or male prostitutes, you will always see them winking and gesturing, seductive, with faces that seem to be smiling when they try their best, but when you want to take a closer look, you will find Most of them are breast sagging or impotence. Think about it, it's really lamentable. How about the inheritance of deep culture of thinking?
What is even more sad is that after seeing a book with similar interests, I think that it is the real beautiful world.
Often imagine what the life you want should look like.
A scene like this always comes to my mind: it is a high-rise office building, the room has large windows, and I can see the silent and quiet night of the city at a glance. The room is spacious and bright even at night with the lights off. There is a big enough bed in the room, there is a simple desk beside the bed, there is a bookcase, and there is a wine cabinet. There is also a large bathroom, clean and simple. I can scare myself by crying and howling in the office building in the middle of the night, the only thing I need to worry about is which sleeping ghost is awakened by me and knocks on my door and says: Young man, are you tired of work?
When my youth hostel is closed this year, maybe I should find a place, arrange it like this, live in it quietly, be a spectator in the city, and occasionally come with a friend or two, just live here, in the dead of night When the time comes, just drink and talk. After staying in it for a long time, I carried my luggage and went everywhere to see bluffing and cheating everywhere to steal sex. Suddenly, I realized why I was so suitable for a person. No wonder I couldn't break the curse of falling in love all these years, that is, falling in love has always been short.
One afternoon, it finally passed, and the rain just stopped. I should pack up my bag and go to breathe the air that is not yet soiled. (Remember the site URL: www.hlnovel.com