He#
He left before he really came in. His expression seemed to have just gone through a tense and sensitive cloud, and it almost exploded when touched.
Some clouds exist to shed tears, some clouds exist to self-destruct, to explode. The explosion exists in every moment like the truth, covering up time, appearing to have no connection with itself. I lay on the ground convulsing, and something gently bent down to pick me up. I knew the moment that thing had the intention to move. Because of its fragility, there was no way to establish defense. A kind of completely occupied and gentle gaze. It is I who need it, not it who needs me. The conspiracy-like self-exile flashes in every part of me.
The uncontrolled observer remains calm in panic. It says: this has already been foretold. You are far from being able to gaze at it with balance.
Today#
The mountains today appear somewhat cold and stern in blue. Perhaps I was wrong, or perhaps it is not completely wrong, but has a part that is correct, projected.
Hide inside.
Cast my shadow in the projection.
Usually I thought shadows don't have shadows, but under the backdrop of this blue, layers of shadows fade away in the darkness, swaying.
The edges appear somewhat scorching, as if rubbed in a certain space for a long time, becoming smooth, like the ripples on the surface of a lake swaying in the breeze in the dark night, radiating red.
I don't have a special place to go, just walking in mediocrity. Hide in the flow of daily life. There doesn't seem to be anything special to pay attention to. Passing through some villages, talking to people in a plain manner, eavesdropping on some local words, sitting on a sofa encountered.
Not#
Need your love and sharing
The sun and wild grass form their own series
Just saying you want to explore your prison
But you are blind
Can't see the dust swirling in the air
What's the benefit of this
That#
Monk seems to have grown out of the ground, the sweat on his back trembling slightly in the wind. He felt that what was in front of him was not an animal but a plant. The monk enveloped him and the inch of land beneath his feet. He lowered his head, stuffing all his anger into silence, sending it to the contact surface between the soles of his feet and the ground. The restlessness was drained, leaving only the shape lingering in the air.
From#
The south to the north by train, the whole island is raining. It is worse in the north, even the roof of the bus stop cannot stop the rain, there are small snakes swimming on the road, walking in the shallow water, unable to see what is being stepped on. The umbrella I brought with me is broken and cannot be repaired. I borrowed a blue umbrella from the people I stayed with, just enough to cover my head. The glasses are also covered with water droplets, unable to see the road after dark. Fortunately, I didn't bring my phone, if I did, it would have to be hung. I remember the white temple can lead to the place I stayed. The next day, I washed the wet clothes, and just after twenty minutes of drying in the sun, it started raining again.
How#
Slow can we be
You always dream of not having enough time
The old kitchen knife has a gap
Completely blunt there
Not#
The body passed by the soul, sitting on a square stone bench outside the Jain temple, the morning sun shining out from behind the gray building only twenty or thirty meters high. The bench he sat on was in the shade, and a tailless yellow dog lay lazily on the stone bench that was exposed to a little sunlight. It was familiar with this place.
A fly landed on the untouchable's back.
The concrete person wore white clothes and entered their meticulously crafted temple.
His gaze followed the birds and crows in the sky, and the low-flying planes, as if he was their lost companion.
Falling into the world, becoming a body that has nothing.
When#
It's cold, I think of us making love in the summer night with cicadas chirping. The ancient gods took their own eyelashes and made them into brooms to sweep away the charm of original sin. Rustle rustle, can you hear it, rustle rustle. He will understand you, like I understand my shadow. It falls where the gods kill, crows fly up, ants scatter, followers, I am just one of them.
Inside#
The nose is so sticky! It's dry outside. My brain is like a paste, why did I wake up on such a hot day? Waking up is like a paste, like a dream suddenly having an illusion, solidifying... I want to write every word that passes by in capital letters, write big! Otherwise, I will wobble and twist my butt in this paste, and fall down at any time... Or in a crowd, confusedly evaporate!
Oh#
Why am I always confused... Shouldn't I be shining in my dreams... milky way... why has it become a lump... of light... so many lights... so bright... trapped in the light, a lump of paste... open your eyes... quickly collapse... pull the curtains, quickly! My pillow, my sun, look at my body on this cool mat, lift up my cool mat, shake it, throw it into the darkness!
The#
Illegitimate child of the universe, my lover, the contradiction between function and desire creates a storm... Is your neck sore, did you sleep with your neck bent? When you sleep, do you feel your own neck? The badminton shuttlecock flies in the air, and the light feathers can be stacked and beaten... You twist your neck and stare at the beaten feathers, at this moment, can't even the wind make you doubt?
In#
Struggling to get up in the paste, wrapped in white liquid, like a pure angel, like a prostitute who accompanies soldiers after their service. This moment may be the most important, because a tear flows from the corner of the eye. Surrounded by more dazzling light, the shadow disappears... I, the crystallization of a dream, a deformed creature with original sin, will die today with ignorance and emotions...
There#
Is a person who only knows how to cry. He has a carving knife, and he hides it in his dreams. But every time he wants to use it, he wakes up and cries in pain.
That#
Wizard has been going up and down in the elevator of a huge factory building all his life, repeating a story: the emperor specially found the sixth horse for the woman with an extra tail.
All#
Things come naturally like this season, falling into freezing point. Unfortunately, there is no chance to appreciate outside the picture, otherwise maybe I can see the shadows glowing red in the dark, like trying to hold back from surging out.
Feel#
Guilty, doubtful, I have never given out a bit of genuine emotion, but it seems like I have given out everything. I repent because of the urgent need for answers, which makes me desperately pursue the questions that do not belong to me. Every present moment has been completely missed and forgotten by me. I didn't even say goodbye. How can I say goodbye when I know nothing about leaving?
"Relationships#
Need to be clear"
"The scenery needs to be splendid"
"Abstract and concrete need to alternate"
"Relationships are scenery"
The man and woman at the door are chatting in short sentences, making people's thoughts wander, but unable to enter into specific matters, lacking everything. I don't want to judge whether it is boring or meaningless, this is just a small part of it, it is too hasty to make a decision now.
Outside is a gloomy blue, the village is covered with layers of mist, the man's chest, the woman's chest swells up and down, I see the blue moisture entering their bodies, moving inside them, leaving traces, becoming fierce tattoos.
Father is watching TV, this machine has helped him fall asleep for decades. It reads news, plays TV shows, weather forecasts, has rich moral content, gathering social justice and ugliness, but when father closes his eyes, everything is lost, except for dreams, he cannot establish any connection. I don't know if father is still just in dreams, and I don't know if the voices emitted by electricity cannot be imaged in father's mind, I heard that many people have this problem.
A year or two ago, when I was away, he came to find me. We agreed to meet in a strange place, where there were roaring viaducts and glass-walled high-rise buildings everywhere, no restaurants, no convenience stores. We kept walking, getting lost. He said, my mom unplugged the TV in the bedroom, so he had to sleep in the living room, they have been like this for several months, his tone seemed to have lost the right to possess a precious treasure, full of regret and resentment. After a while, as if trying to regain something, he said, your mom is actually very great. The surrounding buildings are growing rapidly with a cold pace, inserting into the sky straight and stiff. I know a professor, I said, his wife is Japanese, they sleep in separate rooms, there's nothing wrong with that. He nodded, and then said, your aunt doesn't think so, she jumped up when she found out about it.
Aunt? In the forest by the highway that night, she locked me and my mom in a wooden house, lit a fire in the stove, and the room was brightly lit. Aunt pressed my mom on the long wooden table, tied her up and planned to burn her, I kept screaming, struggling with her, snatched a bloody knife to cut the rope and saved my mom, left her and the wooden house behind, set it on fire and ran away, this devil-like woman had already died in my childhood dreams. Distant dreams are as real as memories, the crime of murder is so scorching, I was choked by a thick smoke, unable to pass through the gas with a trace of air. 30 seconds, I squatted down, opened my thin collar, exposed my chest, and made a breathing motion with all my strength, despair made me think of death in an instant, this thought is weak and ridiculous, I relaxed in self-contempt. A strand, another strand, and another strand. The poisonous snake slowly passed through my mouth, chest, abdomen, and pelvis. Rhythm, yes, rhythm. Good. With the blue needle's strokes, this dance is finished.
The person who should support me has lost his way, he is looking for the way out, leaving this ghost place.
I#
Feel that I always need to write it down, otherwise everything I have experienced will become like past events, turning into a rotting corpse that emits a foul smell, plundering every new beginning in my every morning, plundering every ending in my every night.
What cannot be expressed in the experience, still cannot be expressed after the experience. Find some words, revolve around this thing that cannot be expressed, try to get closer, try to be considerate, try to understand. "Where is your train of thought? I can't keep up with you. It scares me." Someone said in my ear, someone I am familiar with, someone important. Where did I go? It's a new place, never been before, but there are some impressions, as if I have seen the models of this place through glass. Glass, yes, glass, cold, it seems to see some signs more clearly from the outside, but cannot hear, cannot feel. Now I am inside, it doesn't seem so scary here, although I see her trembling, I think of her just asking me, what's wrong with you. I have no answer. Can't reach her anymore. Someone is determined to try to fix everything, why fix it? For peace. Peace. Peace. The waves turn into a lake.
I remember telling myself that I need to leave, I also told important people, I need to focus on solving that corpse. In fact, I didn't do it alone, now, I am in another place. I don't know if it is related to the corpse. But it makes me feel more painful, more lonely, it's terrible here, but at the same time, it feels safer.
It's snowing, for someone who grew up in the south, touching snow means pure joy. But this snow has entered my heart, covering many things, miscellaneous things, important and unimportant, fragrant and foul, freezing them together, what remains is to continue living.
How#
To bear one's own lost? In searching or not searching, this is something that must be faced. I am afraid like a frightened deer.
The pain is overwhelming. Still unable to stop the action of searching, unable to ask if this really has meaning? Such futile questions.
The old man starts singing. His voice is like a long and winding vine, connecting memories and searching tightly together.
I think of my grandfather, I miss him, to the point where I have to say it out loud, say it out loud, say it out loud, but lost the object.
Your mind, blurry, intense.
Don't form sentences, don't form.
Lines, patterns, unknown, pauses, confusion, doubt.
Continue to pause.
Stop?
Willing.
I am willing.
Living in the unformed.
Under the edge.
Exile life, and also exile myself from life.
"You go in first."
The#
Black curtains in the room are not hung properly, one-third of the connecting track has fallen off, swaying in the wind, unable to flap like an injured bird unable to flap its wings, the lower third that cannot resist the pressure brought by gravity emits the sound of plastic colliding with metal, compared to the clear and cold sky, this sound is a bit too muddy, but the transition gradually lifts up regular folds, occasionally lifting a little view of the outside scenery, a persimmon tree without green leaves and fruits in winter, and the silver cold railing.
She sits in the middle of the pure white bedsheet, hugging her legs, staring at the flickering scenery, those bare branches, without leaves, they no longer have the agility of the summer breeze, nor the red persimmons dominating the branches, instead they tremble like an oil-depleted lamp.
In a strange sluggish frequency, her body sways slightly, and cold fingers slowly remove her socks and collar, the curtains still cannot escape the downward sagging obstacle, like eyelids unable to resist drowsiness slowly revealing a little white, but unable to control the slow stagnation. The gray pajamas and underwear gradually fade away. In the damp and cold breeze, she slowly embarks on a naked and primitive journey, the destination gradually becoming clear in the trembling of the mist.
Small bald branches start to climb onto the dusty windowsill, inch by inch, as if trying to reach something but unable to reach it, inch by inch, with their obscure bodies, with extreme thirst. She suddenly looked up and saw these unexpected guests in the deepest part of the room. Although the bald branches stopped advancing at this moment, they were like thieves who were discovered and stuck in an awkward moment. 1 second, 2 seconds, 3 seconds, 3 and 1/3 seconds, 4 and 1/2 seconds, 5 seconds, 7 seconds, time wavered and the trembling frequency gradually overlapped, the living beings in the mist - she, her eyelashes, fingertips, twisting ankles, and faded toenails, bald branches, sharp holes on the branches and their tiny branches, unexpectedly gained a unanimous life. In an instant, the translucent liquid went from solidifying to liberation, flowing from one entity to another.
She excitedly opened her arms to welcome these organs that shared the same soul with her at this moment, the bald branches opened their eyes and saw the focus, and excitedly accelerated their advance. The tip of the head rapidly approached the outstretched fingertips, piercing straight into the tanned nail cover, the dusty and muddy nail gap.
The piercing pain occurred only when the branches extended to the palm of the hand, and the wind exerted force to push more and thicker bald branches towards the swollen curtain, joining this feast. They - the wind and she, together from shouting to howling, howling - howling - howling -, with the branches passing through her arms, neck, spreading in different directions. The pain surged like waves, converging, accumulating strength to burst out again and again, gathering together to madly intertwine and fuse the two entities, leaving no gap. The translucent liquid penetrated her blood vessels, and the cells were busy reconstructing like bright lights flickering in the dark.
Suddenly, a green sprout grew out from the network of her nerve endings, and everything had to sadly and loosely disappear.