I often dream of running naked on the deserted Chang'an Avenue, being chased by mysterious monsters in the dark, like giants with feet of mud, who are slow to move. Pen % fun % Pavilion www.biquge.info

The moment the monster caught me, it took to the air and flew away. When I was flying the coolest, my body twitched and I woke up.

Then I wanted to continue my dream in frustration, but I couldn't continue it. Occasionally, it was continued, but it hit the mast and herniated the lumbar intervertebral disc, or it was shocked down by the police uncle on the ground with a lion's roar and shattered. Not a single soft landing anyway.

Checking the interpretation of the dream, Zhou Gong and Freud's two masters explained the same, saying that I want to be dissatisfied.

I get up stylized, squeeze the subway, cook alone after work, even multi-person sports such as basketball I am used to playing alone, wash and curl up on the sofa at night to read a book or a movie, and leave a little poetry in my brain before going to bed.

I developed autism and fell in love with my personal world. I may be dissatisfied with my desires, so I always fly in my dreams, flying precariously and can't stop.

Sometimes I rejuvenate and imagine the fantasy plot of "Dream Blowing Giant" hypocritically, and talk about **.

Dreams can be captured and created, and people dream not because of Floyund's poor calf stuff, but because of a cute and kind giant with a big horn blowing dreams to you from the bedroom window.

The god in charge of dreams in Greek mythology is called Morpheus, thinking of the scene of playing CS in an Internet café in high school, if Morpheus is as good as the owner of the Internet café, and the dream is not enough, he waved his hand: Boss, continue for another hour.

That way I never have to wake up.

Dreams, after all, have to wake up. As soon as the alarm clock went off, the whole world collapsed in an instant.

Get up, sprinkle a huge bubble of morning urine in the morning, pure technical work, to control the angle and posture, accidentally spill it outside the toilet, splashing everywhere.

Washed up, hurriedly ate a slice of bread, and rushed to the subway with a carton of milk...... Most of the North Drifters would rather sleep even a second more than get up five minutes early for a leisurely breakfast.

Some people say that life is like a dream, but in fact, life is more complicated than a dream. The French writer Dugal, the industrious and modest pessimistic old man, said: "Life is an unending longing, a desire to rise, to become greater and nobler." ”

If you rise and become more insignificant and corrupt, is this kind of life worth treating sincerely? What is the meaning of life when it comes to rising? Is "growing up" a derogatory term? I asked myself in pain all the time.

After graduating, I wandered in BJ for eight years, and I ran into a bloody battle for my ideals, and suddenly looked back, and life has polished people to the point that I am not shocked.

From a college student to the editor of a publishing house and then to the chief editor of a magazine, I thought that life would be like this, like a trickle.

One day, I stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling window of my office and stared at the white high-rise buildings that were as ugly as dinosaurs in the International Trade Center, and the smog weighed heavily on the air and weighed on my heart. In the flash of light, whispers of promise echoed in my mind.

It is a small town with beautiful mountains and rivers in the Sichuan Basin, and tourists often take pictures of UFOs and water monsters haunted by secret places.

That year, after squatting on the big blue stone by the river and pulling wild, four ignorant little children looked up at the northern sky boredly, and swore that when we grow up, we have to go to BJ to make a name for ourselves.

The four of them made a bloody alliance and made three contracts:

1. When you are thirty years old, whether you have done a career or have been overturned, you must return to the place where the oath was born and talk about wine;

Second, don't forget the rich;

3. Don't do bad things.

Later, four teenagers who once held the spirit of revolution were ravaged and destroyed by fate, and they did not know anything.

Finally, I made a decision to leave BJ. I'm going to write a letter of resignation and go back to my hometown, fulfill my teenage promise in the quiet place where I was born and raised, and then write about our youth and life, and maybe finally live a rural utopian life with a village girl without distractions.

The next day, I stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows of my office again, lies and deception covering the innocence and dreams of the past, and piecing together the rituals that we had been destroyed by the city.

Knock on your head twice to make sure it's not a dream, and it's not a hot-headed choice. Finally, I handed the resignation letter to the president.

The president's name is Feng Yuqiang, and it took me a long time to get to know his relationship with the warlord leader Feng Yuxiang. A short, stocky, balding cute uncle with golden brows on his brows when he thinks, his face is flushed, and he has an expression of almost orgasm during sex.

When he saw the resignation letter, his expression came out again, and I suddenly fell in love with him.

He asked me, "Is it not enough to pay enough?" ”

I said, "No." ”

He said, "Sit down and let's talk." ”

I said, "I'm going to leave now, or I'll not be able to catch the plane." ”

Of course, I know that the sky above BJ is also different from other places, crisscrossing various mysterious passages that provide a basis for air control. It is not uncommon for planes taking off at 12 a.m. to drag until 12 a.m.

No one in the entire office knew that I was leaving, only Old Man Feng looked at my back as if he were looking at an alien, and did not understand the situation.

Miraculously, the plane was not delayed, rushing into the clouds like a wheezing giant beast, and at that moment, the weightless body did not feel the slightest nostalgia.

There is also a seven-year itch for a city.

Three hours later, the plane plunged ferociously into the thick soft clouds of the SC haze, and Chengdu was wet.

Landing at Shuangliu Airport in the evening, I chose to take the train instead of calling a special car, intending to reminisce about the situation in college.

Drilling countless caves, the rumbling sound is memorable. I remember when BJ was in college, there was no money to take a plane, and a few fellows bought station tickets like outlaws during the Spring Festival and squeezed home, squeezing into the train with only half a life left, and my parents couldn't recognize me when I got home.

On the crowded and noisy train, you can only imagine the nakedness of all the beautiful women you have seen in your life and all the sharp Sichuan dishes you have eaten, so that you can get some blood back, and let the instinct of eating color drive away the dirty air and tiredness that has almost reached the limit, otherwise it is very likely that you will die suddenly in the carriage.

As the saying goes, "the rich and noble don't return to their hometowns, like brocade clothes walking at night", which means that they have become local tyrants who don't go home and don't go home, like walking in beautiful clothes at night and no one can see it. But I don't have wealth, so naturally I don't have brocade clothes.

This time, I came back to my hometown in jeans and a linen shirt, not to mention the brocade of clothes, but I did not admit that I was running away from BJ, but to pursue a quiet, authentic, and healthy life. I fled because I was afraid, but I was tired of it.

The two boxes of books he was carrying were estimated to be unreadable to the thief, so he simply climbed to the top bunk and prepared to sleep with his head covered. Yu Guang glanced at the fat brother in the lower bunk, with a short neck and a beer belly, who was grinning and gnawing on chicken thighs, gnawing to the peak, and the meat residue fell all over his neck. This bone and fat look like a high-quality snoring machine.

After the fat brother nibbled on the chicken legs, he began to play with his feet, wandering back and forth between his toes with his fingers, and sniffing under his nostrils, for fun.

Along the way, the smell of feet and snoring filled the sense of smell and hearing, so I tried to suppress the sense of smell and hearing with my vision.

took out a book called "Heavy Flesh", the book talks about Kafka in the twilight, he and Phyllis got engaged and dissolved the contract, less than half a year after the termination of the contract, the two reunited and began to have ambiguity, re-engaged, and dissolved the marriage contract, and played a hook and hang game with the child, so I almost laughed out loud.

The author believes that love is not found, and people can only bump into love by chance; On the contrary, it is also possible to never run into love for the rest of your life.

Marriage is different, it appears at a certain point in life as a social requirement, and many times it is not controlled by yourself, because it involves not two people, but two families.

I think the author misunderstood Kafka. For a sensitive and persistent man like him, how can he get married so hastily, break off love, and owe true love for a lifetime.

Therefore, I do not agree with the author, Kafka did not want to get rid of the evil in his temperament – "weakness, lack of self-confidence, guilt" – capriciousness, but the contradiction of not wanting to give up the search for true love and the fear of loneliness made it difficult for him to decide.

Thinking about these years, I am not so cowardly, and I can even be said to be cowardly to the point of pathology.

Whose flesh is not heavy? Including the fat brother in the lower bunk, he may support the family, with a virtuous wife and a daughter waiting to be fed. The dimension of his life cannot be denigrated, and despite the smell of his feet and his snoring, he is respected from the bottom of his heart.

Since I started college, I have been at BJ for more than ten years, and many people and things have taught me how to live humbly.

The arrogant and domineering rich second generation, the gentle Confucian, the eager international students, the obese **, the dirty beggars, the sweaty bricklayers, and the passionate extras, anyone can talk about their ideals in BJ, that is the high-flying BJ.

Everyone is accustomed to high-profile bragging, pretending to be literary and artistic, and selling coquettishness, and few people live humbly in reality and treat each other tolerantly and truthfully.

In the first year after graduating from university, when the four of us were curled up like rats in a dirty and smelly basement in the East Fourth Ring Road, the deafening and reverberating sound of the middle-aged aunt next door as if they had been tortured by the Manchu Dynasty destroyed our longing and desire.

Sometimes, the young couple who are on the other side of the door also join the fight, and the entire basement turns on the 2.1 surround sound effect.

However, we still decided to stay and fight to the death, perhaps to prove that when we reach middle age, we will not be like the husband of the aunt next door, still holding his wife in the basement of the East Fourth Ring Road**, so loud that people all over the world know what posture they are using.

So, we stayed at BJ.

Later, we gradually saw that BJ was more like a deified stagnant water, floating with a layer of greasy and fishy oily water. Several outstanding elites have been hyped as examples of fair struggle, inspiring them to go forward and succeed like a crucian carp crossing the river. The only truth in life is the greetings and comfort of the parents on the other end of the phone.

I have always been vigorous in my work, and when the train arrived, I walked in front of the station and quickly walked to the exit. At this time, I heard someone shouting from behind: "Young man, wait a minute." ”

I saw the fat guy in the lower bunk carrying a big box in one hand and "Heavy Flesh" in the other, running towards me like a penguin.

Only then did I remember that I was in such a hurry to get up just now that I forgot to take the book with me. I greeted him, thank you and thank you.

The bald brother was polite and polite, stared at me and said, "Are you Zeng Xiaoyu?" ”

"Yes." I looked at him quizzically.

He said excitedly: "Oh, I saw you in real person, I am your reader, come, sign me." As he spoke, he pulled out a notebook.

Unexpectedly, a niche writer like me would also have fans, so I signed him and said goodbye to each other. No, I don't admit that I am called a "writer", because when others call me a "writer", I always think that I am calling the street seller of dog skin plasters Hua Tuo, and in the era when literature has lost its innocence and dignity, I would rather others call me a writer, a codeword, or even "sitting at home", two hundred and five, all of them.

As soon as I got out of the station, I saw Yin Deji's domineering luxury car, the rotten Jialing motorcycle 125.

Motorcycles emerged in the '90s as veritable widow builders, and by the new millennium, the first people in town to buy motorcycles were almost dead.

Yin Deji's Jialing 125 is a second-hand item in BJ, and he has been reluctant to throw it away for so many years, so he rode back from BJ and loves it very much.

This car means a lot to Yin Deji, and countless youth stories have happened on the car that he will have endless memories of. He rode his beloved woman from Jianguomen to Houhai, rubbed a Lamborghini on the way, the was frightened and discolored, and quickly escaped into an alley, and then he broke in this car in the commotion of Houhai.

As I listened to him, I thought, what a fucking difficult position this must be.