20.

Regarding the relationship between man and the universe, our protagonist Lu Yu once tried to think, but in the end he found that he was tired of thinking, and it was not as fast as climbing the shoulders of giants, plus the giants were real giants, and the depth of his thoughts was completely untouchable.

(The reason for this sentence is entirely because the name of the male protagonist is reflected to appear a little less.) ）

☆

I have gained a new understanding of the uncertainties of good and evil since I read the ideas of Marx, and I think I have memorized this knowledge in my head, but I still find that I cannot apply what I have learned when facing most things in life.

The next thing to start with is a cat, not the one that I often see on my doorstep and is familiar with me, but the wild cat at school.

Although these cats are feral, they are obviously cared for and clean, and it seems to me that someone is helping them to provide bathing services, although I know whether this is good or not, but I don't need to worry about it.

Someone is always feeding them, which seems to make them feel dependent, squatting in front of the supermarket every day, just waiting for all kinds of people to have a great deal of compassion. I wondered if it would be too comfortable for a feral cat, but I didn't mean to accept that they were starving and meowing around the schoolyard.

So be it, so what's the matter?

I always thought that my personal attitude towards these cats was normal, neither left nor right.

But the figure of the white cat skimming through the corner caught my eye.

It was a thin, messy cat, and as a white cat, I had beautiful eyes like jewels that I wanted to see if it was a heterogeneous pupil.

But just because it didn't appeal to me, I felt something different from it. The feeling faded as it faded, and I never felt it again.

What's going on here?

But I didn't think much about it, like there are always some mistakes when writing, and in this case, I just need to erase the original part, and it doesn't matter anymore.

In this way, the mistake is covered up, no one can see it, and there seems to be no difference between it and not happening.

But there are still differences, there are always traces of smearing, and nothing is left of forgetting.

Even the traces are gone.

At this time, I was thinking about another question.

Which is more disciplined, or a higher level, black cat or white cat.

Is the cat of the Great North more loose? Or are Huaqing's cats more disciplined?

I find this a little inexplicably poetic.

☆

Sitting in the classroom, I leaned on my desk as usual, but there was a slight change in the fact that the school started some literary competitions.

Well, it's like a more artistic competition like singing and dancing.

The sports competition came a little later, and although I wasn't interested, I still got to know about it.

As far as my eyes could see, our squad leader was talking to Chen Banwu. According to my guess, my class is probably looking for someone to participate in the calligraphy competition.

Chen Banwu writes coin calligraphy, but it is said that the brush is also good.

A delicate atmosphere was formed between the squad leader and Chen Banwu, Chen Banwu insisted on writing only calligraphy with a hard pen, while the squad leader wanted him to do both. This seems to have formed a game, which is a zero-sum game for the squad leader, and Chen Banwu will be replaced if he can't do it. But for Chen Banwu, it's not that simple, either lose or don't earn.

But if you take the qualification as a loss, I think it's still a bit one-sided, even if it's a great test of personal confidence or cheekiness, but it's okay for an activity like calligraphy that doesn't require a stage.

Or is Chen Banwu simply unable to write calligraphy?

It made me squint my eyes slightly.

The negotiation between the squad leader and Chen Banwu is finally over, and I can't see the results here. Chen Banwu looked back suddenly, but I was not in the dim light, and this atmosphere failed when I thought about it.

He smiled at me, and the complexity of his smile was so complex that I couldn't decipher it for a while.

Is this a mockery? Or is it a challenge?

Thinking of this, I think I should pay homage to the past, but people don't look at me for a long time. I can't just mess around at the air, or at the side of this guy's face, right?

Forget it.

But there will also be such a situation, the kind of "foolproof strategy that comes to mind after the fact".

Although there is nothing wrong with saying that it is an afterthought.

When I quarrel with the other party, I always don't think about it well, which leads to the quarrel directly becoming high-quality, or the quality suddenly plummets, and in the end, this fight either can't go down, or I don't have to talk about it.

Well, that's not appropriate.

Why quarrel? The example of a debate is obviously a little more civilized, right?

If you can't think of it at the time of the debate, or if the other party's question is not perfectly answered, on the night of the game or in the next few days, words and sentences will suddenly pop up in your head, like a string of bubbles blown out by a child, which is clearly visible in your mind, and any one of them is a golden sentence.

But it's useless, and it's really like a bubble, which appears suddenly and is fleeting. It's gone when I try to get it back again or somehow.

The disappearance of bubbles in the sun is beautiful, and the bursting process of soap bubbles under a high-speed camera is so beautiful and sad.

First of all, the soap liquid changes from a stable state to a downward accumulation of mass due to gravity, which causes the upper part to weaken, and the upper part, which is already unstable under the action of sunlight or wind, begins to evaporate. Soap bubbles are colorful when exposed to sunlight, and this is because of the oily substances in them.

The shattering finally began from above, and it was all so fast, so beautiful. Like a crown, it exploded like a crown at the crack and was made up of even smaller water droplets smaller than the bubble itself, also shining with oil.

The shattering continued, spreading from above to below, and in the place where the water gathered, the energy of the rupture was no longer enough to shatter the large water droplet, and in the reluctant shaking of the water droplet, the kinetic energy finally died in the energy-absorbing water droplet.

But kinetic energy is not meaninglessly doing useless work, it is transformed into the internal energy of this water droplet, and perhaps there is a bubble hidden in a certain cumulonimbus cloud around the world.

(Of course, this sentence is impossible, technology is anti-poetic.) ）

Just like this bubble, a lot of my thoughts disappeared, which made me feel a little distressed, but it didn't have much impact on my daily life.

Isn't life something to forget? Wouldn't it be a poetic thing to forget? Life is so full of poetry.

Isn't it?

Thinking so, I saw a bubble floating outside the window. Technology is anti-poetic, and scientific and technological achievements make bubbles no longer burst and can fly into the sky.

But it's not poetic at all, and I'm stunned.