[0207] (self-visible)

Three years ago, or five years ago, I told my friends about the story I wanted to write, and I said it was a traitor's story. I wrote about her to express a kind of separation and embarrassment, a dilemma of fate. This dilemma grows deep in our souls, sleeping with us on countless nights. Sometimes we are so used to it that we don't even see it.

I'm too lazy to write much so far, but there are a few scenes that pop up in my head once in a while. One of them is like this, when the heroine has to make a choice, in the darkness and loneliness, as if blessed to the soul, she suddenly thinks: "I can still die." It seemed to settle everything, and she almost cried for the happiness she could hope for.

Of course, she didn't kill herself. Because I'm a positive person. Because escape is not the way to go. I don't know why I'm making such a sentiment today. I probably saw some of my friends making high-pitched noises. I don't have that kind of courage and perseverance, I can only chew the pain and love together.

I mentioned this story to another friend before, and she said that whether it hinted at the conflict with her original family was not counting, but it was.

A month ago, I was on a plane over the Pacific Ocean, and I was asked in a daze: What is your story trying to tell? I replied, "The human heart is in danger, and the Tao heart is only small." It sounds unthinking, but it's resolute. When I woke up, I was amazed to think about it. Alas, friend, what are you thinking.

Recently, I have been in a complicated mood, and some articles have been turned private and visible, and I can't help my friends.

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【0217】

I caught a cold again, which may have stimulated the tear ducts, and I was dizzy and couldn't move to shed tears when I walked on the road. It's too inefficient.

Tomorrow I have to hand in two outlines and character bio. See the director at seven o'clock in the evening and send an email to the crew.

Do both well. Then I finished watching the second DVD of the photography class.

Write essays between classes. I've recently returned to handwriting, and I've been able to write a little bit intermittently. Although the efficiency is also very low, it seems to be stuck in a quagmire and unable to take a step. Alas.

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【0218】

Sitting in the academy lobby and others, I finished reading Alexievich's "There Are No Women on the Battlefield" in the middle, and I couldn't cry when I saw it, and I felt better about my cold.

It was half past ten when I got home, and I thought about it and made a mille-feuille. A piece of yogurt filling, a piece of honey filling, frozen in the refrigerator and eaten tomorrow.

I hope to motivate myself to get up at eight o'clock.

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【0221】

I lay in bed for forty minutes, feeling very hopeless and meaningless.

Get up and write an essay. I want to cry. Nothing about the world, it's the emptiness in the heart that returns.

I feel that I can't create anything, but I can't die without a struggle.

What am I trying to say in this story?

To succumb to nihilism is to succumb to evil.

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【0225】

Sitting in the hall before class in the evening to write the script, AL sat down in front of me. He is Argentinian and he and I are in the same class as him in three classes this semester. He wrote a story about the time of the Argentine military junta, and our class read the beginning of the five pages he wrote together last week: On Christmas night, the doctor and his family were celebrating the New Year, and the room was full of warmth, when suddenly a general and someone broke in and asked him in front of the doctor's young daughter about the whereabouts of the underground party he was covering.

We sat bored, and he asked me what I thought of the Russians' comments on the asynchronous technique of sound and picture in the reading. To hide that I hadn't read the material, I asked him, "So what's the ending of your script?"

Oh, he said, the general led the girl out of the room, and the soldiers inside shot her parents. The final shot will be us looking over the girl's shoulder, looking at the murder scene in progress, and walking farther and farther away.

I had a picture in my head. Why is this the story, I asked.

Because that's what happened. Forty years ago, he said, this was how Argentina killed people. They kill the adults and take away their children.

I looked a little speechless. And he asked me, "Are people saved in your story?"

We also read the beginning of what I wrote last week: An old man goes out in search of a miraculous cure for his granddaughter in a city besieged by disease.

I said, no, that's fake.

Ha, he said, look.

I said, we talked about this topic, history is a cycle of stupidity.

He said the pyramids could be man-made by aliens. Our lives may just be electronic illusions created by AI, and that won't make you feel better.

I said no, I don't believe in aliens.

He said, "You don't believe in extraterrestrial intelligent life?"

This seems to be a matter of principle! I said, not really, but I want my life to be real.

I would also like to say that there are some things that we can change because of this. But this sentence is too serious to seem suitable for this small talk, so I didn't say it.

I said, you see, a lot of things happen again and again because we forget the hard lessons of the past. If we were not in a hurry to celebrate victory after the catastrophe and remember some of the stupid consequences, some things might not happen. I think that's something that movies can do.

He said that you must know that the audience only wants a moment of pleasure when they enter the movie. Movies are like a shell, they wear them to experience an exciting life that they have never had, and they take it off when they walk out of the theater, and there is no trace. Therefore, people will not commit crimes when they watch crime movies, and they will not reflect on social stories. They're just here to experience. There is no memory.

This is truly an unexpected expression. We were all silent for a moment.

That's a bit sad, isn't it? I say. I used the word pathetic and stumbled. It just so happened that he said that it was a bit negative, and he used the word negative and put it back in his mouth.

At that moment, I suddenly felt that he was very kind. I don't even know what the native language of Argentines is. Another classmate walked by and greeted us, it was a cheerful American boy, and we all changed into bright smiles and said hi. The boy disappeared in the elevator, and I suddenly had a feeling. I told him that sometimes I wonder what it's like to be like: if you were born with a value that you believe in and never change. Will that make you a happier person? Sometimes, I really fantasize about how it feels.

Don't worry, you can always find different ways to express it, he said.

I said, "Look, that's what you have all the time. You always feel that if we are smart enough, we can have all kinds of euphemistic expressions that don't get caught. Actually, no. Because our opponents are smarter than us. Not only do you feel the part that is attacking, they can recognize it. If you ask yourself what you think isn't the part of the attack, they can point it out.

He said, have you ever seen this and that movie, they are all in the form of metaphors......

I would say that in this case, euphemism means demise. But I didn't say. I'm a most perverse fantasist. suddenly wanted to confess his heart, but suddenly felt that he had spoken deeply.

I said yes, they all shot very well.

-

【0226】

I watched Lou Ye's massage today. The visual presentation of the visual impairment is distinctive. But what impressed me was one of the episodes: a group of blind masseurs were playing in the dormitory, and the young male protagonist pounced on his sister-in-law and was unconsciously attracted to it. The two ignored their husbands, who were sitting half a meter away, kissed and caressed each other, and even forgot to call each other. Until the blind husband who was sitting next to him realized and stood up, the two woke up like a dream and returned to their original positions.

I was blown away by this episode, and it speaks of a thrilling cruelty. In this unintentional indulgence, you experience the deeper chaos caused by the world that has lost its sight. In the dark world, it seems that morality has also lost a layer of dimension. The lack of senses makes your mind more fragile. The confusion and fear in this go far beyond what can be conveyed by simply "not seeing".

Recently, I feel that my mentality has aged a lot, and I am not in the mood to talk to people well. In the past, when I saw comments I didn't like, no matter how offended, I wouldn't reply because I didn't feel like I had to waste time upsetting each other. But now it is possible to make a caustic rebuttal because of a minor difference of opinion. I guess gentleness is a noble trait that requires enough resilience to maintain. And life is like gravel under my bare feet, finally wearing out the soles of my feet.

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[0227] (self-visible)

There's been so much going on lately.

Feeling a bit of a self-harm urge.

But I don't know where to go. It seems like a fuss to say it to acquaintances. It seems to be gaining attention when it is said to netizens. Sometimes I send things to and from several numbers. Because I want people to see it, but I don't want too many people to see it. It's better if no one I know can see it. It's like throwing a stone into a well. You want to hear the echo exist, but you don't want to scare people or make your neighbors run out and ask what you're doing here.

Literature is too easy to be self-centered. Film and television are too easy to ignore people. Here's how I've felt lately.