I think I know what big is.

It is not the size of the desert, nor the size of the ocean, but the distance between the desert and the Hanhai is just the distance of space. If we look at our humble planet in the distant universe, how far away people are in front of the scale. It's a big one that makes people panic, they're intense, they're passionate, but they're dead. As a child, a never-ending bystander, the outer noise will inevitably turn into inner loneliness, and maybe my loneliness grows on the edge of this hard ocean.

The shore was like broken teeth, jagged, and the black water grew straight from afar, foaming at the white foam with dead dark green kelp. A seagull hovered above me, like a sculpture, abruptly left the shore and startled unknown birds to scatter like greasy cards. The waves stuffed sharp stones and muddy sand into my trousers, and the sticky, bitter water crawled out of the fabric with curvy white stains. I don't know where my coat went, maybe the waves took it away, and I didn't know where a sneaker went. The rain stitched the sky and the sea and sewed me inside, and I flowed between the head and the feet of the world. Alcohol cut open my esophagus like a knife. I think of the mentor and the sea. He can't drink but insists on drinking, he doesn't feel bad, who is uncomfortable?

My heart couldn't beat above my head, and I unbuttoned my neckline with trembling hands. It's a difficult thing to do because I don't want to deliver anything to the waves. Both hands, the inferior alcohol in the left hand is still swaying half-dead, and in the right hand, the caliber of ** point 357 rubs against my warm and flexible neck, and I can clearly feel its outline. Now I'm shaking, and I can't grasp something so heavy. If I take a sip of wine now, it will make my left hand easy, and if the bullet comes out of the chamber, it will make my right hand easy, and it will make me completely relaxed.

Death is so easy.

It's not an uncommon way to die, I mean, the people who do our business, drink too much, and they accidentally untie their collars and kill themselves. But I didn't, and to reward myself I took another sip. The note was so soaked that I couldn't see what it was. In another quarter of an hour, the sea will surely flood the reef. Sometimes I bring a bottle to my mouth, sometimes it's a gun.

I don't know where this is, but here, the sea hates the land.

I drank until I couldn't tell which hand was wine and which was a gun, and until both hands were as numb.

All the salt is in the eyes, and the sea is so magnificent. I don't know why those people and the things that changed me had something to do with the sea. The world is an arrow with a barb that pierces into everyone's body, making us incomplete, and every breath and heartbeat has the pain of that "ought not to be" punishment. But it whips us to breathe and stimulates our hearts to flicker in order to dodge the arrows again and again. Get rid of the world, let it pierce itself, it hurts. It also hurts to tear it out and bring out the internal organs. People are dying between these two pains. No matter how you try to get the arrow out, the result is the same thing, and I don't care about that. The wounds that the world inflicts on everyone are fatal, it plants seeds in the soil, grows root-like veins, gives birth to nerve branches, grabs the soil to form limbs, and the products of the seeds are tossed aside to rot to feed more seeds, the heart. But it doesn't make sense, it will disappear as if it never happened, only the people in the process feel that it is necessary.

I don't want to take out the microscope, what it magnates makes me uncomfortable. Those previously smooth samples are now barely recognizable. But I still pried open the box. I know how simple the reason is, just because it was my friend's last chance for me.

"Why have eyes when you have ears and memories?" The blind man smiled at me, and for a moment I remembered the Mona Lisa. He's my colleague, and I don't know whether to praise him or belittle him, because our talents are basically as terrible as the schools that teach them.

"Seeing is not necessarily believing."

Touching the whiteboard inch by inch with my hands, I wrote down those things with my eyes closed, and I didn't need to look at them to know what they were, like those meaningless but sacred ancient symbols in the hearts of wizards, familiar with them. When I opened my eyes and saw these vague characters, I frantically swept my sleeves, and the stack of books slumped down and collapsed, like the sand fortress of my childhood that was washed away by the waves.

When I was younger, I used to pile up my dreams on that beach and wait for them to turn into ruins.

I'm sick of these physics that have no way out.

That day, I drank too much and vomited in the corner of the alley, the bile and mucous membranes churned together, the alcohol volatilized from my eyes, and the craving became stronger and stronger. For the desire for truth, I want to understand, but I can't grasp it at all, just like that lesson, the image of the snowflake fractal function is extremely beautiful, I magnified it 14,000 times to observe, but there is no bottom, there is no bottom to be found. I am a failed theoretical physicist, wandering in confusion at the end of a fractal.

I still accepted my friend's kindness and couldn't let them worry anymore. It's hard for me to believe in myself though.

"The more you research, the less convinced you become."

"Don't believe what? Don't believe in your research project? "The DTR35 didn't care about my words, just wiped down the gun that I couldn't even name. I think he's really just willing to ask, and very few people really want to know the answer to any question.

"I don't believe in the world." I shouldn't have said it.

I sent down a few white pills with milk. This is unscientific, milk is the antidote. Many people say this, and even the blind feel it. He stood behind me melancholy that day and asked, "Is this really okay?" "Maybe it's because they care about me. Everyone is cautious of me, but the reality is far less serious than what the doctors write. Doctors are liars.

At night I floated on the turquoise dream, which was not solid, and I wondered if it was a dream or not. I was always awakened from restless sleep, sometimes even just because of my heavier breathing. Sometimes I scream while sleeping, but I don't know who utters the dying wail of such a mentally tortured and broken person, a moldy madman. I always huddle in the corner in the dark to leave more space for the air that accompanies me, I have that feeling, I can't put it into words, it's not that I'm afraid of the dark, it's not that I'm afraid of anything, it's that feeling that makes me shout in the corner, I'll chase it away with numbers. 1，2，3，4，1，2，3，4，1，2，3，…… Until dawn.

Notes:

The eye is the wound of the soul, I missed and shattered the hourglass of time, the wind and sand rubbed into these two wounds, crushed the flesh, and kneaded into two black pearls are my eyes. The wound wants to heal, but the knife of time is carved, carved and healed, healed and carved, this is the blink of an eye, and I see that the world is also hurting with a pair of pain. The eyes are not there to see the world, they are for the world to see us. Seeing the inner thoughts from the eyes, collapsing everyone, making everything possible. The universe only wants to use us to prove which of the countless possibilities it is, although it is only self-deception, those authorities are the most ignorant, and the reason why ordinary people do not doubt but learn from the experience of others is because they think that someone knows better than them, in fact, those who know everything better than him are the most ignorant, and what they say is what others think is right, and they have no reference and reliance. Understanding is the sum of all misunderstandings, maybe my collapsed world is different from other people's, the death I said and the death he said are completely two different things, but people use themselves as a weight to measure everything in the world, everyone has a different weight in their hearts, but they use the same unit, so every word is a layer of misunderstanding, individuals and individuals are essentially unable to communicate, everyone is talking to themselves, but they think that they are connected by communication. Many of us are blind, and the so-called blindness is just that so many things in our hearts grow out of our eyes under the irrigation of tears, and grow into vines that cover the sky and the sun, covering the light we should see. Tears are just there to lubricate the eyes, so we're crying all the time.