When I was very young, I experienced this alienation from things and the strangeness of objects. This is a phenomenon that does not depend on art even in daily life. Occasionally, when I fall into idle thoughts, if I happen to have a pen in my hand at this moment, I will scribble on a piece of paper casually. Most of my scribbled words are simple and common, such as heaven, earth and people. Unconsciously repeated writing, once, twice, three times ... under the tireless mechanical description, soon, my consciousness was close to trance, and the spiritual world seemed to become an endless swamp full of traps. I began to suspect that my handwriting was wrong: did this "person" really write like this? Are they really left-handed and right-handed? Does it really mean "people" as we have always understood it? At that moment, I will feel that the creation of this word is so absurd and unreasonable. With what? Why such a simple and ridiculous pie represents the most complicated life form in the material structure and spiritual world in the universe? Sometimes, after I have doubts about this "person", I will turn to another symbol system, the only foreign language I am familiar with, English. I gave up "people" and began to write "people". Without exception, this human being can't stand the doubt. Why can a five-letter word refer to "person"? I read these two words over and over again: Ren, Ren, Ren, Ren ... The syllables from my mouth suddenly become nothingness and meaningless.
At that moment, I will become an out-and-out skeptic and feel that everything is illusory and uncertain. The media I understand and perceive the world-language and words-have completely fallen into my consciousness and been captured by my tireless and tired skepticism. Its fragility is like foam, which disappears as soon as it touches the air, and it is also like the smell sent by the distant wind. It is hard to believe that it ever existed. Then, a pile of meaningless lines on this paper, ugly extension, how much like the ruins left by the ancient Roman Empire or Byzantine civilization.
Similar self-abuse happens from time to time, and a doomed result is that I hardly believe anything. I have no eternal belief, I doubt everything, let alone expect any religion or creed or slogan to make me contribute to it.
Words and their meanings, religions, their miracles, objects and carriers of love ... they exist because we are willing to accept their existence and do not doubt their existence, which is a temporary compromise and Covenant with the unknown world. Once we suspect them, once we accidentally click an instruction and enter an unfamiliar program, everything will vanish like the smell of blowing in the wind.
In any case, such an idea can't bring me any happiness at all, it will only make my life more and more like a small town called Macondo, and my heart more and more like the last Aureliano of the Boontia family. Life is no fun except to seek recreation in the only second-hand bookstore in town.