Yours is here, others are elsewhere.
It is a place that others yearn for.
In the eyes of others
Your place is very beautiful.
But we don't know it ourselves.
Or don't know how to cherish at all.
But when other places become here,
We will gradually lose our original feelings again.
And then I got bored
I want to find a new place.
Never satisfied.
therefore
We are very tired.
After reading Living Elsewhere, I suddenly don't want to think about any problems, just relax and recall the words in the book and the surprises brought by those fragments. Those undisguised words bring me only simple ideas, which is what we need.
In that era of war and smoke, people persecuted by law were everywhere. Broken bodies and broken souls were burned up in the war. As the spiritual power of that era, literati were also painted with the thick ink of the times. In his short life, the poet played various roles with heavy makeup and became a tool of history. Although the poet is trying to tap his spiritual value and burn his passion, it can't hide the strong political color and the flavor of the times under the background. The poet's mother was passionate, crazy, silent in the war, and then gradually numb and lost, aging in the tragedy, accompanied by only a "wrinkled stomach" and dying passion. The poet's father died in the war, but he and his mother are still suffering from social spiritual oppression, which makes people crazy and suffocating, even worse than those swords and bullets.
Although the poet succeeded in impressing the painter and the people around him, he has lost his original freedom to express his feelings as a poet, leaving only something different in this crazy literary period, and what it is doesn't matter at all.
Really? Not important? Why does the poet want to leave something behind? After all, it is a long river, which can't cross that culture, expands, decays and then disappears into the river.
Politics continues, so what's the use of the rest? It's useless, but I still want to stay, at least those things that once made him crazy and excellent. Or some portraits of headless women, or some poems like "stone legs and stockings with sand", the legacy of his crazy thoughts. Only these can make him feel that he has done something and landed in the loess of history with peace of mind.
Those such as "it is beautiful to meet an umbrella and a sewing machine on the operating table." And "I fell asleep, with one eye looking at the moon and the other at the sun." Obscure language, accompanied by poets buried deep under the loess, is brewing a deeper culture.
And like us, we are crazy and dead in this political background, and then a deeper culture is brewing under the loess. That's all.