1. If there is no sun tomorrow-Jingmingguo.
one
Say to thinking: there is a kind of worry that is inexplicable. This sentence is not allowed to be used on me. Because I have Qian Qian absolutely puzzling troubles. For example, I always worry that if I become a goldfish in the next life, my tail will be long and beautiful or short and ugly; If I suddenly forget those chemical equations written thousands of times during the college entrance examination, will I cry on the spot? If there is no sun tomorrow, then in the face of a long and lonely night, should I meet a girl as sad as lilac or have a good sleep with my head covered?
These are all problems.
I could have gone on like the water of the Yellow River, but Xi Murong told me that youth is a too hasty book. So enough is enough.
There are also days when the Yellow River is cut off.
two
"Well, is it dark at night in Chengdu/Is there a temple in Qingcheng Mountain/Is Qingshiban Road dark/Well, I ask you/Is it dark with your long hair/Or is it my miss?"
I originally went to the "Banyan Tree" website to read Xiao Yin's poem, but I saw that such a "black" poem was a folk song. What I want to tell Silver is that the night in Chengdu is very dark.
It was dusk when I got on the plane in Chengdu. The whole city shines under my feet. When I pass through the thin clouds, the lights under my feet are like stars all over the sky, while the black land, the black basin where I was born and raised, is really like a dark sky. And the same scene is above my head.
There are stars on your head and feet. It looks like a beautiful illusion.
Perhaps in this sense, the night can also be beautiful.
If there is no sun tomorrow, how far will the night spread?
Annie Baby said: As dusk came, my fingers began to stir.
Anne is a special person, an unusually wandering soul. She always writes in the middle of the night, writing down her beautiful dreams as if they were growing in water. But I've read too much of what she wrote, so I got into such a bad habit of writing late at night.
In the early hours of the morning, my restless inspiration will start to jump, slip from my fingers and fall on the paper, making a diamond-like sound. I began to get used to the rich aroma of Nestle coffee and the constant typing and typing in front of the computer at suffocating nights. I was exhausted and fell on the bed, cramping happily.
If there is no sun tomorrow, I think I can write a lot of words and sell them to my favorite editor. Then I will have a lot of money, and then I can buy back my beloved badminton racket.
If there is no sun tomorrow, it may be a good thing.
three
If there is no sun tomorrow, how big will the next night be?
Zero births at night. Shu Ting's poems.
When the night expands again and again with a stubborn attitude, the endless darkness either makes me stiff or makes my blood boil, and this state is very hysterical, I know.
At night, I like to lie alone in bed, looking at the black sky through the high glass window, watching how many dark white clouds pass by the sky, emitting a lonely and cool atmosphere.
I also like to squat on the side of the road and watch the large plane leaves fall. If it is cold, I will hold my knees tight. This is a good posture, like a lonely boy.
If there is no sun tomorrow, I think I should shed a tear on that dark night.
I am a person who loves in case, really. I often make an assumption that if time goes back two years.
If time goes back two years, I don't think I will go to a tired and numb high school. I think I'll just pick a middle school, choose a major, live casually and never look back; I will be prepared to "escape from elective courses and compulsory courses" like the girl with a halo in Peking University. I will write a lot of manuscripts and give them to my familiar editors; I will continue to work hard to make my radio program until it becomes a household name; I will learn that the piano will make my fingers extremely energetic, instead of twisting my fingers from various strange angles to use the left-handed rule and the right-handed rule as I do now.
However, Einstein told me that this assumption is untenable.
So I still have to walk along the wall with a lot of math test papers, or I can only occasionally look up at the lonely clouds and lively winds in the sky from the pile of books, or continue to be stiff or boiling at night.
Night scares me.
four
If there is no sun tomorrow, then the night will really scare me.
Although I am deeply infatuated with those beautiful fantasies and black flowers blooming in the dark, if I have to choose, I would rather have a sunny tomorrow.
I think I still love sunshine in my bones.
As I told my friends, in fact, I am a quiet person in my bones, and I only occasionally quarrel inexplicably, but my friends told me that you are actually a quiet person in your bones and occasionally quarrel inexplicably.
Many times, one thing can be justified from two aspects.
I like to sit in the golden sunshine flowing like water on the balcony during the day, holding a thick English dictionary in my hand and turning over those long English entries. This is my quietest time. Many times I am restless, and my deskmate always reminds me at high frequency: Don't be crazy.
On the balcony opposite my house, there is always a girl with a slender braid reciting some English grammar carefully, but unfortunately many of them are wrong. When she reads English, she is very serious and gnashes her teeth, much like my junior high school deskmate. The deskmate also wears long and thin braids, but his face is already blurred. Memory is like a pile of broken glass scattered on the ground. It will take a long time to assemble. Besides, there is no eraser at hand to remind me of her at the same table.
Memory has been lost, in a certain dusk on a certain day of a certain year.
A bloody sunset that never comes back.
Too soon, too soon, it is sad, it is sad.
Cherry is red, banana is green, you walk your wooden bridge, I sing my sunset tune, whose loneliness, like a knife, kills my grandma bridge and my Niannujiao.
The beautiful Duras said: when a person begins to like memories, then he has already begun to get old.
I think I'm trying to remember, or I'm trying to get old.
I think I am really a crazy person.
five
If God wants to destroy a person, he must be crazy, but I have been crazy for so long, why doesn't God destroy me?
This is a problem.
Also, the Bible says that the sun will not rise the day before the end of the world, and the day after tomorrow will not be the end of the world. Why do some people doubt that the sun will not rise tomorrow?
This is another question.
I think God's old man must be trimming his toenails leisurely now.
six
I was an ordinary netizen in my last life. He is a clever man, a man who called himself a child when he was in senior three. My first understanding of past lives was that he wanted to put some of my articles on his website, and he let me know by email responsibly. We always chat happily in the evening.
If there is no sun tomorrow, I think I can chat with previous lives for a long time until both of them are foaming at the mouth.
I was a poet in my last life, and then I stopped writing. His reason is that "my finger betrayed my thoughts and died".
Last life said that his last life was a grain of sand in the Sahara desert, so I told him that beautiful story: every time I miss someone, God drops a grain of sand, so there is Sahara.
I asked him what my past life was, and he told me: the wandering duckweed has no roots, the homeless running water does not hurt, and the lonely fourth dimension has no soul. In fact, your past life is a pointer on the clock face, and you can't do anything to watch the time go by.
He always pokes me in the snow, so many nights I have to turn off the computer, then drink a large glass of boiling water, and then tell myself: don't be afraid, sleep well tonight, sleep well tonight.
But I kept waking up.
People who insist on waking up in the dark represent the last struggle of mankind, but such people often die first.
I feel very sad.
Don't come at night, I like sunshine.
seven
After all, the end of the old calendar is most like the end of a year. This sentence of Lu Xun seems to be a sick sentence, but it is actually very reasonable.
I walk in Shanghai, a beautiful city. Looking at more and more red lanterns hanging in the street, I am even a little worried that the bright sun will really fade out tomorrow.
I am walking on the road, with beautiful French phoenix trees on both sides. I've been wondering if my mother will wrap the coins in the jiaozi and sit at the table and wait for me.
If there is no sun tomorrow, lend me a pair of black wings and I will fly home.
eight
I divided the article into eight paragraphs, which is an auspicious number.
Winter is already deep, and I know that spring will be beautiful soon.
This winter is like a beautiful illusion, everything is pressed into that very thin and bright negative and put in my heart. While the sun is getting weaker and the calendar is getting thinner, there are more and more words in my computer. It is full of my beautiful fantasy, like a gorgeous garbage dump. When I cleaned up my words the day before going to Shanghai, I felt like a happy little beggar.
If there is no sun tomorrow, I know it is false.
But my black poem, the starry sky above my head, my lonely posture squatting on the roadside, my English dictionary, the long-haired girl opposite my house, and the road I saw through the lantern are all true.
There is still Chinese New Year, and I want to go home quickly.
2. The fourth volume of the fourth grade of primary school new concept composition
I want to paint the windows all over the earth, so that all eyes accustomed to darkness can get used to light.
-Inscription from Gu Cheng
1
I didn't try to copy Kafka, nor did I dare. Kafka is the writer who scares me the most. He lives in a humble room, embrace the darkness, far from the sun and loves despair. I'm not like him. I am a child who grew up in an exquisite material life. Accustomed to the noise floating high above the bustling city, accustomed to the lingering sweet and greasy fragrance in the secular world. I can't imagine living in a windowless The Dark Castle and catching the illusion that keeps popping up in front of me. I think I'll go crazy. My ideal is like Ji Rujing's song: "I need a spacious room of my own, full of sunshine, and feel the warmth quietly", and then "facing the sea, spring blossoms". However, when I first saw the three-dimensional deformable object on the screen saver, I first thought of Kafka's Metamorphosis, which made me quite depressed. Then I remembered my screensaver. Large tracts of white cherry blossoms are falling like snow, falling, falling, falling. ...
2
I am not a gloomy child, not since I was a child.
I have bright eyes and a sunny smile, but I have the darkest pupils. The Bible says that the darkest pupil is the most poisonous medicine. I am constantly changing my appearance, turning the wheel of years, as unscrupulous and arrogant as roulette, but my pupils are still as black as gold ink, and the hole in my heart is still not filled. The hole first appeared in Kafka's Despair, then in Su Tong's Gorgeous, then in Annie Baby's Wandering, and finally stayed in my damp and dark heart to live and work in peace and contentment, and refused to disappear anyway, as stubborn as me. I think if I want to live for a hundred years, then it will stick to living 10 1 year.
three
The Monkey King is a master shapeshifter, but I'm better than him.
I have a wardrobe of clothes, and it takes two months to change a suit every day. I have all kinds of CDs, elegant and timeless classics, melodramatic and disgusting business fashion and hysterical and gorgeous rock, so I can become an elegant gentleman, a tacky groupie and a cynical little punk at any time; I have all kinds of friends, such as bartenders in bars, gangsters in society, top students, artists full of aura, pioneers of online poets, singers who are crazy about rock and roll, white-collar workers on high, and ronin on the roadside. I say different things to different people, and the action of taking off the mask is so handy and disgusting, but I am still proud of it. However, even if I play with my life in the palm of my hand and live it like a crackling fireworks in my hand, it will only turn into a pile of vague light and shadow, and I will flee everywhere, and my inner hole will never leave. I asked Xiao why, and Xiao said, "Because you have no direction, you don't even know what you are and what you want." I suddenly stood there. This situation is like a butterfly emerging from its cocoon. It is waiting for its own transformation and shock. It was triumphant but suddenly stuck in front of the cocoon, and it was painful and finally died on the road of eclosion.
In the words of Xiao A, it hurts to death.
four
Small never seems to have anything to do with the word metamorphosis, because he has hardly changed since he was a child. No matter how gorgeous the years are, like a roaring train passing by him, he still walks high in the cracks of the secular world. He is so quiet and peaceful, he can spend the whole afternoon quietly turning over a picture book, and when he is free, he can find a clean road and wander around casually. When he walks past a shady tree, he will look up at the fragments of sunshine and smile as sweetly as a child, or stand on the side of the road in white clothes and watch the noise of traffic, or sit on the floor of the video store and concentrate on finding his favorite CD. I once laughed at his autism. He always patted me on the shoulder and said, you don't understand. I get it now, but it's still useless. I can't stop my own rotation. I always change my appearance, even my personality, even the trajectory of my life, but I still feel so sad that my stomach hurts, especially when I see a small and quiet smile. What I say most to Xiao is: don't be divorced from reality like living at an altitude of 9000 meters. And the little one's answer to me is always: don't always live at the crossroads and keep turning left. I know what he means, my life has been beating around the bush. I know, but I can't help myself.
I hate generalists. Their fluent words and diverse faces scare me. I like people who are taciturn because they are kind.
But I found myself the first. Should I be sad?
five
The value of "keeping the same with all changes" in the art of war has long been known, but its significance in reality has never been thought about. I'm always making excuses for my change, saying it's a trick, but when I think about my little family background, he's the same, and I'm reduced to all kinds of changes, like a disgusting actor. Western philosophers say: Is the world changing too fast? No, only you have changed.
Similar to this sentence, there is another sentence I like very much, which was said by Hudson Austin: Is it the passage of time? No, there's still time. We are flying.
six
The gloomy yellow flowers are nothing more than prajna paramita; Bamboo is full of dharma.
seven
That three-dimensional deformable object is still changing. One moment is a smooth and smart ball, the other is a enchanting plum blossom, and the other is angular ice. I really want to ask it.
"Why are you so like me?"
eight
I am always one step ahead of the mainstream. I always imagine a large group of people walking behind me, but when I think about it, can't I say that I am behind the times and stand alone outside the crowd? I used to laugh at all other mainstream things with non-mainstream eyes. It's really unnecessary to think about it now. How to live is to live. If you are happy for a hundred years and stick to yourself, you will be unique, just like Aesop's fable, "A hundred birds have a hundred ways to land."
Years run back with substance, and the soul runs forward with thoughts. Quite simply, this is the so-called life.
nine
Small ah said: Siwei, I know you have been unhappy because every step you take is not practical, because you can't find your own direction. I know you want to resist the numbness and impermanence of life with the freshness and turbulence of change, but don't you think this move is cowardly and powerless? I have seen an oil painting in which a child stands at a crossroads. The name of this painting is The Lost Child. I always thought it was like you. Four-dimensional, calm down, there are still many trustworthy things in life, and the hole in your heart can't be filled by avoiding it. Don't despair because of several disappointments, and don't be unaware of your sadness because the sky didn't answer your prayers, because there was no sound when the angel passed overhead. Just like your favorite movie line: I'll wait for you at the intersection ahead, be there or be square.
Xiao A's voice is like a steady and heavy cello, and I'm so sad that I'm dying.
10
I am so sad that I am dying. I just want to open my eyes.
Maybe I was used to too much darkness in my last life, so I had the darkest pupil. I should look for bright eyes, but I can't extricate myself in the dark. Maybe I didn't try to extricate myself. I long for the sweetness and illusion brought by darkness. The most poisonous poison is pure black, but it is sweet and attractive.
I am not a gloomy child, but a child with a shadow and an empty heart. That hole sings black songs and a sad river in my wet and dark heart every night, which fills my whole youth.
1 1
I didn't like toys since I was a child, and one of them called mask made me feel hysterical. I once had a dream that lasted for a long time. In my dream, a man kept changing his face at me, sometimes ferocious, sometimes fierce, sometimes bright red, sometimes melancholy ... When I struggled to wake up from my dream, I was in tears.
12
I feel sorry for the actors on the stage, for the children waiting at the crossroads, for Su Tong's escape, for Anne's wandering, for the people who change clothes every day, for the woman who wears heavy makeup, for myself and for all the people who live under the mask. Because they are all people who are gripped by lonely hands. That kind of loneliness is like Liu Liangcheng's "It should have snowed, but it seems to fall on me alone". Loneliness is a strange thing. Thousands of dollars is no longer just a dollar, but thousands of loneliness is still loneliness. There is no process from quantitative change to qualitative change. Just like walking into a room full of mirrors, thousands of people are still alone, and all the excitement is gone. It suddenly occurred to me that Acheng wrote Phoenix. He said that if the phoenix is lonely for 500 years, it will still be lonely after 500 years of rebirth.
13
That's why I hope to paint windows all over the earth, because I hope the sun can shine in, shine into the darkness in my heart, make the hole disappear, stop singing eulogies, let the black river recede and reveal the beautiful beach. I hope to see the direction I want to go in the sun, I hope to see the little A waiting for me in front, I hope to see the hole evaporate in the sun, and I will burst into tears. I hope the sunshine can not only illuminate me, but also illuminate all the children who are at a loss in the dark, because they are so kind.
If I can continue to ask questions, I hope I can dispel Kafka's inner loneliness and despair, because I love him so much.
14
It's almost over, it's almost over.
Let me make one last wish: I hope my life can last for 102 years, so that I can see the hole that has survived for 10 1 year in the bright sunshine, in my clear eyes and in my innocent smile, and gradually disappear completely.
3. Sick moaning has never been seen on the Internet.
Above.