Author: Zhang Kangkang
In the impression of the bottom edition, it is just a big iron frame slightly higher than the TV tower; In the endless image, it is submerged in the crowded buildings in Paris, leaving only a slim coat for you. Even if we look across from the fountain of museum square, it seems to be just a small ornament, even a little depressed and cold.
When you came to it and stood at its feet, I never thought it would be so high; When you haven't looked up, you only feel its shadow; When you look up completely, but you can't see everything, but lean back, hold a hat or glasses and squint at the sky, you will truly understand its height, momentum and pride.
This is a square, a clearing. It rises from an ordinary base point without bedding and transition, so it easily and ruthlessly leaves the secular and floating dust behind, proudly standing in the clouds, overlooking the whole city. ...
I'm going to climb this tower. Go up and look for its eyes and peek into its soul. It is too high for the eyes of the world to be parallel to it. I want to go up, silently hoping for a transcendence without national boundaries and a sublimation without steps.
I stared at it and looked up at it, but I didn't worship it. I'm sure it's not unattainable. It's just a bit like a rocket launching base, and I don't know where to send its guests.
I heard the wind whistling in my ear, twitching nervously, flapping and pushing you, like a giant bird flapping its wings and flying straight into the sky. You are a ray, a sunshine, a beam of radio waves, a spaceship, swaying gently but flying through the atmosphere, breaking through the atmosphere and throwing it into the distance. I opened my eyes and the sealed elevator cabin was full of people. The wind is isolated from the distant sky, just whipping my nerves. The wind turned into speed and dizziness here-I just felt the ground quickly leave my heel and head for an epic bottomless fall. Falling straight and naked, just like a stone falling from a cliff, it should be thrown into the depths of the stratum without cover or hindrance. The earth's crust is sinking. And there is no one everywhere, a piece of Wang Yang, an unattainable, helpless, helpless despair. Are people so isolated and insignificant? I'm scared. I feel sorry for myself. In order to pay tribute to its greatness and magic, I insisted on joining the crowd climbing the tower. Strangely, I can't feel the elevator going up. I just think that from the moment I climbed the tower, Paris began to land solemnly. It went into the ground crazily. I can't breathe, this transparent iron box, close your devil's eyes quickly, I want to go out!
Paris is still sinking rapidly. I have nowhere to run. The blue sky sparkled in the cracks of black clouds-those black virgin forest-like steel frames exploded from both sides of my head. Did you knock it open with that transparent iron box? Like the window glass of a car sweeping branches on the side of the road. The blue sky suddenly approached, then suddenly far away, and it was even colder. Always blocked by those black arms. Sometimes there are countless steel cables and iron cables that entangle you and tighten you, so that you will never reach the realm above everything else.
Inadvertently, I looked up and my heart thumped-suddenly I found myself rising, the cable broke, my black hand dropped, and the cloud became thick and bright. However, the transparent iron box is still rising wildly, as if to break through something, as if to break free from something, and giggle upward, as if to bite your teeth, as if to tighten your bones, stubborn and obsessed. It seems that it will never reach the top and never stop. Because no matter how high it rises, it is still impossible to get close to it-that blue dream.
I thought I was launched like a rocket. I thought I left the ground; I thought I was close to the sky-those moments when I was with the lonely wind.
We walked out of the transparent iron box, and the sunshine still seemed so lukewarm. The sky is still so close. Paris is safe and sound, located on the Seine like a green belt. Only cars become toys; This house has become a model. Anyone here? It's a pity that I didn't bring my telescope.
So I know how tall the tower is (although I will never understand the word)-I am as tall as the tower. That's an elastic tower.
So I know how big this tower is-"That's Notre Dame!" "That's the Pompidou Art Center!" "That's Montmartre Church!" "That's little new york!"
This tower is as big as Paris. Maybe more than that. A book says that when there are no clouds in Wan Li, the top of the tower is expected to go to other provinces. ...
The wind released from the nerves teased the tower, shook it and beat it.
I used to think that rusty iron after more than 100 years of wind and rain would groan and tremble ... It is said that its maximum swing is 18 cm, but now it doesn't move, so don't worry about breaking or collapsing. Standing in the glory of the industrial revolution, this giant seems ambitious to compete with the new wave that swept through that day. It won't quit, it won't quit. Although it is a symbol of the last era, it was born in the historical sites of Paris as an unconventional monster a hundred years ago.
There are many people in the upper reaches of the tower platform. I thought you were arrogant, but I found that you were a deadpan father with children of all colors and hairs in his arms. They were addicted to playing and watching, and then left, leaving only a vague shadow in your field of vision. ...
There is a pair of teenagers kissing by the window of the tower. What a high kiss. There is a couple of young people kissing in the elevator. What a quick kiss. This tower is kind and warm. If I don't come to this tower, I will always be so ignorant and vigilant about it. ...
I don't know how I should go on, or I hope I will never go on. People who have reached such a height have become indifferent to the ground; People have had such fears, and they have contempt for safety; People approached the blue dream and had to go back to the original place to make up for the sadness of exploration. Because it is not the height of a mountain, not the fear of a cliff, but the real creation of people a century ago, and it is an eternal monument. If you don't go near it, you have no right to despise it; It will become a pile of scrap iron one day, but it once existed uniquely.
When it existed, in the crowded buildings of Paris, it was magnificent, but it was lonely. It has no interlocutors. Only wind, only clouds and only birds are its lonely companions. Countless pairs of warm hands touch its cold iron, but its heart is still lonely.