Three essays on time: listening to the passage of time
I like to sit quietly and meditate alone. Or happy, or sad, or recall some fragments.
The years are whispering around me, and I am listening quietly.
Flowers walk through spring, leaving a wisp of fragrance. The wind rippled on the water. Snow has passed the winter, leaving all kinds of hopes. In the misty rain, I walked through the Zhu Xuan Garden, crossed the river, walked through the lonely rain lane, and walked through a time like water. Thousands of years ago, a moment of laughter and a moment of loneliness passed by in the years. No matter who you are, the mountain spring, breeze, abortion and sunset in front of you will become the most beautiful pictures in your life. Every ordinary touch in life is a wonderful process. Sometimes, the result doesn't matter. It is important to collect all the past moments, bitter or sweet, left by the ups and downs in this life. Youth is a seasonal river that rushes through life. Those faint sorrows scattered in the corner evoke the injured city hidden in my heart. A person will be sad because of missing, because of love, and even more because of poetry. Sorrow is like smoke, like a faint fragrance, knocking on the window at night. So I fell in love with the lonely windowsill after dusk and watched the bleak fireworks. In a few quiet nights, I shed a line of clear tears.
When the sunset faded away, the curtain in the middle of the night was quietly spreading to the starry sky, the moon slowly climbed up, and the silver light poured down. This place was cold and desolate. When a ray of moonlight is printed on the cheek through the small window, it is cold and bleak, as if finding a crescent moon bent like water. If loneliness is colored, then black is her only label, perhaps this is a kind of fate. A person, wandering in a long alley, lonely and full, holding hands full of moonlight, telling my tears and worries there. The vast starry night, the world is long, a lonely sunken ship is wandering, my tired body is placed on the immortal soul, and a broken heart is buried in the depths of the immortal soul. Depressed days have run over my thin youth. I wish I could leave a happy rut, but years are like water, and youth is fleeting. When it dawned on me, my youth was exhausted.
How many sighs, how many lingering, how many lonely, when the twilight closes, standing in front of the window, I always miss a touch of sunset, desolate and beautiful, left hand reflection, right hand years, hiding in a corner, missing palm prints for a while? Time is like water, and the ripples are so clear. A cold spring, tears slipped quietly, stumbled into the river, rippling in the distance. My mind has already been destroyed by the ruthless east wind. Tea is a kind of feeling, and it hurts when you sip it. Once, life was as bitter as tea. Any sad sunset is just as lonely, walking in the traces of years, waiting for the silence of a photo. The light smoke sets, the sunset is like blood, and the wind blows over the gaunt face and sad tears. In this way, the footprints of youth gradually fade away on the silent slate.
Those lost years, those laughter, disappeared in the frost and rain in the morning. Through the years, through the misty rain, through the springs of Wang Yingying.
Joy is too short, why stay in the morning, loneliness is too long, why recall endless sadness. The road of life has a smooth road, no boat crossing and no bridge shore. It's a long way to go, Xiu Yuan. Don't be blocked by stumbling blocks. Maybe it's dusty and thorny now, but it will eventually usher in a clean Lu' an. If you miss a trace of coldness and poetic tenderness, you don't have to miss it or hesitate. There is no endless elegance in the world, only a feeling of youth. The grass in the pond and the cicadas in the trees in summer are all traces left by the past years. The full moon and round people are looming in shape or sublimation of rhyme. Is the sunset a day's harvest or a night's meditation? Why be confused and ask about the unknown fate of the empty valley? A bouquet of flowers can leave you fragrance, a spring breeze can send you spring information, and a bright moon can take away my deep thoughts. Why don't we smile at the clouds, lie down and listen to the trickle and count the burning stars.
Through the years, through a dream-like memory. Perhaps it is a clear spirit with a faint world of mortals, which makes a tear flow silently along the cheek. Open the yellowed title page, write down the most beautiful poems, and gently press the lost memories, just for the love in my heart that I can't give up. I know, it's not tears, it's rain that has been struggling for many years.
Time three: a time like a worm
Even a bug can shine brilliantly. ? Wheat Language in the Digital Movie Time Is Like a Bug
I don't know when I started, but I haven't watched a movie seriously, and some are just lively and boring. Last night, I accidentally watched an urban inspirational movie "Time flies", only to know that movies can also make me so moved.
Let's start with the plot. The protagonist Guangjin is 27 years old and has been unemployed. He is a neet. Worried and desperate, he thought of suicide. Guang Jin didn't die. He decided to try to find another job, but we caught the liar. Guangjin was attracted by the generosity of wheat, hoping to turn wheat into his girlfriend, and took the initiative to go to the place where wheat volunteered to donate blood for free, but it was self-defeating. Making a fool of himself in front of wheat, Guang Jin thought that wheat might be hopeless, so he accepted the arrangement of his parents to go on a blind date. The failure of blind date is also very humiliating. Guangjin blames his parents for all his failures. Guangjin wandered outside all night, and only when he got home did he learn that his father was hospitalized for cerebral hemorrhage. Dad is in hospital, and mom is completely heartbroken. Guang Jin finally realized that he was too ignorant. With the help of wheat, Guangjin found a cashier's job in the supermarket and got rid of the old people. Guangjin changed his lifestyle, which made his parents very happy. At the same time, Guangjin's father gradually recovered under the careful care of Wheat. Guangjin also took this opportunity to express his love to Wheat again.
Compared with commercial blockbusters that invest hundreds of millions of dollars, such a dull little movie seems insignificant, but it is true and touched me.
Guangjin in in the film is a typical neet. After graduating from college, he was unemployed at home for a long time. If there were no wheat, he might spend every boring day for him. Kim's condition is average. If he is allowed to get married, it is tantamount to getting married naked. So he chose to escape, escape from this ruthless reality in his eyes. As we all know, he is getting away from society. At this moment, Mai, a lively and enthusiastic girl, appeared inexplicably when Guangjin was most helpless.
Everything is fate, right? They seem to have taken a liking to each other from the first meeting. For the sake of wheat, Guangjin did not hesitate to fight (this person also took a fancy to wheat, and like Guangjin, he was a neet), just to win each other's hearts. Wheat, like her sister next door, advises Guangjin to find a job from time to time, hoping that he can cheer up, get rid of the otaku life who lived in a humble abode in the past and face the society bravely. I also hold several jobs and earn hard money.
I always feel that such a plot is going too smoothly, but it is actually out of envy. A smart and sensible girl, in this way, accidentally walked into your life. If I were you, I would feel warm.
However, if it is a movie, there will be artistic treatment. Pure love is always touching, just like the love of hawthorn tree. Don't need too much worldly noise, just keep the inner beauty. Like Lin's classic sentence? If you are well, it will be sunny. Just as innocent.
The ending was a bit unexpected to me. After Guangjin expressed his love to Wheat, Wheat just smiled slightly and sighed. I'm married? . (Isn't this a little abrupt? )
This made Guangjin very depressed, his hair was small and strong, and he was extremely confused after he failed to invest in potatoes.
In fact, they still want to pursue, but they always feel that they are not strong enough and lack the courage to face social reality.
So the two met on the roof and prepared to commit suicide. It was time to act, but they hesitated. Downstairs, cars come and go, bustling, no one will notice their departure, but for themselves, they really feel a little scared.
Guang Jin remembered what Wheat said to him: Even a bug can shine brilliantly. ? Indeed, life is precious and wonderful, and Guang Jin feels that he should not leave this world like this.
So, he and Da Zhuang started a new life and did their first job. Even if the monthly salary is only 1000, for them, going to society is a kind of progress.
However, Guangjin always wondered about Wheat's departure until one day, Wheat gave him a phone call.
It turned out that Mai was married and her husband left Mai because of a traffic accident three years ago. In the past three years, even if she met the golden light of insects, she still chose to wait instead of taking a part-time job, just to pay off huge debts. But in my opinion, it's a little cruel. Three years later, my husband suddenly appeared beside Mai, only this time, in the emergency room, he was in urgent need of rescue because of a traffic accident. And her husband's blood type is exactly the same as Jin Guang's.
Out of kindness, Guangjin chose to help.
Only then can I understand why Wheat refused him. I don't know if this is a trick of fate, but I always feel that this ending is a bit sad.
This is a short film, very real. Yes, one day, we will face the pressure of employment. From the moment I stepped into the university gate, I seemed to smell a trace of smoke. On the bulletin board of the activity center, recruitment posters will be hung from time to time. Sometimes, we feel confused when we see the anxious faces of some seniors. Could it be that employment makes us no longer young?
So there's something like golden light? Someone who needs it? I don't think this is a derogatory term, and they will have helplessness, just more prominent.
However, this is the epitome of the times, one side? Need an old man? It is obviously unrealistic to want a high salary. No one can guess his future, because the world has been changing. It is better to move forward like a snail than to live like an ant. Not even a bug. Idiot? Do it. Hard-working bugs? Live high? Wormlike years? . Maybe it's the theme that the director wants to express.
Really go to the society and live a different self.
Time is like water, thin and tender.
Life is like a tide, ups and downs. In these changing years, I walked through the long river of time with loneliness. By chance, where I dreamed, facing the gentle evening breeze and lonely moonlight, my heart gradually calmed down. Through the gentle moonlight, I always get used to it. I picked up the pen in my hand and wrote my life, so that my memory was painted with budding color again.
Time is like water, you will be thin. Always wordlessly wandering in the desolate and desolate lush season, shyly playing, giving me thin years, infected with too many vicissitudes and helplessness. But my ignorant feelings, under the aging face, unsealed the whispers of the past, turned into red flowers, turned into soil, leaving only the original fragrance.
Looking back on the past, how many lingyun ambitions were dusty all the way, and the wandering thoughts were hidden in the softest place in my heart, stinging the past. The sigh of the past, through the corridor of memory, cut the fate of the fingertips, buried a desolate place, and carved the most beautiful inscription in youth. In the past years, I invited a breeze into my arms, let that sad smile drink the wind and cry, and look back on Zhan Yan's wasted life.
Time flies, ten or twenty years have passed in such a hurry. Before the years wake up, time has already moved on, leaving only whitewashed memories, shuttling through the gaps in time, trying to recall those windy past events. And those expressionless arrival stories shattered the collapse of wandering outside the window, swaying the wind chimes sleeping in the dust, and chanting a sad song alone, with a euphemistic tune like running water. In this life, I am spinning around the old rings, helpless, but disturbed by the implication, rhyming with sadness.
Walking on the road of life, how much fragrance there is, how much bonus there is, sighing all the way by the pillar, as delicate as flowers, edifying the desolation of a season. Walking around, but inadvertently, fell into the depths of the world of mortals. No matter how the vague dreams wander, I can't get out of that narrow world. I was empty for a long time, but I couldn't see the end of the story, until first frost was like a dream, and the dark marks flew by.
Night, still so quiet, moonlight, still like water, opens a curtain of dreams sleeping in the moonlight, unfolds a picture scroll hidden in the wind by streamers, writes down a pen and a flower, and fills in half a thin volume of words. Through the window, gently sprinkled on the paper, the pen is half of youth, half of years. In poetic ink, the prosperity after the noise is hidden, but the past is clearly visible in a piece of ink.
Life is impermanent, and the old things of youth have now settled. No matter how you salvage them, it's just a tear and a rain.
Just like the ancient Buddha who meditated under the blue light didn't speak, he never sang a word in Sanskrit. However, those endless seasons, however, dream back to childhood, then sleep in the dreamland of memory, and now never wake up.
Perhaps, the beautiful past can only sleep in a dream, then turn into a wisp of incense, diffuse in the face of the whole season, and then drift away memories with the wind. Looking back, the journey I have traveled has faded away from the noise of the past, and I can't even see the coming pace. I was exiled in the wilderness by time and space. After years of plunder, now I only have farewell words, a promise and a past.
Or perhaps, waiting now can only follow the reluctant feelings and wander in every corner of the world. If we say that the hurried past has long since lost its fragrance and been buried for a long time; Why, that kind of helpless sense of loss will wake up in the middle of the night and fold the tears in my heart into simple and elegant words to pay homage to those cardamom years that are gone forever. Whether, once in the past, destined to become a sad overnight; Or those as thin as cicada's wings in the future, which can't stand the flick of fate, will be interpreted as warm pictures on the aging face, and sigh memories again in the lonely night.
As time goes by, I don't hate the long time, sighing brilliant years, just like the shadow of a remnant flower, which makes my mind clear; The waves expressing a memory lingered on the ferry at the end of the season, but the clothes of lead China were still fluttering and refused to land. However, the rosy clouds hovering on the side fantasize and linger for a while, folding ripples in the hazy misty rain; I also want to sketch out the fragments stuck in my memory, put a complete mask on the plot, and sign a letter to rewrite the ending of the story. However, the years refused to write in detail, and memories painted half a youthful face.
I know that many things I remember come and go in a hurry and have no intention of staying or staying. Just like the movies of life, there are always happy plots and tragic endings. Suddenly, looking at the brightly lit places in the city and listening to the streets swept by the breeze, there is only a touch of sadness. Since then, endless sadness has multiplied. Counting everything in the past is like blue and white flowers blooming in the lonely night sky, dancing alone in the dust, hard to find. Finally, it cooled down in a lonely moment, causing hair and confusion. Don't be like parting, but like a trickle of parting. You frown when you whisper.
The past fades away, and I can only live alone in the cold night. With that blue lamp, it suddenly collapsed, but it burned out the elegant charm of piety and ignorance.
A few windows, who pointed to the sad tune of falling flowers, wrote a farewell song on the string in the dizzy years, drank those stupid words in the world of drunken dreams, and finally searched in a hurry, but said the geometry of life.
The wind of memory seems to have returned to the original starting point, hurting the cheeks of the past, and unexpectedly shedding hot tears in deep eyes, but letting young time wander in the afternoons of those years. In a trance, I seem to have returned to those youthful years and caught a glimpse of the old days, as well as the laughter and the familiar faces. All this is so clearly visible. It seems that youth has always been there, fresh in my memory, and nothing has changed. But I still stand on the stage of youth, singing the music of life all the way.
Yesterday reappeared, the past was ups and downs, and the scenery and songs all the way faded away from the noise of the past. Now there are only vague dreams, and I don't know when I can return to my hometown. In the quiet years, I will listen to this bitter memory all the way.