vari

没品味没情调没素质

刀山火海,在所不辞;星河璀璨,你去吧。

就想把自己藏起来

Now he was standing at the window trying to call that moment to account. What could it have been if not love declaring itself to him?
But was it love? The feeling of wanting to die beside her was clearly exaggerated: he had seen her only once before in his life! Was it simply the hysteria of a man who, aware deep down of his inaptitude for love, felt the self-deluding need to simulate it? His unconscious was so cowardly that this miserable provincial waitress with practically no chance at all to enter his life!
Looking out over the courtyard at the dirty walls, he realized he had no idea whether it was hysteria or love.
And he was distressed that in a situation where a real man would instantly have known how to act, he was vacillating and therefore depriving the most beautiful moments he had ever experienced of their meaning.
He remained annoyed with himself until he realized that not knowing what he wanted was actually quite natural.
We can never know what to want, because, living only one life, we can neither compare it with our previous lives nor perfect it in our lives to come.
Was it better to be with Teraza or to remain alone?
There is no means of testing which decision is better, because there is no basis for comparison. We live everything as it comes, without warning, like an actor going on cold. And what can life be worth if the first rehearsal for life is life itself? That is why life is always like a sketch. No, “sketch” is not quite the word, because a sketch is an outline of something, the groundwork for a picture, whereas the sketch that is our life is a sketch for nothing, an outline with no picture.
Einmal ist keinmal, says Tomas to himself. What happens but once, says the German adage, might as well not have happened at all. If we have only one life to live, we might as well not to have lived at all.

思念从不让我日渐消瘦,黑眼圈说它的腰围越来越大。

雪下得那样漫不经心,偏偏全部落在我心里。

阳光带刃,我醒来瘫在床上不敢动弹,害怕下一秒的自己破碎了。


"Is there still an aesthetic illusion? And if not, a path to an “aesthetic” illusion, the radical illusion of secret, seduction, and magic? Is there still, on the edges of hypervisibility, of virtuality, room for an image?"

—— Jean Baudrillard, The Conspiracy of Art, 2005

承诺真是个一无是处的东西,除了满足一下当事人的耳朵没有存在的必要

是呈现古希腊斯巴达式成功者的悲剧英雄