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“ I'm sorry, what's your name again?”
“Liza. My name is Liza.”
“OK, got it. What can I help you with, Liza.”
“Well, I‘ve searched in all the faces from my entire childhood, but I never see myself smile. I need that spiritual expression in all my photos. Thank you.”
“Sure, delighted to help. And could you wait for an hour?”
“Of course, perfect. I’ll wait in the lobby.”
Whenever she thinks of the past 10 years, her heart is stuffed by an anger that almost suffocates her. She’s remained in high alert and smashed all definite proofs, but why is she still in so much pain? Why can she still detect the slightest vibration in every gloomy Sunday?
“No one must see the fact that you lock yourself inside a room, with an identity of perpetual isolation. After all, it’s your own life.”As she paced around the balcony, she caught a lightning flash above her.
“Hi, Liza, how are you? Wanna play a game?”
“Who's there？”she cried.
“ I am nobody.But I know you from my calendar. I made one calendar for you,Liza.”
There's no one out there. Only air,only her own reflection against the sunlight.
She heard him snicker, just like the wind whistling after dawn, a hint of the imminent Autumn.
“Apparently this is not funny, sir. Please show yourself...right now.”
“Crying without any tears, screaming in an awful silence. Although the laughter makes your body swing, your heart was drowning in sorrow.
Who’s there? Who’s sitting there in the darkness, moaning, without a spark of morning light? I saved your life in that well, remember?”
“I am not afraid ”, she murmured. Surely she noticed that there was no one around her, only the whispers of nobody.
“I’m going to a safe place, anywhere but here.”
“It's not fear you should hear, but your own grief.”
His soft voice didn’t calm her, nor did the wind which came with a chill.
“I don’t know what are you, nor your intentions. Mayhaps your words are not meant to wound. But I’m not here for any white cloak, I am here looking for my happiness which I’ve lost long time ago.”
“Fair enough. You will never find yourself alone. May God bless you, my little girl.”
He’s gone. For some reason, she detected the imperceptible changes in the air.
A sudden release, and then: What did nobody refer to? A threat? Or an obvious warning?”
“It must be my hallucination. ”
She tapped with her fingers while she checked the photos. She was pleased with the significant variations.
After she had glance at all the photos, she said to herself, Better than well.
Midnight. She woke up dripping with sweat. She was terrified by her own nightmare.
What a horrible dream. A man died on her and his blood sprayed across her face, sticky and warm. It seemed that the smell of his blood remained in her bedroom, the mixture of an intangible excitement and anxiety.
A taste of the blood which touched her lips: bitter and salty, mild but full of the struggling for life and a quick death.
A man was dead in her dream but she’s still alive, this simple fact cheers her up and she feels thirsty all of a sudden.
“Hi Liza, you’ve got blood on your neck.”
It’s him. His voice slick, low and gloomy. In a blink of an eye, a shadow slips through the wide-open door. He’s in the room, apparently invisible.
“I know you are afraid, you’re afraid of me as always. But you’re not supposed to fear me.”
She lifts her left arm, trembling. “You are a remarkably dreadful bastard, Mr Nobody. My arms are strong enough and I’ve got a bad temper. You are not supposed to be here, in my space.”
“As you say, Liza. I’m truly sorry for your past. And I want to protect you, you have my word on that. A word in the wrong ears could mean innocent lives.”
“The real virtues of a man are courage and intelligence, not justice and power.
Justice is a relation among people, among individuals, yet personal morality is not easier to analyze on the small scale of individual behavior.”
And it should remain so, she told herself.
A troubled look across her face, like a swallow with one broken wing awhirl in the spotless sky, both frustrated and thrilled.
From the rooftop you can see across the lake. Though the gloom of night keeps whirling in her mind, she put out the smell of distressing memories and twisted around in her chair: a coal-black chair by the door.
She recited some of her favorite paragraphs in thoughts: the missing part of herself will be her own creation.
No one is born complete. Despite all troubles deep inside her mind, she rose herself: her own, ongoing private revolution.
“Living for light and color, living for the distinct sharp scream of our motherland, living for survival and hope.
I don’t want to escape. It’s better here than sobbing in the dark woods without candles and hot chocolate pies.
Away from the crowd, the cracks in her heart tremble constantly. Other times, they whisper as the rainforest after a drizzle, in full swing.
Life is simply shameless, the opposite of leaving is coming right away.
Never go down, take the right path, you will arrive at a chamber of paradise by no means.
Pay attention to her face, a pale thin face with big dark brown eyes, easily recognizable as a female human face. She appears to be of a sentimental and passionate nature, volatile but beautiful, attractive but not in the usual sense. Don’t be taken by her charms, she is cold and flickering.
If someone sang his creed in a rhyme, that shall be a song of life. If someone weeps in deep sorrow, that shall not be a song of death.
For some reason, other people give some kind of worth to your appearance. Every one of us carries the burden of life, and there’s no way out of that.
He set a shady backdoor for himself years back, but his unwavering independence sped up collapse of his own kingdom.
We travel through lives, move from one city to another from one time to another, but we are not travelers. Our movements only show the existence of human behaviors, but none of them are evidence of freedom. Beneath the surface, we’ve remained the same.
Why do you destroy all your dreams, and then fight your entire lives against the fact that you never esteem reality?
He spent his lifetime developing a skill to engage in relationships with others, but he himself was in a private battle, fierce and stern. He grew up with an absolute certainty of the primacy of his own survival.
Far away have I gone. I managed to stay outside the door, yet surprised that I’ve been so deeply enmeshed in the world around me.
"What an unsuspected, shadowy afternoon!” She thought.
She marvels at a glowing blueish-purple butterfly which has been battered by contrary winds. Despite her best endeavors,she could not save its life. What a tragedy!
Nothing could be more simple and yet more thoroughly dramatic than an unconscious reaction. Nevertheless, instincts flow in your blood, your passionate thoughts caught so alive in your bones, and the remarkable gifts from your ancestral family tree.
Master of a hidden life, king of all survivors. I won’t say any bad words about love, love is pure and innocent, but you are an arrogant, disgraceful rat.
I meant to sit here, proud as where I am, a victory for myself.
As briefly as you can, and exactly as a witness would, tell me how drunk the lost life was.
Faith and betrayal are twin companions, one shall rise regardless, and one shall end six feet under.
At the end of the dark alley stood a little boy. Beside him was a snow-white cat with a pair of emerald-green eyes.
The cat had an odd look you could sense from a hundred yards.
“Roll away.” It’s the cat!
“Don’t be nervous, it’s just a little frolicking. Come on over old fellow. Grum is tippy, and Grum’s artworks are dippy. ”
“The noted spring.You are the obverse of positive inspiration, you are a combination of rejoicement and abusiveness.
What is it that makes you a ‘puritan’? Is it the long suffering or is it kindness? Or is it whitening your unverifiable crimes through hardcore judgement? ”
How honorable she was for catching the unbelievable conversations between a little boy and a cat?
Without hesitation, she turned around and ran in horror.
“And so it shall all end.” She told herself.
10 minutes later, she arrived home, safe and sound.
“Why are you running away?"
"What’s the matter with you?"
“Now, tell me, tell me, tell me, tell me your last name...”
I’m counting: One, two, one, two, one...
"Hello Liza, how are you? Long time no see...”
It’s Nobody, he’s here again!
“Well, for God’s sake Liza, you’ll never find the real truth you are searching for. Haven’t you skipped a tombstone? A fragment of your imagination is not enough to set me in prison. I will always be by your side, whether you like it or not. You have such an adorable personality that I’m absolutely fond of. Take care of yourself for me, okay? And stop fighting against me.”
“Oh...here you are. I waited so patiently for your appearance. What are you into lately, Mr Nobody? Is that true that you would deal with death for a drink?”
The Devil is on the stage, what a surprise!
“Don’t do that to me, Liza. I am just a callow in love. People do stupid things all the time. And I am one of them."
“Remember and recall. Nice shot. Keep going backwards, please. All of it, all your testimonies will be properly written up in big capital letters.”
“We’re in the same boat, Liza, like it or not.”
The wind is playing a role for the courtroom drama tonight, with its perennial duty to move forward.
As a witness of an on-the-spot recording, the choice is entirely yours.
A red-haired girl appears on the screen, a Desert Eagle in her left hand. Even from afar she can still catch the chilling sound of the howling wolves.
The storm is coming, along with the endless rain season. She presses forward and resumes her long journey after a short break.
We humans live in our sins. Life would lose its flavour without choking in a pool of resistance and chaos. We would’ve done worse, no doubt, if we imposed ourselves regardless, and persevered in a fouler war.
The cruel and the mad, fighting against the bloody violence. A gaze of transient, bygone days.
The real life was not funny after all, he was no true knight, and she hadn’t achieved her crown yet.
Perhaps that’s life. Spare me all your pious talk and I’ll furnish you with a promised land, your desires of happiness and of success.
In my dream I flew with eagles, gliding through the clouds, rising and falling, hovering high above the sky.
Dreams might not have seemed to be dark and scary, but a fairytale could jump across the stream, turning into a tongue of flame. Nevertheless the chill dead air blew a black whistle, hinting at a new unbearable era —awfully silent, in all the day and night time.
The blinding intensity lay fear, back and forth, gone nowhere.
My world is a vessel, filled with my greatest triumph, along with all significant ruins.
I think to myself, whatever happens, we shall live inside, for the darkness will fall with a rhythm which fits with the meaning of the poem—our native land.
Remember, remember, the truth I always remember, and it echoes with an unforgettable name: Liza.
Gradually after sunset,the legendary street No. 17 was cloaked by darkness. Streetlights cheered up anonymous passers-by.
She bent from the burden of working all day long but she was still rather delighted. Life can display comedies for you, if you endure the daily toil with enough patience and optimism.
She was vaguely aware of the cheerful sound of night prayers, from which she grew detached long ago.
Art works would leave you right away once you’ve raised them up, without any hesitation. Yet no real artist would give up on her own creations.
When all the rebels were marked down and meant to be settled in darkness, miracles did chuckle at the sight. No doubt values are on the eye of beholder.
In time she’s learned patience, being obsessive about her own devotion.
Sometimes we can establish our structures of feeling, that lets us reach instant conclusions out of blue. We feel, instead of thinking.
As our emotions constantly flow, they create positive or negative thoughts. When the energies successfully travel across the border, your feelings feed back into emotions, together with your physical expressions.
Therefore it’s way more difficult to build a communication system based on thoughts. Like it or not, you can barely communicate by thoughts in your lifetime unless you build a rather efficient communicating system among the crowds. As such it is a radical purpose.
“The war is over. We will live separated, and set up half-measures for now.” She sent the letter early in the morning, perhaps each word indicated a paragraph of full-screen of lost and found memories: folded, childish, vividly,gone with the wind.
The greatest artist is life itself, and we are all insanely addicted to its unknown possibilities. We dare not make a decision revealing the truth.
All is fair in war: we decide the conclusions in the end.
Liza sits still near the window, it seems that she’s trying to set the damaged database in order, deep down in her mind.
You laughed outright at the most ridiculous fiction, and you got interrupted in the middle of your laughter. But instead of being upset, it knocked you cold.
Thus you burst into real tears in your heart: Why did he sneak up behind me?
Frustration leans across your mind, though it won’t last long.
A fair play is not white only, but life is all about refilling cups of tea, and the change in your pocket at month's end. Life has left you no time for regrets, a memorial you built for a remarkable dramatic disaster won’t sustain your survival.
Cling to power, let the endless desire penetrate your spine, and you’ll be dead.
If you walk straight into a trap, perhaps that’s for your personal development.
She was given a grant to observe conflicts, by which she discovered a simple fact: that there are no unconditional relationships among the crowds. When something bursts into flame, it happens for a reason.
“Like as much else you could declare, I wonder why you haven’t had him buried?” A voice in her head had arisen.
“ Don’t be silly, he’s not invisible, and Never is a castle no human could endures.” Another sound jumped out and cut in.
She was apparently an outsider, for that she appeared to be thriving.
Suddenly a warm hand seized Liza by her right arm,dragging her out of the ongoing dialogs.
“Miss, you must let tragedy go!”
There was no trace of wind, and the tedious air had set her in a shade.
The voice of the young man was like a drowsy summer afternoon, and he had a worried look in his face.
“Wherefore? And are you playing a leading role in this episode?” Her voice was clear and gentle, with a hint of misgiving.
“No...I’m just a supporting role! ” He sat down heavily, gritting his teeth. He paused for a minute, and then added: “In fact you cut me loose in your book...damn! Can’t you cut me some slack?” He looked pale while his eyes closed for a long while, and his lips trembled.
She steered her eyesight clear of him, and pulled herself back from the frightful days. Then she looked straight at him. She had a outward appearance of calm, but deep down she was concerned. “ I have no intention to kill anybody, in spirits we are all the same. If you pay enough attention, you may see today is an ordinary day among all upcoming days, and all of them are likely the same.”
“There’s no room for losers...and I’m here begging for my survival. You are the only one who can save my life, Liza.You have a rifle on your hand, the gun is yours, but the life is in the mind.” He leaned backward and looked straight into her eyes.
The upshot is, what’s done is done.
The future won’t pay the bill if you’ve heaped all your blame on the past. I wish to write a history not of struggles and despairs, but of art and civilization.
“You’ve gone terribly wrong. Are you not ashamed to write a dreadful story against me? Let me tell you the greatest truth about life—you pathetic poor thing: No one can escape from it. Everyone dies, whether you like it or not.”
The sun dropped down from the west, as she caught a thoroughly stunning scene that engrossed her attention. Her eyes travelled across the sky to the swing chair, while shadows covered half her face. “I said to myself hundreds of times that I should be happy and stay away from the dark and miserable memories. On the contrary I’ve experienced more than I care to remember— an old veteran of suicide missions.
Apparently you’ve pointed in the opposite direction. As you know I am an author, and I lived among the crowds, not in a great palace. Therefore I have no desire for the sceptre but for the pen.
You’ve had an overwhelming urge, with a sudden rush of anger. If you let the emotions be attached to your conclusions, I believe that you’re composed of nothing but dark matter, and I’m done with this insignificant conversation."
“Brains! For Chrissake, Liza.” He appeared to take a fair deep breath. “All right, as a matter of fact, that’s exactly why you made that major mistake. ”
She stood up and made one pace towards the French window. “Brains, you’ve chosen your perfect match.”
Once again she’d simply made her mind that the communication was precisely the opposite of what she had expected.
“I have a rather limited tolerance to nonsense. If and when we ever meet again I hope you remember what you said today.” She added.
A black wave rolled across the night sky, bringing a chill which twisted in the cityscape.
The city traffic was much lighter after rush hour. She could barely hear the low rumble of traffic in the distance when she drove off from the main road.
A day ended, an ordinary day. She kept herself busy and survived a thousand days.
Life is never dull if you’ve ever accidentally attended Lucifer’s parties.
Occasionally a midnight celebration appeared not only as a religious ceremony but also as a visual feast.
It’s hard not to overindulge at the party, surrounded by tons of spectacular thoughts. They capture the sickness in the underbelly of society, along with its wholly destroyed systems of sanity.
Someone who would’ve lived, stood outside with a secret sealed, safe and sound. Just like the ripples on the pond, some spread wider under any circumstances, yet others die not long after.
A secret lived, therefore a secret literally withered away in bonds.
In about 3 quarters of an hour, you couldn’t hold yourself any longer, kept wondering whether Lucifer got cold feet this time. Unfortunately that’s an unlikely eventuality. Nevertheless the devil’s impulsive temperament regularly could’ve gotten him into real trouble.
“Watch out! A mass of stones are marching towards you, tumbling down the cliff. Oops....are you alright? ” A warm-hearted message from the devil himself.
“I suppose not. I really appreciate that you’ve grown a massive amount of ‘kindness’ for me. But as you may be aware, somehow people learn while there’s still time.” She edited one more paragraph.
She’s not a precocious child, even though she managed herself and found a way of living, and was apparently self-possessed on most occasions.
A cup of rough coffee wakes her today, and other days. Life is covered with bitter crust, with a slice of sweetness — an unpredictable future.
July 18th, 2020
Some people consider me a lonely, miserable wretch. I shall say that I’m gratified at this somewhat alarming conclusion.
While I silently remind myself I’m in a state of considerable agitation.
Whatever it is, it’s granted. I wake up immersed in the alluring sun, filled with the most generous blessing — a somewhat unfortunate me is gone.
Apart from the editorial matter, among the original, fearfully large amount of evidence, I present myself again, profoundly clear-sighted, with sufficient content — I may well be challenged to be a being, a universal anonymous which is called “The scarcely credible Contributions in the entire galaxy”.
However I’ve merged my memories with the forever lost, apparently extended to the remotest ends of eternity.
What she wrote this ordinary Sunday, it was essential to be written, but it‘s not necessary to identify it in such furious activity.
July 19th, 2020
Chapter 24 — Let it fall
The first thing you may notice in this bookstore is the wide, carpetless stage. Apparently the cream-yellowish marble looks smooth and polished, with two black-veined marble columns on each aside.
A sudden blinding light causes quite a flutter. Then she notices a man standing upon the stage with a dark-blue unbuttoned shirt and a worn light-grey trousers.
For some reason a book in his hand attracted her attention. The fellow is an ordinary young man, wearing a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles. He paces up and down, with a grieved look in his face.
As he looked down and laid his eyesight upon her, she felt as if there was a massive weight on her chest, choking her.
“Help! ....Help me!” She‘s crying for help, but her voice simply sticks in her head for a few seconds. Liza thinks she’s about to black out.
“Let it fall, it is in imminent danger of collapse,
Come to me, come to me with your profound anxiety.
The rivers flew and emerged rapidly under the nightfall while the storm ripped and roared around in the awful darkness.
Down it came, with wrathful sparks in furious eyes. Sparks were truly flying.
Let it fall, it is in imminent danger of collapse,
Let it fall, let it fall with its profound anxiety.”
A fiery sunrise emerged from the white clouds, constantly shifting in the bluish grey sky, until they clustered together.
She ignored the slight chill in the air and crept towards the kitchen with a paint smile on her lips. As if it was meant to be, she smashed a coffee cup and scalded her little finger.
Apparently she was in a lather of anticipation for some unknown visitor.
Without any distinct transition, a sharp knock at the door pushed the story forward.
“All Roads lead to Rome”, She said to herself, and strode up to the front door.
While she wrote those words, she felt the blood pulsing through her veins and her heart beating in an unnatural rhythm.
A recall of the night before made her uneasy. One minute she was crying for help, in the next she fell heavily on the floor, with her eyes bulging widely open.
She tried to drag herself out of this miasma, away from the despair and the fear, but her body was unable to move.
Her ears were filled up by noise, surrounded by distant shouting and long horrific screaming, but no one actually stubbled to their knees and checked on her.
She couldn’t cry out of sheer pain, and there was no sign that this would be gone quickly.
Just then a reflection of the familiar worn, light-grey trousers appeared before her eyes, and claimed all her attention. Shortly after she saw a worried face. He was obviously trying to lift her up.
“Miss, are you alright?”He asked.
July 20th, 2020
“Apparently not well, but still breathing though. ”Liza cried in her mind and kept trying to send a signal — an indication of her personal will. She attempted to roll her eyeballs, but nothing worked. She lied there, stoned, experiencing a thorough body weakness.
“Hold on a second, is she dead, Monica?” A young man with a sneering voice jumped out.
“Of course not. She’s lying there simply because she's burnt out. She is certainly beat, but not for long. Have some faith on her, Mr Pathetic.” Monica added impatiently.
“Mind your manners, young lady. I’m here with a good heart. She’s overlooked all sorts of alarming signals about her own body.”
“Oh, my dear Lord...We’ve been long enough by her side to insure a historic survival. She’s an ironic creature, and she’ll live.”
“Monica, could you fast-forward for me? I couldn’t bear watching her suffer every single episode.” The man insisted in a rising voice.
“Get a doll for yourself. Now if you excuse me, spare me an hour or so of laying my eyes on her, would that be alright, Jorge?”
“May the force be with you, Captain.” She murmured staring at the monitor after Jorge was dismissed.
July 21th, 2020
There‘s something vaguely familiar about the man who assisted her that evening. Perhaps it’s the book, she wondered.
It was a marvelous night, with an utterly stunning, crisp-clear sky and countless twinkling brilliant stars. The evening breeze ruffled her hair but her mood was entirely steered towards melancholy, and she wasn’t quite herself after all.
She rushed back into her room. She had not a clue what she’d been through that night.
“What the hell! Luckily it’s all over anyway.Well, good night tonight, and wish me sweet dreams.” She recalled that one night years ago, under the shimmering stars on the beach, with strikingly similar words she'd spoken to herself.
She fell asleep quickly enough to catch various dreams. The distinctive designs of characters were not all there, but at least they were outlined enough so as to give a brief taste of star-spangled superheroes.
God knows her efforts are not in vain. A blissful sunlight cheers a brand new day up. Encouraged by the simple fact that she’s still breathing and kicking, she obviously has no reason to be upset over a cup of harmless, steaming morning coffee.
There’s an incidental interruption in a cafe nearby her office. A bold old man with angry eyes, who is obviously fighting with a teenager, fumbling for words.
She walks out of the cafe before the quarrel becomes more intense.
There’s no escape from the hot summer heat at this moment, but as is well known, freedom is not to be thought of as freedom from causal law or legal process, but rather from passions and impulses.
Either we’re fully aware of freedom, or we are not.
In reality there’s only life, only you and me, only ordinary peoples in crowds.
The most valuable passages are about life, and the most thoughtful expression about life is respect.
Any random events or accidents can be fashioned into dramas, but never forget real dramas live among us, deep-rooted in the abodes of humanity.
Tension. What challenges await us afterwards and beyond?
Leaning upon the porch towards the summer heat, she declares her intention to write a letter. Filled with satisfaction, she slides it into envelopes anonymous, to be recovered sometime in the future.
An imperceptible, goofy grin spreads across her face when she completes the last line.
A blessing future is a real talent — the true identity of a dark river flowing underground — the fusion of regular and reserve strength with the endless, intimate motions surging inside.
Someone dances in a mighty melody;
Someone continues a leery monologue silently upon the stage;
Others assent gracefully, having established a kingdom of kindness and care, a strong association which gave this place a certain air of glamour.
She honest has no clue of what’s happening. Let’s call it a miracle: she can only put it this way.
Since my escape from the small town years ago, I’ve had several conversations with Monica who still lives there, and she communicates with me almost every signal day. She lives by herself: she has an independent, atypical, loving personality. The reason why I could get along with her is that she’s not a judgemental person. I mean even she is a rather tough woman, she somehow always finds a way to deal with me.
Another girl is Natasha. She is sweet and nerdy, I like her although I almost never praise her.
That's another guy I have to mention. He likes travelling, and apparently he’s a good cook. He has a natural ability to arise sympathy in others, and he is a deeply compassionate person.
I wouldn’t get too close to them though — the residents of the old small town, simply because I still live in fear. The fear eats at me, even in the daylight hours; and it wakes me up sweating and trembling in the darkness.
In fact I’ve built a castle on my own, to be in it in a state of terror and isolation: a state of constant nightmare and delusion.
July 22th, 2020
As the epilogue to the story about the small town, she wrote:
The darkness is virtually gone, and I have nothing further to discover. Most likely I would visit no one there any more, because I made up my mind to let it go.
Last night when she walked along the riverside, the sky was overcast and started to drizzle right after 10 pm. The air was slightly sticky and sultry, but obviously the undisciplined wrath was gone. She’s aware her relief is tinged with sadness, as something bottled up is buried deep down in her mind.
“ I‘m all alone while there’s hundreds of people around. I feel even more lonesome when there's thousands of people. ”
But her loneliness wouldn’t shed tears. She has no obsessions for anything, except books and writing.
As a matter of fact, she communicates in a very specific way. And this time, to her surprise, she witnessed herself freely exposed in the midst of the crowd.
She’s always been fascinated by her own emotional changes, and has not really paid much attention to outgoing, energetic, excessively empathic, or extroverted personalities.
When everyone around her burst into hysterical laughter, instead of laughing with them, she couldn’t help but wonder: what really makes them laugh?
She hesitated for several sparkless minutes, and one paragraph could easily been identified as her own:
Nothing can make up for the loss of a joyous childhood. In any case, I’ll wake up tomorrow before the sunrise. It occurred to me that I ought to send the intolerable mess right away.
The letter released me and a great deal of anger was aroused from its deep sleep. Hopes of a peaceful settlement have dimmed.
July 24th, 2020
I must confess, I often find it difficult to recall details in my memory trees.
My database can be scanned for the main points in a blink of an eye, but it frequently leaves the detailed discussion for “next chapter”.
Who would you consider as a true and tried acquaintance ? The sweetest, the most precious, or the most loyal one? Your parents, your friends, your relatives ? Anyone else?
One thing we know for sure is that it’s rare to be kind to anyone casually. Most of the time we like somebody for certain reasons, and we humans hardly exercise kindness without any reason. We may be deeply indebted to someone, and dislike someone we know from our list of acquaintances.
Everything happens for a reason, but we constantly deal with the conflict between emotion and reason. If you spend long enough observing humanity, you can notice the obvious conflict between tradition and innovation.
We must admit that unnecessary evils live among us.
The definition of “unnecessary evil”, in my opinion, will be: The evil thoughts and actions could cause harm or even serious damage to the victims, but will not even related to the perpetrators. Meaning that you did something really bad to others, someone you had absolutely no knowledge about, but you still consider that you acted justly. And there’s a high chance you would do the same thing again, without any sympathy. The reason we’re capable of behavior like this is that we’re born with the capability for wickedness, but most of us merely notice it, and won’t be able to manage an effective way to control the most primal impulses.
We hurt others simply because we can’t behave in a better way.
We are not creating words by writing. Words are simply codes that peep through the cracks of our minds. They’re the survival instincts begging for a sweet spring in the desert: despaired shrills from the emotional abyss. Whether in pain or struggling, anything that appears on a page has its own value in words.
You call for the sufficient energy to edit words, whether it's an innate ability or quite incidentally to write your codes. When a monster that lives below the surface of the deep water attacks you, it brings the unstoppable surge out of the hidden draft. Some stories are impossible to recount, and I'm simply giving a truthful view as a significant fact.
She’s reading fiction this morning, apparently she hadn’t yet made new plans for her garden.
By squeezing her memories to wake up, after months of depression, she began to recover.
A year ago, she visited her garden in the desert. There she felt a thorough, head-to-toe sensation of melting in that somewhere no one will visit — her own private territory.
It won’t be a conscious choice for her to retreat from public life.
“Live a lifetime as you can live. I have no intention to stand aloof from world affairs, but neither will I do in Rome as Romans do.
“I’ve considered my life without my sacred garden along with someone sitting beside me;
“I’ve considered my solitude bursting into blossom, and displayed the blood-red desert flowers, indicating a symbol of death and rebirth.
“I’ve considered the moon rising long after the sun had gone down, pacing upwards in the sky, casting a sliver trail over the waves, bouncing and vivacious.”
Some words are meant to live
Some words are meant to live, they exist because they’re meant to be born. They grinned at each other, fighting for the right time to come to the world.
Apparently I have nothing to do with their birth, the melodies about life are their own.
If you pay close enough attention to them, you shall hear the sound of: tap tap tap, tap tap tap, tap tap tap, tap tap tap.
It was apparently joyful to learn the secrets of the collapse under a massive burden of depression —— a fatal claw in the big plan —— her death.
“Why do you want to kill yourself, Liza?”
“I have no obligation to live, not any more.”
“Are you seeing anyone lately?"
“Like the dear blind girl next door? No, not really."
“Let me tell you Liza, you must survive or all of us stand no chance to live. You are everything to me. None of them are worth a penny compared to you. You’re my queen, Liza. And I’ll pray for your survival.”
“You’re my shadow, that’s it, and you’ll vanish one day, just like the others."
“ No, I’ll help you to get through this, have some faith in me.”
“I know who you are, and what you are doing. But I don’t have blind faith any longer. I’m sorry.”
She shot herself right after he left, and died like a piece of a broken leaf, swinging and falling, in one summer night, in the year 2016.
July 26th, 2020
“I was dead.”
The theory of robots rising up fighting against humans is as old as the very idea of robots.
We are living in the "earth age", have any of you considered a life in space?
Someone who was born as an old devil, an old hand for a fainted soul. He crafted a living history for one of the darkest episodes —— her sprawling vision of a real practice of rebirth, which was to have significant ramifications for the next episode.
She nudged her way out of the crowds, trying to pull out her last memory. Her mind was traveling backwards. All of a sudden she bursted into a fruity guffaw, revealing two lines of shining teeth.
“I was dead.” She found the news that day, right after the night she killed herself.
She heard a sharp, rustling sound somewhere nearby, like the sound made by a starving jaguar, eagerly emerging from its hidden place after a long wait.
Twigs snapped and leaves crackled, she found herself lost in a dark and misty forest. And so felt her ramshackle soul, with a sense of falling, unable to resist her rising, ravenous hunger.
Behold thy eyes of departing, O memories assist her, ultimately perishing in the wrath of a tragic end, only recollecting the glossy light of courage.
If the future is an unfortunate accident, yet her shade escaped, her spirit was saved.
July 27th, 2020
She walks through flames
She walks through flames, staring at thy flickering shapes as you light up the glory of the Knight.
She walks through flames, capturing the greatest, mixing it with the sweetest, taking delight in a gloomy Sunday, timidly in the midst of the splendid stars illuminating the night sky.
She walks through flames, beholding the past deep in contemplation, not fully aware of the fragrance when a summer breeze softly strikes her.
She walks through flames, attracted by this magnificent art of nature, in hands of God. She raises her head, listening, listening to the spiritual sound of the beloved, the symbol of virtues: loyalty, courage, and truthfulness.
She is a substitute
As the saying goes: no one can step into the same stream twice. No doubt she had been dead for days, so it seemed rather silly to identify herself as the original her — Liza. However, whatever they think of her, none of them recognizes that she is a substitute — the black sheep, a Plan B.
She can hear a rumor spreading as an authentic account, that she is a magician. Therefore she must’ve successfully escaped from the eye of her twin sister — a well known contract killer.
This hearsay and guesswork has been going on for more than 6 months, and as such an entertaining theory it has been widely accepted by a community called “Brain Harmony ”, aka BHO.
She has neither brothers nor sisters, but she’s certainly no new soul. In flames her name was sworn, from flames both she and her soul were reborn. She’s literally an altered Plan B, yet her face hasn’t altered much over the years.
“I am so sorry, Liza”
No wonder there is this classic truism: that it is vital to have a sense of humor in your career. Suppose a flash of sunlight on her face will change other people's rigid attitudes and views about her. Occasionally instead of responding “I don’t really care”, she answered “ I’m so sorry to hear that, Patty, what a pity. ”
Patty is one of her assistants, a girl who often complains about her pet tortoise — Jammy. But today, from the way she behaved, Liza figured something was amiss. Patty walked across the room holding a cat in her arms — a snowy white cat with emerald green eyes.
An overwhelming sense of déjà vu stuck her all of sudden, a reflection of fragments of memories.
“I am so sorry, Liza” said she, her voice trembling with fear. She was in an odd green dressing gown, bare footed, and her face dreadfully pale as she spoke.
“ I’m so sorry Liza”, she apologized again, wetted her dry lips, and added “a riddle for all is the riddle itself. It’s credible enough for me.”She glanced nervously at the wall, which had a silver frame hanging in the middle.
July 29th, 2020
Where is the second book？
“How’s your adorable tortoise, Patty, is it still alive?” She had developed her patience through the years and attempted to dispel the young lady’s anxiety with calm words.
“I bet he is, Madam. But he’s nowhere near ready for the storm. The storm is coming, Liza, we must leave before it undermines the castle.” She said eagerly.
It seemed reasonable to assume that Patty was not quite herself today: her improper appearance, her unintelligible words, her weird expressions, and the cat.
An odd grimace crossed Patty’s face. She took a deep breath and then brokenly smiled up at Liza: “You should stop writing your second book Liza, a riddle for all is the riddle itself. I’ve read about the first book, I still wince at the memory of that thrilling night.”
“I couldn’t wait any longer to know more about my book, Patty, how marvelous to notice for the very first time that I’ve published a book under my name. But I’ve generally considered that would be more pleasant to bring up a real topic than a load of empty boast.”
Patty shook her head with a startled look on her face. As soon as their eyes met she tapped her fingers on the enormous, polished oak table.
“Good Heavens, Miss, you know exactly what I mean. The most important is to be utterly honest with me. I’m awfully sorry for your loss, believe me, I know how horrific that night was. But nothing should step in between us and the particular prospect of our hopes. Now tell me, where is the second book, Liza?”
July 31th, 2020
It seemed like the cat was thoughtfully listening as it stared at Liza’s face. So patiently and steady, curling in Patty’s arms with its bright winning eyes widely open. The Persian cat turned its eloquent eyes to a picture which was framed right in the middle of the wall. It was a picture of the desert, where her secret was buried.
After a while the Persian cat arched its back and hissed, trying to squirm free. In the next moment, she sprang like a petite lion, from Patty’s arms and towards the oak table. Her furry head nodded slightly as if the drowsiness had blurred her vision. She cuddled up against Liza’s left arm, dozed off and started snoring, as if she didn’t hear the ominous sound somewhere in the room —— a strange rattle and creak coming from the wall.
“Could you check out ‘ the millstone ‘ for me, Patty? Perhaps it’s not the storm we should be afraid of, but a shelter which kept us away from the desert wind: a protected low-pointed roof. ”
“ The millstone ” is not a nickname for the photo hanging a thousand inches away, but for a living soul who‘s dwelling in the hidden place.
And that photo was a gift for Liza, taken in an ordinary afternoon at summertime.
“Swing the picture on the wall, the sound of the living soul casually tolls with a slow growth of activity and tardy reactions.
“Swing the picture on the wall, the strange rattle and creak is an idle to settle an alarm for me.
“Swing the picture on the wall, with its sharp critical attitudes and its declined performances.
“Swing the picture on the wall, take a tragic turn and respond in a grim giggle. ”
August 1st, 2020
“If you outlined the peril of the storm, you didn’t grasp the broad situation but spent your time magnifying small beer, Patty.” Liza’s voice was soft and calm, she was well under control and gently stroke the cat which was now huddled in her arms, purring contentedly.
“It is clear the storm is coming." She paused, as if fear clutched at her heart all of a sudden.
“Last night I had an awful dream. It began with a peaceful starlit evening. Even from afar you could catch the sight of the gorgeous stars. It was exciting to witness a huge full moon shining in the dark-bluish velvet sky. I spent an hour or so observing my dream land, so close to the remote corners that I'd discovered in another dream. Yet quickly enough I found out nothing lingered in my sight: only pure darkness, no more than that. Horrified, in my haste to escape from my dream, I ran after the fragments of vanishing moonlight. I couldn’t help bursting into tears, for the frightening unknown beasts attacked me in utter darkness.”
“That was a bloody intense dream, Patty. ” She blinked rapidly as she spoke and then she said: “I hope your dream has nurtured some Easter eggs, hidden somewhere inside your mind."
August 3rd, 2020
A curious crack sounded again. Something imperceptible changed in the room. She sensed the difference immediately, but held back from getting it off her chest. She squeezed a pen in her right hand as tight as if she was trying to break it. After a short hesitation, she cleared her throat and smiled: “Could you make a cup of tea for me, Patty?”
“Sure, no sugar and lemon slices?”
“Yes, you are the best, Patty, thank you.”
“You are welcome. I‘ll be right back.”
Patty walked out of the room and shut the door softly behind her.
Fear is a timorous thief. It dwells in the
shuddering darkness, with only one foot exposed.
Knock knock. An eager, warm welcome awaits our guests.
“Long time no see, my lovely old friends.” Liza stares at the wall, just like the kitty did not long ago. It eventually atuned to the noise around her, showing no sign of waking up.
“How dreadful. You made me suffer a humiliating defeat. I must admit the fact that I don’t like you anymore, Liza.” A young man appeared in the desert, waving his arms and bowing dramatically like a cowboy out of a Western.
“I just double-checked all the facts. If you’re looking for anyone to blame, that’s not me.”
“Fair enough. Well my point is more than that, Liza. I swear to God, I mean no harm to anyone.”
Nothing can scare me anymore
“Can we skip the small talk? I have no desire for pleasantries, Patrick.”
“Fine, let me sing a song for you, Liza. I made it earlier this morning before the sun rose. Could you pass me my guitar please, Lili?
“Oh, brilliant. Then you’ll wake the kitty up, Patrick! Just a kindly remainder: Patty will be back any minute now.”
“My goodness! Now I am pretty sure that I like anyone but you.” His voice wavered with unsteady motion. He seemed like he had no control of himself at all, with absolutely no intention of developing any.
“Good to know. So long, Patrick.” Liza looked up at the wall, watching them vanish from her sight. She turned back to the city view, trying to reduce the tingling sensation in her mind.
Apparently she succeeded in resetting her system again: “Nothing major.” She told herself. “I decide what I want to make of my own life, so nothing can scare me anymore. Now I’m delighted to see an irrelevant paragraph was deleted.”
She waited for Patty’s return. Half an hour later, when she sipped her tea as Patty complained about her pet tortoise, she breathed a sign of relief.
Resist the temptation of buying herself a cup of coffee in the late afternoon, she decided to go home after she dropped Patty on the way as usual.
August 4th, 2020
Mr. Smith’s cat
Everything went rather smoothly for a week, nothing fancy. Within range of peace I spent most of my time reading and writing, and was delighted to unburden my soul from nightmares.
One ordinary morning, Mrs. Montana walked into the office darkly, her face loaded with anger.
She was a natural grumbler, and this time her grumbling topic was Mr. Smith’s cat.
“Mr. Smith left his cat here for the past 3 weeks, can you believe that?” Obviously she was serious about this point and expected an answer.
“Hi Marina, yes, I’m aware of that.” Liza responded quickly, with no desire to jump into a protracted conversation.
“Miss, could you urge him to alter his improper ways? I mean, it gets so terrible at night here, with all kinds of funny noises... it must be the cat...Ugh — how unpleasant! Frankly speaking, I’m afraid that animal hasn’t got a soul in it.”
“Granted, well, some people may have difficulty to find cats endearing. Are you a dog lover, Marina?”
“Not exactly. You know I’m not allergic to cats, but a few brief comments are not sufficient for that black cat in particular. And speaking of animals, I cannot pretend that I am fond of it. ”
“Wait a second, isn’t Mr. Smith‘s cat a snowy-white kitty with lovely but sharp emerald green eyes?”
An awkward silence. A confused look crossed her face, and then she looked at me: “Not really, Liza. His cat is entirely black, with violent and deep blue eyes.”
But the cat is still there
She often feels right when the darkness rules the city. She supposes the streetlights will illuminate everyone’s hope. She feels they’ve done their duty throughout the day, to have a decent excuse to go back and shiver in the dark, struggling under a cloud of gloom and despair, creeping in their bedrooms without worrying about prying stares.
Nobody actually pays any attention to the remote corner of her office: a giant black cat is sitting there behind the curtain, and it seems like its front paws are being wounded by something sharp.
She has no desire to continue the conversation with Mrs. Montana any longer, for she has made her decision to check on the cat.
“Marina, you know Mr. Smith, I’m pretty sure his wife would find it lucky if he could just reel back home past midnight instead of collapsing in a random pub. You have to know where to stand for a good viewpoint.
“As far as I am concerned, even those who are recognized as celebrities at present and who have been admired by so many others in their lifetime, if they make a deal with the devil, they have to foot the bill.
“Back to that matter, this minor issue shouldn’t become a crisis, Marina. I am sure you’ll find a way to solve the problem.”
She’s finally gone. But the cat is still there, sitting there just like a statue: a cat made of black marble.
August 5th, 2020
Perhaps the storm is coming
She paced towards that black cat and squatted several feet away from it. To her surprise, the cat didn’t move at all.
Outside, a strong wind struck the windows relentlessly, breaking the silence as she heard the raindrops spattering on the glass. The sun had completely gone, and heavy clouds spread out quickly filling the pale, melancholy sky. Through the darkening sky another day went by, and for a moment her face was tinged with sadness.
As night settled down again among the crowds, it covered the restless city with darkness and dust. Like a mysterious mist, it piled up and combined with the neon lights, wrapping the roofs like blankets.
She shifted her gaze from the sky to the cat, while she listened to the wind grow wilder. It seemed that the wind rolled over in the dust and ruthlessly tore the whimpering leaves from the front balcony into pieces.
“As with all other aspects of the book, perhaps the storm is coming, and none of us can stop it this time”, she murmured, the words tumbling out of her lips as her face tightened.She rubbed her hands together, paused for a minute, then stretched her arms to the cat: “Well, it’s getting late, and I am heading home now. Need a lift?”
The cat’s eyes slipped over her face, with a wicked glint in it, shimmering in the dark. It seemed like there was a spark of defiant anger drifting deep inside.
August 6th, 2020
They arrived at length to Mr. Smith’s building. At the entrance she met Mrs. Smith, who was eagerly waiting in the wings for her.
As soon as they walked out of the car, Mrs. Smith called out to her: “How delighted to see you tonight, Liza, would you like to come up for a cup of tea?” Mrs. Smith’s kind smile welcomes Liza, and the next moment, as if trying to prove Liza's theory, Mrs. Smith paced several quick steps towards her and hugged her.
Twenty feet away, the cat was sitting in shade, leaning back on a corner, with a patronizing smile across his lips. It seemed as if he was in great spirits and had the intention of disposing of any unnecessary conversations.
Mrs. Smith was too much taken up by her own speculations to give any regard to the cat. However, in her hunger for rumor, she raised her voice a little: “Oh! You know Janny, she will never be more than a casual acquaintance.” She looked into Liza’s eyes, in search of encouraging signs or suspicious movements. But she only saw a glitter, sinning in the dark, without the slightest sign of nervousness.
“I met her two or three times in the office, and let me take the liberty to tell you: You won’t find anything bad about her.” Her voice was imbued with seriousness, but clad with indefinable motions.
Nothing exists alone in nature, but we humans sometimes do live alone.
Home had rarely been such a delightful place for her, but tonight she felt a tremendous sense of relief and exultation the moment she shut the door after she finally arrived.
What Mrs. Smith did tonight was not an act of sheer folly. She was assuming that Janny and Mr. Smith were having a romance. How ridiculous, that might merely have been malicious gossip. Mayhaps Mr. Smith was a well known wine bibber, but he was certainly not a lecher.
As she recalled, it was Mrs. Smith that complained bitterly against her. Oftentimes, Mrs. Smith accused her behind her back, saying she was indifferent and had no respect for others, and that her expression was always ungracious and offensive.
Time passes away and even a sharp pain will soon be forgotten. Frequently our lives turn wildly, and are inseparably intertwined.
Occasionally when Mrs. Smith came up with an obviously deliberate and vicious attack against her, she had a curious, non confrontational sense of wonder.
August 8th, 2020
To her surprise, someone was whispering in her dream. A stranger then approached her. He was not entertaining enough to attract much attention, but he was rather tidy in his white attire. He was about to turn aside into an unfamiliar footpath which looked no better than a sheep track.
A nondescript guidepost stood in a far corner that glowed under the street lamps. As the brightness of the silver moon drifted from behind the night clouds, a pallid face was exposed as an unprotected, vulnerable soul.
At length she was beginning to feel a bit queer. She was trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, even in her dream.
Finally it was he who broke the silence: “Hello Liza. You may recognize me as John Milton, if you’re acquainted with classical English literature. Could you kindly tell me who would be your favorite hero in all of my works?”
It is astonishing when you find ancient myths have a startling likeness to one another. But what the man had just said was shockingly incumbent for her, and she remained resolutely opposed to entering such a scene. She dared not to take such words for granted.
Detachedly, she had decided not to take another minute to spend on this episode, yet for some reason Mr. Milton couldn’t help himself from bursting into laughter.
August 9th, 2020
《Ends in shattered poems》
I rarely praise roses, but I am thoroughly delighted with the joy brought by the rain.
Rainwater is absolutely poetic, with a deep sense of fulfillment of the spirit.
As is well known in the Jiangnan region, rainwater knocks on the roof tiles just like quick themes lead to the movement of time: Ding-dong,ding-dong. How passionate!
Like beautiful scenes in a film, the stream flows with the movement of its spirit.
It appears as a verdurous broad river among ranges of verdant hills. Swifts it seems to fly across sky, leaving traces of silhouettes behind: the clear figures of hectic farmers.
Thereby it’s not an era soaked in loss, the time was steeped in an overwhelming sense of disillusionment.
Although People have no expectations, they are not becoming more realistic. What metaphors could you make? And what can you expect for?
Apparently, man is too far apart from nature. Children have neither memories of playing on the muddy paths, nor of watching swifts making their nests.
People spend plenty of time in cities. We are ever so familiar with the inanimate, whereas we are even frightened by live beings. We’ve escaped from the villages in an early morning when the smoke curled up from the chimney. We’re addicted to the satisfaction of achieving desire over and over again. We are struggling in the confusion of finding out who we are and where to go.
If the flame’s determined to keep silent, the brave brightness ends in shattered poems.
"I stepped into the crowd, yet I still expect a meaningful life.”
“It’s like when it’s raining and I have no money on me. Nevertheless I was still thinking about how much milk in my coffee would match the weather. ”
“Having mud on your feet won’t change the fact that we lived in a multicolored, attractive world.”
"There‘re an outrageous amount of people in the world. I barely notice them for they often appear invisible to me."
Time is not gravel, it‘s blood. As is known to all, sand flies all over the sky, yet time flows, often with a clear-cut distinctive identity.
In the sense of variation, people are fully aware of time. But time shall not strive to cultivate and capture pollen, nor to compose a farewell song. It shall not shed tears, nor will it toss and turn.
Time uses its own devices to make this crystal clear: that a great distance was not so far, and that being near was not intimacy.
Make a clear sweep of the shackles and free the present and future.
Daylight is the left hand of time, whereas darkness is accepted as the right hand of time.
Sturdy steeds gallop on the flatlands. We bow to our expressions over time, filled with surprised reverence. The sky conveys the beauty of clouds moved by wind, and the sea acts out from jealousy of the cozy life of the distant stars. The offspring of the Sun hides in an anonymous letter.
Oh, a baby born in the eye of blessing, he gazed at the turnover of the seasons, stumbling along, totteringly, embarrassing the wrinkles of time, and shred the ages away.
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