□ Lean on the bamboo
1
Yangchun March, spring color is still good. The window was half open in the morning, and from time to time the wind whistled past. Close again. After tossing and turning for a day and two nights, or vomiting after eating, Jun said that he was afraid that it was not heat stroke. Twenty degrees is not a high temperature, how can it be heat stroke? Come to think of it, it's because of motion sickness.
I didn't want to move, but my heart was happy, and my weight finally began to fall straight down. Just after halfway through the spring, it was said that summer heat stroke was born. After all, I was disappointed, and I wanted to write a poem of so-and-so in the poem of Chun zhi, and my fingers hung for a long time without falling. Language doesn't need to express too much paleness and powerlessness, much so that eventually this will become the daily routine of life. Everyday, that is, poetic.
He should dwell in nothing, but give birth to his heart. Many people in the circle began to miss Haizi again, and they seemed to miss haizi more than his poetry, but through Haizi looking for a sense of personal existence that traced back to why Haizi had abandoned the world. Yes, that's the word, presence. Some say faith in poetry, some say paranoia about character, nature separates the queues, and argues endlessly.
In the 1980s, I was still in elementary school and did not have the opportunity to touch Haizi's poetry. Even, in the 1990s, when Wang Guozhen was madly infatuated, someone recommended some Haizi's poems to read. I often feel that this vulgar human world is just a dream of Haizi' horror, and his departure is nothing more than returning a longer and farther dream to the human world. The fire in the dream, the burning, the pain, the tragic pain, left it to future generations.
How can the fireworks in this worldly world keep the children of the sun? Poetry needs to be perceived, otherwise, it is useless. I never felt that Haizi was a long-standing concept, so why take it out and resurrect it once a year in March, and then fall silent? The soul of poetry walks as usual in the world, and all the good things in the world, and dreams as horses, are poetry.
The dozens of succulent pots that had been separated a few days ago filled the balcony, and many of them had small flowers. I rejoice so much in these poetic and intoxicating names: Golden Wind and Rain Dew, Rainbow Jade Brocade, ZiZhi Lotus Hua, Jade Pearl Winter Cloud, Ji Xing Beauty, Willow Leaf Nianhua, Fifty Ling Jade. Each plant is a poem, and the blossom is far away. Day after day of gazing, like a rain that will not fall, gradually faded. Especially in the middle of the night, sit quietly on the balcony and turn on the lights. You can really hear the vastness of compassion, the depth of silence.
Just washed and dried my clothes, came back and wanted to lie down for a while. The faucet was not closed, and there was the sound of running water. Yes, it's that flowing half-concealed, shallow mind. So I got up and moved the stones I had picked up a few days ago. Clear spring stone upstream, close your eyes and listen.
"Don't say why the candlelight of death should be poured / Life still grows on the waters of sorrow." In this half-cut spring of the bustling March, who is not an ordinary person? The mundane come, the mundane go, the mundane throw themselves in a false word. Silent......
2
The rain was still falling outside the window, and the midnight bell suddenly slammed into the heart. Most of the people who don't sleep at this time have a lonely soul.
Tonight's insomnia seems to be related to alcohol. The hotel opened by a friend finally opened its doors again today, before WeChat Rio, euphemistically declined. Call again, split your head and cover your face and say a heartless and senseless meal, and you have to respond. I think it would be nice to be imprisoned for more than two months and walk around the hustle and bustle of the city.
For the wine in the wine culture, I have just vowed never to touch it again. Before the festival, I had a small gathering with Wenyou who returned from the capital, and when I came back from drinking a little beer, I had to play a drip for three days to recover. This time, it is resolute to only talk about culture and not drink!
In the early years, when there was socializing in the unit, I was either a deputy or a third escort. They say that the deputy companion relies on charm, and the third companion relies on ability. They also say that wine is character. Over the years, I managed to prove my character and abilities, and at the same time I managed to drink blood from my stomach mucosa.
Later, as he grew older, he began to learn to refuse, began to do subtraction, and became more and more reluctant to participate in some group activities, especially the liquor store. When you encounter someone who has to go, you can also drive a car, and you can justifiably not drink. Where the heart fits, it is a place of peace. The perfection demanded by those young people has long passed away with the wind.
Tonight's toast was unexpected. Old friends get together, as if they first met, a group of people who used to be twittering, and now everyone's words have their own deep meaning. Those who love each other, care about temperament, it seems that after experiencing this epidemic, everyone has really lived more thoroughly. One said: Life is only three days, one day of poetry, two days of wine, three days of death, can not refuse.
On the first day, take a small sip: a crescent moon, ten miles of peach blossoms, I am very pleased that I still rejoice in these small but beautiful things. As if a flower blooms, a flower falls, the poem is originally a great loneliness, but also a great mercy; the second day, a big drink: the so-called poet who writes poetry (only writing poetry, not a poet) does not necessarily have to use language to express themselves, but let poetry illuminate the cold words, slowly, they begin to have temperature, feelings, and love; the third day, a drink: all the beauty is only in an instant, the moment of blooming. So is life. From the moment it fell to the ground, it was destined to be born like this. What a grand expectation to live in the present - no past, no future, only a plain present!
This wine, or half drunk is good, more drunk; this love, or believe in the half-truth, deep will be broken. O worldly things, you are concerned with it as it is, and you are not concerned with it that it is still that way. And read a word, "The waves are intentionally a thousand heavy snow, and the peach and plum are speechless and a team of spring." A pot of wine, a rod of yarn, how many people in the world are There? ”
Read the heart, a thousand times. They said: In the spring, all ten sea sons will be resurrected. And the rain outside my window has been raining...