Walking through the night of the Antenna, many big trucks have been passing through the dirt road, which reminds me of the desire of a disabled person who, as a child, so desperately wanted to be hit by a car. In my fantasy, as long as I can become a more visible disability, rather than a less visible eye, I may be able to give up academic competition. At the same time, the people around me are forced to look at me in a kind manner, or even to help me move; when I raise it and make a deliberate and unwitting mockery of my disability, they will help me to protect my dignity or to avoid exposing me to a very poor pace of running by being rejected. - I think, like Liu Do, there is no more seeds than narcissism.
The whole world is talking about an image that only targets him and bothers him; each symbol is making way for Liu Dou. This is an imaginary world of great attacks and defense. I had no intention of reading its outcome, nor had I been satisfied with the sound of the gun, but I was excited by the story. It's like a single game, with only one lead that the protagonist is working on, and it's not subject to consideration by others. In other words, the hero was awakened at 5 a.m. because he could get a unique wake-up call at 5 a.m. and could then be a means of obtaining permission to kill internally - you howled to argue with me. The story was created when Liu did not have the capacity to create directly and lacked spontaneous discharges. Behind Liu ' s voice is an expectation to be taken care of by circumstances and even a belief that others should be held accountable for what happened to him and even for his mistakes. If anyone questions that he will not create, not be a genius, he has reason to be angry. Suffering helps him to love and help the world and conceals the blade he demands.
I believe that the difference between me and Liudu is that I may be a pervert who consciously pursues an incompetent and unfortunate life, while he is unconsciously abusing himself.
When I achieve a little, I am going to exaggerate my imperfections as a shame, feeling that I can never be sure of myself, chewing on my humbled feelings, hoping to become a beggar, without food, without sleep, without supplies in the cold winter, without hunger or death. In order to avoid solving real problems, I woven slides of bitter illusions and played them in front of me. But I am well aware that I cannot fool myself, and I have no confidence in my ability to play that role, no matter how hard I try. No reasonable person would think that I am not an actor and that even if I had someone to play with, it would be very difficult for them to be satisfied with such a role. And when this pain disappears, I will spontaneously adjust the degree of numbness and make the lie more exciting: you say I am bad, it's okay, and I can fight more than you think.
When I think of it, write it down, I'm still ashamed, very happy, and I don't know if the symptoms are still on the road, or will I stop. It's just that it's hard to lick the blood when I look at Lau Doo's presence and reflect on myself. Don't want to be so boring. If I had a chance, I'd like to eat an apple, not expect it to poison me. I'd like to try to love someone, and Ta has a veritable connection, rather than giving the taste of suffering room for self-pity. Love without interrelationships is empty and can be broken in a moment.
Let me feel that there's always defenseless air in our breathing, making the howling path different.
Let me love you.
Clicking on a picture
Guess.
Who's Liu Doo?
Who's the screamer on the roof?