It's a hard dream to wake up and hold your eyelids off every morning. The things in your head that are running, spinning, attacking each other, you can't calm down. When you walk into them, you can't speak, and when you talk, they're screaming behind your head.

All the frameworks have collapsed. You realize that life has been a lie for a long time. In the map of the game, you tried to run more than any player, but you realized that the game was a huge collective illusion. It conceals the infertile truth from the rich. This is a virtual reality that does not require brain interfaces, where countless people are captured. There is no real feeling - even pain is simulated before the light outside the hole piercs the eyes and burns the skin.

You're scared, angry and powerless. The unstoppable impulse of the heart is squeezed into the veins of the left arm in an attempt to shoot out. You have a feeling that a great catastrophe will come, and chaos will tear apart this vision's coat. You dream of people running and running like tides, pushing down houses and sweeping around. And you also dreamt of a fire coming down, and a cloud of gold.

You realize that the truth exists only in the event, and that words and theories are mere adornment, and are used by those who build them so hard to cover up their deepest incompetence. That is the poverty that cannot be given, the cowardice that dares not to love, and the indecency of hypocrisy. They can't speak without words, without theory, they can't prove anything - dumb-talking, bickering!

You saw the vortex show up. It's the sound that's ringing in everyone's head, and it's coming out of a group unconscious. It ran across and tore a cruel gap in the skin of the illusion. There. What's there? The language is dead. You reached out and touched it.

Click on a poster to get to The Turbo.

The Turbo is the second drama produced by the North Wind Theatre, and in a month-long collective creation, each of the creators spoke about the dilemma and the impotence of the situation. The article was written for North Windshow director Guo Tsing, who worked at a technology company that worked on brain interfaces, so she could only participate in rehearsals after working hours, and she was silent most of the time when she spoke, but she was in almost every rehearsal and she never disappeared. On March 12th, the tree planting festival, let us witness the birth of this play together and join in this vortex.

Time: 7:30 p.m. March 12th.

Location: Centre for Social Organization Services in the Streets outside the Zongwen Gate (navigation: 68 North Ribbon Road)

Ticket price

Advice

Scanning the captain.

（wx：p4theater03）

By Guo Sin

This man has many dreams every night.

In the morning, I was stuck in a dream.

Wake up always faint.

The day before yesterday it dreamt of a man of great taste and logic.

On his left, he had a little brain with a button.

When he rides his motorcycle and waits for a red light

The man with the gun took the brain.

The talented man is disabled.

And all the language he was proud of was there.

He twitched and threw out a broken syllable.

"stu, stut-," like a broken robot.

The word he wants to say is "structure."

But he can't reach it.

North wind

We write for 90 percent of people.

We are open to criticism.

And is a judge.

It is not noble.

Against Commercialization

Counter-mainstream.

We are committed to the content of "real, ironic and absurd".

We oppose political propaganda and moral kidnapping.

I hope you're extremely aggressive.