Lately on the dairy mountain.
It's almost nothing, but nothing. I live in the Gang's house, doing nothing every day.
There's something to do: study, create, make money. There's a choice. There's entertainment, of course. I always thought about when I'd get the fuck out and give me time. I now have serious doubts that I just want to strike, not work better. Let's start with the yearbook and recreate my 2022 experience.
What's the point? Except for the fact that it's gonna be fun when it's done. I don't know, there may be nothing more than intelligence value for certain unkind aliens. There's always going to be! It's a fucking evil thing, and when I was just about to write about the end of 2021 as a pad, the public sign got a fan, like a circle of friends, like a camera, like an eye. And then Ta added to my letter the following conversation
I have to say, my new head looks great. Love me.
And then I want to stop writing. No, I'd like to write, and someone would love to read it, and I'd be happy to read it. Well, for the sake of everyone's safety, let's not make it public. I'm afraid I didn't do anything bad, but I don't know if I'm gonna be used for some very personal story or if I'm alone with everyone. Let's make a suggestion.
I returned to Beijing about May with my script, excitement, emotion, expectations and résumés, as well as luggage.
Here's the criticism of Re-Finding, 1111et's GO.
If you want to read the article directly by clicking on the above text, the author of the article is Shibuya, whose role in the documentary "Research the compass" in Sword Fai is to be marked Aspen. He Fa first saw Ishi Yun Peng and Yang Yun Tse in Liang's Love Bureau, and then in Hangzhou, he saw Sword Fai, all of whom had been retried back into the group of 510 by Sword Plum Plum after a screening of the Compass at 510.
Fei, the public: the oppressed group
Critically searching for a compass: the emptiness of little Burchoa depends on the worker. Help!
In recognition of the two sides of the same coin, the focus should be on "one" and thus on the understanding that there are no "one" and no "worker" in the "small" group, that there is no opposition between the two groups, that there are only two ideological and enjoyable models, that there are living side by side with the individual and that there is a constant spiritual struggle. The hatred of the larceny of the "minor Boljoa" should not be matched to the specific person, and this would not allow the "worker's" character that it carries with it to develop. Because, within the spirit of a critical group, the sense of "worker" has failed in the struggle, and now the "minor Boljoa" nature dominates the enjoyment model of the subject, under which capitalism's removal of castration prevents it from accepting castration from another ideology. It would not be practical to scold them, hate iron and steel, and then ask them to "practically" or otherwise.
Got to give. The drug of the disease is the use of this pattern, which cannot be directly taken away, but rather the giving of more valuable consumer goods to replace previously worthless consumer goods - The value here is, at the very least, a role that fosters people-to-people connections and unites into a community. In this indirect way, the birth of the proletariat is nourished. In this sense, the Research Compass is a work that is now needed.
Finally, I enclose some paragraphs of The Year, which I am writing. If you like, and as someone who's going to write, I'm going to write this way, or anything better, you have to tell me.
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Upon arrival in Beijing, I lived in a residential building in the Bay of 100, called Mona. The boss is a girl younger than me, beautiful, Mongol, like Gulinaza. This is a two-bedroom with two bedrooms for men and two for women, one bedroom with six beds and a top-down bunk. It's new. It's very clean. I've been here for two months. Funny enough, before I came to her house, I went to the "Guide" Youth Brigade, and my suitcase was stuffed under the bed, and the boss said I had visited the risk areas and couldn't live. A middle-aged tenant said something stupid, and I forgot, like I was happy, and I said something to him.
"Mona" doesn't run without a license, and the boss is afraid to ask us not to knock on the door. At the same time, there are several beautiful women who live here: the boss's college students, fat, cute, generous, or even luxuriant, shouting about drinking, losing weight, looking for someone, and I ran downstairs with her once; a college student with a part-time model, who is taller than me, with a beautiful face, a pretty leg and a slightly rough thigh, because she practiced volleyball when she was a kid - a feeling I love, and the calves say that she often walks around the house in super shorts. The character is open. I don't say much to her. I make her laugh. One time when she was waiting for the toilet, she showed me her e-mail card, which was the best she had taken, one of which was more meaty in a fishnet stocking, which I did not like and which I did not like. Once again, she bought a lot of ducks for dinner, and I was eating, and she said she was too hot for me to eat, and I thought she gave it all to me, so I put the rest of it in the fridge. And yet she was actually trying to feed the big guy, and I had to tell her what she had done, and in her surprise I had to imagine an unfair scorn that I had to remove along with my scorn for myself.
All the girls I'm best related to are Christians. She's fat, she's wearing my kind of dark glasses, and she always wears an egg yellow duck pyjamas. We've been watching each other cook in the kitchen, and my creative cook has made her happy, and her traditional arts have made me feel good. I remember one time I taught her how to row a boat, and she never smiled so happy. I remember eating her sour soup and chicken claws. One day I noticed that she was hanging around her neck, a kind of sub-standard cross, a little rough, a little short in the second half, and usually she was inside her clothes. I was joking, and I asked her, "Are you a Christian?" She was surprised: How do you know? Later, she told me that people she didn't believe in were different from those she saw, and she said, "We". Did I ask her to pray every day? I forgot her answer. She has a large, less sexy, actually ugly meat bra, often lying in the middle of the bathroom. She sleeps early.
Nie Yi, it's the girl I was with. She's the prettiest girl I've ever seen. The first time I saw her, I was talking to two other boys in the living room. She opened the door, went through the living room, entered the girls ' room and closed the door. The three of us are in silence, as if I heard the harp. Godot's here, nobody's coming back. After a while, she pushed out again, changed her dress, passed through us, went out in shoes and entered the opera. They're doing the same thing, with their heads coming from one side to the other, and I'm sitting in the back, looking at three people at the same time. That night, she waited for the men in the toilet door, and I knew I had to go, and I went, just like her, leaned on the wall, turned unwittingly towards her and opened her mouth. I forgot. All I can remember is that I was so calm, so gentle, so strong in communication. She was also very committed and tired, sitting across the chair and talking to me, telling me that she was studying in Canada, studying design, the epidemic, and going online in the middle of the night, so she was staying outside with her family. I'll just say I came to Beijing for work, but she didn't ask. The men in the toilet came out, and I'm sure I'll let her go first. When she comes out, she tells me to keep talking.
"Can I add your tweet?"
"Oh!"
And then I finished, and I said thank you softly, quite formal. The landlord doesn't know her very well. I know that everyone who talks in the living room just listens and stares at me in a chat. I love Beijing.
......
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