I was like a ghost walking on the street, came home, empty, I sat in the house, no one else was there, I was a ghost, I couldn't see anyone, no one could see me , I'm a hairdresser.
Piano teacher:
Stupid, she played very politely, did she play it
wrong?
Play wrong? No, tell her to play E flat, and she plays E flat, and the ding ding notes are all right.
I don't understand, right?
She's just a kid, and I think you've taught kids too. .
No sir, that's why I don't teach her, I can't teach her the soul of playing, playing the piano is not about the fingers, we go through the fingers, the music itself, from the heart, right? Music starts from here (in the heart), runs out from here (fingertips), and maybe extends to here (infinite space) to come
This is a good girl, she has very good hands, a good girl, I think one day maybe she can be very good typist, but not..
Prison:
I don't know how I got this far... Writing stories helps me clear my mind... But now that things are all coherent, it's actually kind of ridiculous.
It's like getting out of a maze, you're in a maze, you can't help yourself, you turn around the corner you think you're going to, and you run into a dead end, one after another. But you always keep your distance, all the corners and corners are like the appearance of your life, it is difficult to explain. It seems to bring you peace in general.
I'm not afraid. Maybe what I don't understand will be clear at a glance when I get there, just like the fog is dissipated. Maybe she's there too, let her listen to me talk about all this indescribable
View more about The Man Who Wasn't There reviews
