It's 13:51:17 on June 20, 2015. I was thinking that I should publish a book at the age of 22. I haven't thought about the subject. Of course, it is definitely not a collection of poems, it may be a novel or essay or something. of.
I long for the moment when I'm on the road, I know there are some brothels in Mexico City, the prostitute's makeup is like a ghost, and there is one, it should be some simple woman who will go astray and fall in love with this life in the end.
All in all, I wouldn't have liked her back then, if I had only known her that afternoon, because she looked so tired, she wore her chestnut ponytail, and I wonder if the Pope of Rome was A horse with the same sorrel ponytail dragged through the streets, and anyway, she looked bad that day, and I saw her exhaustion stretching from cheek to ear. I believe that if I had only met her that afternoon, I would never have liked her.
Finally, after half a month, I thought that if I followed her advice, I might be better. The feeling of "as long as I believe in her, then she will change me" is so strong, in fact it is, I Trust her, I have indeed become better than before.
I saw people in western Bolivia chewing coca leaves, I knew it was a drug, and they were munching on it. All I need is an old-fashioned typewriter, just type out the messy thoughts in my head with the flying fingers, yes, the fingers are flying over the letters, the printer is full of pages and pages, but it's too much My fingers couldn't keep up with my typing speed as the confetti-like snippets of 's swirled through my head. I can't write poetry. But I know how a male poet wants that man to stay with him, they don't even need sex, they just need spiritual communication, except that Dean prefers women and the pleasure of indulgence. Distinctive experiences did make a poet, and Carl published his collection at age 23. I know that poets like to write off their emotions with all kinds of metaphors and allusions that only they know. And we didn't have spiritual love, certainly not physical, I've heard about the mania that comes with indulgence, you just have a crisp pain all over your body and need another body to help you relieve it, and she evoked me sensuality, I never felt this way before, and she, really aroused my flesh, and I longed for her to tear me apart violently, it was a destructive force that destroyed me violently, as if by The missing trees that were uprooted by the tornado are like the messy houses left after the tsunami, like the people buried alive in the town after the eruption of the volcano. perish.
After a day, I can drag my tired body to touch the air after her breathing, I can gently touch her, kiss her dark red lips, maybe because she has been soaked in the cold water for too long Because of that, she has brown eyes and I can see when we hug and discuss things, her bust is like a little girl's, she's so thin, I can hug her tightly and tell her she doesn't need to lose weight , should eat fatter. And she, will eventually grow old, I don't even know that I loved her so much, paid tribute to her years, I saw her aging, I hope God can make that lover who is older than me age slower, I still Didn't take her to herd the cows, milk her fresh milk... didn't do all kinds of things with her.
I can keep her as long as she wants to be with me. Later I heard that her heart is not very good, she is just a person I care about and want to be together for two years, she is an older unmarried female man from a second-tier city with a good family, I am just very worried about her, I don't think she will choose A man with mediocre qualifications, she may choose a rich man, because she may like a luxurious life.
I will not be like the writer who pursues a young lover, never let a boy know himself, never get a boy, and finally walk into the sea and die for him, this kind of ending is not what I want, I want us Having each other, despite saying "I like you" many times, she never gave me a response - no approval, no disapproval, just no response, never telling me if she liked me or not.
On the road, I have taken a lot of cars, and I have seen women picking cotton by the road. I like their strong thighs. I know that there are many tall cacti in the west. It is just such a field that fills the desert, the border junction , oh, yes, some American men will always cross the border to spend the night with the Mexican man on the opposite side, and the Mexican man will stand coquettishly to pick up customers, surrounded by sexy square silk scarves, showing endless charm.
I envy the artist whose life is full of sex, he is indeed suitable to be an artist, a performance artist, his unrestrained thoughts coupled with his irresponsible behavior, a coward of escapism, his life is free and unrestrained Sprinkle youth in a restrained way, and squeeze the last bit of vitality in a passionate way until it becomes a powder floating in the air, flying wildly on the road.
When we met, my hair was lit by the setting sun, like a gleaming lion's mane, fluttering wildly in the air, and we could be together for a year, and in a year, we would be parted. I don't know if she wants me to be her little lover, but I love her, and over the years I have seen her charming qualities, as well as her arrogance and hypocrisy, no matter how bad things make her People are annoying, I will try to accept, because I love her, so I am willing to accept her, although she is far from being that good.
I was just watching Duras and I liked the stories she told, just not the way she narrated it, Duras-esque. I don't want to say to my lover "I love your devastated face more" like that Chinese young master after N years. I want to be with her and witness her in the second half of her life, when her brain is no longer bright, When her legs are no longer strong, when her temper is getting worse, will I still love her, when she is old and I am still young, God, let my old lover Get old slowly.
I haven't been to herd sheep yet, but I remember the days of riding horses in winter pastures protecting sheep, day after day, boring and even boring, but we could see snow-covered mountains and snow-hung The branches, between the blue of the sky and the green of the ground, are me and the horse under my crotch and her behind me.
On the evening of 2015.6.20
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