I tasted the stills before nap today ⁝(˚͈͈͈͈̥̆⑃˚͈͈͈͈̥̆)⁝ I still like it, I finally understand the meaning of "movie taste is a very personal thing"-don't you just use it! The flawless girl has the ability to "Beelzebub". At first glance, she can calm the emotions of the insects. The insects climb on her palms and confide the strong fragrance and mucus to her. They make each other excited. . She summoned thousands of insect swarms several times to protect herself, and went to explore the forest with the big carnivorous fly, looking for clues to the murder... After 10 hours, it was still not enough for me to sort out these plots.
Aquido was the first director to officially open the door to me. His capture of the girl’s demeanor is so delicate and full of irresistible voyeurism, and the "fetish" seems to be just an embellishment in every chase scene. The blood, sharp objects, black gloves, and flashes under his lens are fleeing. The girl was strangling her throat like a white dove in the dark, and her fluttering skirts were slightly trembling wings; the roots of glass and plants represented proof of violent success-he had been showing the audience a crazy and interesting Maliciously.
This is the first floor.
Rather than being malicious, it is more like surrendering to beauty but ruining beauty, repenting in extreme pain.
So I thought about the meaning of Giallo: confession.
Rumi's poem floated across his lips in an instant: "The rose grows along the river bank, and the river sweeps the thorns of life. All my poetry, like a willing slave, has long been lined up." Wow...I am too sleepy now. It’s not good. I want to express that the pervert under the lens of Aquido always has strong vitality. Even if the human appearance is no longer, he will not give up, nor will he lose his predatory desire for women (natural infatuation). And a badass emotion that doesn't require restraint.
Having said that, I think I have probably expressed what I mean, this terrible world. After seeing so many Giallo, I am not sure if I am thinking about it, or if I can see through them, they are actually expressing a lot of tenderness of pain.
Finally, I excerpted this poem that I saw on the Asian-African Literature bot for the first time, and I repeated it for a long time.
"The Willing Slave"
Rumi
From the bottom of my heart,
I always capture the breath of my beloved,
How can I not pursue that fragrance?
Last night, I walked through the garden of love,
There, a gleam of my soul,
It has risen into a river of overflowing light.
Roses with smiles grow along the banks of the river,
The dazzling river swept through the thorns of life,
Its speed is enough to escape the sword of death.
Every tree, every piece of grass,
All dancing on the grass.
But for the eyes who have never seen such a scene,
All this is normal and uninteresting.
Suddenly, a giant cypress rose from the ground,
The whole garden is ecstatic,
Jasmine exploded,
Broadleaf trees clap their palms.
Face of flame,
Cup of Fire,
Heart of Fire,
Everything burns in joy.
Surrounded by flames, my soul yelled:
Lord, where should I run?
In a world of unity,
There is nothing but myself,
There is no room for math here.
But in the material world,
There are too many things to count.
You can count a thousand apples with your hands,
If you want them to become one,
Make some applesauce.
You can count a thousand grapes with your hands,
If you want precious wine,
Put them together and crush them.
Enlightenment behind words
It is the sound of the heart.
The origin of action,
It is completely still.
now,
Shams (the sun) of Tabriz sat on the throne,
All my poetry,
Like a willing slave,
Already lined up.
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