- from "Pan's Labyrinth" to "Rising Tide Shore" and self-deprecating
A match, a hallucination, a wish. Now I can't take it anymore.
As a waste wood that is naturally immune to alcohol, if I can find drunkenness in the flames, it is the creation of God. If not, what can make me addicted is only trouble.
So when she accepted her destiny under the guidance of a praying mantis, and when she followed a squirrel to find her own stage, I was very envious of me. Despite the fantasy, the reality presented is often barren and hopeless.
As a self-deceiving idealist who is accustomed to enjoy loneliness, the shattering of any dream is just a chance for my mental breakdown to resonate. I am not vulnerable, but in front of my dreams, I am useless!
Two ill-fated little girls, they live in the spark of their dreams, one dies in their dreams and the other wakes up in reality. Whether I am sad or happy, I can't tell myself. Even though I have passed my whimsical age, I am still wandering between dreams and reality, and I still can't figure out which is more meaningful.
None of them were orphans, at least not at first. She loves her mother, and in order to bless her mother with childbirth, she sacrificed her fantasy mandala; she also loves her mother, even though she doesn't even understand what mother-daughter love is, she still scatters chocolates on the ground. beside her mother's body. One moved, one shocked, but different cruelties.
When her father terrified her, and her father left her, they all lit a match, and the match she lit was called life, and the match she lit was called happiness. Looking at them, I might light a match, and that match is called consolation.
Her fantasies are full of surprises and surprises, but they are just escaping the panic from reality; her fantasies are the folds of reality, but finally unfold a blank in a panic. I am also folding reality, but also to escape. I occasionally peep at the reality of being folded in half and then in half, so I'm not afraid of its unfolding. What I don't dare to face is the faintly visible crease on it.
She finds her destiny in her dreams; she indulges herself in her dreams. Both fantasies are so arrogant, I don't think I deserve it.
What she is holding in the end is his younger brother, who is the sacrifice in her fantasy, the materialization of the contradiction between fantasy and reality; she finally loses her captain, who is the victim of their fantasy, but eventually becomes the The reality is forever separated from the fantasy. I don't even dare to imagine which one is more gray. I avoid the light in the dark, but I imagine that I can drive away the darkness in the light. If I can still blend into the gray, I will not suffer.
She died and went to the country of her dreams; she survived, but was left in the billowing dust forever. To live or to die is not a question. The meaning of life, or the destination of death, is the problem.
Her dreams are beautiful, but reality is extremely ugly; her fantasy is gloomy, but reality becomes cheerful in that gloom. But I understand that it can only be a tragedy. If I can still light a match, how much I hope to end it all in my own way...
"Human Statue" says that little girls and matches are often the loneliest in a man's heart Illusion, very helpless, I can only take a seat.
At this moment, however, I just feel that I have never felt this understanding of Kurt Cobain's suicide.
Just because he has a daughter, and I know that little girls love to strike a match...
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