ah, how miserable?

Westley 2022-03-23 09:02:34

It's too miserable, it's too miserable, is it the life of an ordinary person, and the ordinary and plain shouldn't be so miserable, but why, is it a hypocritical expression of the movie, maybe it is, but I feel very uncomfortable watching it. Because I feel that the ordinary self is also like this, sympathetic and empathetic, and understands everything about him, but am I really that miserable, and I don't seem to be qualified to be miserable.

Ah I am so sad. Because I fully understand his life, the sad and terrible thing is that my inner world is gradually moving towards his withdrawn situation. Also often: I am thinking of ending things.

Is there a solution in life, is there no solution, is it hypocritical, hypocritical. Has the pursuit of the spiritual world harmed you, maybe?

At this moment, I can't help writing a film review here, and I feel that I am one step closer to his misery, so sad.

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Extended Reading
  • Darius 2022-03-25 09:01:14

    On one day, it suddenly became much cooler, as if the heat was being cut across, not soothing, not subtracting, but excising. "Summer is coming to an end, hurry up and listen to Victor Choi," Chen Wei said, while she was still sitting under the light (in fact, none of us knew what Chen Wei said, do you know Marco? Ma But I don't know, I don't know where she is, it's impossible to know, but maybe someone will remember the fruit knife on the table), the light that came through may have passed through her spectacles, and at the corners of her mouth and The area of ​​the nose projects a rainbow of colors, not a rainbow, but a dazzling color that is constantly dancing, but the movement is not from the light (light is almost considered to be static), but from the projected face. Chen Wei forced from the phantom to the real skin itself,

  • Olin 2022-01-05 08:01:59

    I really want to end it all, when I watched this movie.

I'm Thinking of Ending Things quotes

  • Young Woman: [about his onset dementia] I'm sorry that y-you're...

    Father: That's okay. Truth is, I'm looking forward to when it gets very bad and I don't have to remember that I can't remember!

  • Young Woman: Coming home is terrible whether the dogs lick your face or not; whether you have a wife or just a wife-shaped loneliness waiting for you. Coming home is terribly lonely, so that you think of the oppressive barometric pressure back where you have just come from with fondness, because everything's worse once you're home. You think of the vermin clinging to the grass stalks, long hours on the road, roadside assistance and ice creams, and the peculiar shapes of certain clouds and silences with longing because you did not want to return. Coming home is just awful. And the home-style silences and clouds contribute to nothing but the general malaise. Clouds, such as they are, are in fact suspect, and made from a different material than those you left behind. You yourself were cut from a different cloudy cloth, returned, remaindered, ill-met by moonlight, unhappy to be back, slack in all the wrong spots, seamy suit of clothes dishrag-ratty, worn. You return home moon-landed, foreign; the Earth's gravitational pull an effort now redoubled, dragging your shoelaces loose and your shoulders etching deeper the stanza of worry on your forehead. You return home deepened, a parched well linked to tomorrow by a frail strand of... Anyway... You sigh into the onslaught of identical days. One might as well, at a time... Well... Anyway... You're back. The sun goes up and down like a tired whore, the weather immobile like a broken limb while you just keep getting older. Nothing moves but the shifting tides of salt in your body. Your vision blears. You carry your weather with you, the big blue whale, a skeletal darkness. You come back with X-ray vision. Your eyes have become a hunger. You come home with your mutant gifts to a house of bone. Everything you see now, all of it: bone.