The era when no one has the patience to read words anymore
I want to tell a ridiculous story at ten o'clock every Tuesday night, welcome to pay attention
－－－－－－－－－The end of the advertisement, I give way－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－In Bergamo, Italy, there was a young man named Vieiro. Indulge in material life, killed by moonlight. In the end, because he realized his mistake, he was forgiven by Moonlight and returned to the world. This is the main content of the poet Giro's epic poem "Bieiro". It is said that the third "Moonlight" in Debussy's "Bergamo Suite" is influenced by this epic poem. In the last five minutes, Kenji's keys seemed to close this farce, and a trickle slipped out of the semi-circular crowd. How to live? This is a problem. Basically a myriad of reality analyses have led urban crawlers into dead ends. Ozu-style Japanese home, beige buildings swayed by trams. How to live? This is a problem. This is true for the clerks, for the housewives, for the youth without faith, for the precocious children, and inadvertently squeezes into the bus of the commuters. Dying pale faces, damp handrails, endless tunnels, skies with scratches and dead insects. Live on, live on. It seems like it can really be achieved once it's poured out of the car door. What is the life style in the city like? Paved - Accumulated - Burst - Calm. Confused? No. Everything is orderly, it seems that it has been designed in the dark and early. Most people really don't experience the unreal, inaccurate hallucinations like the second half of the film. But always in the night train after overtime, fantasizing about the coming of the savior with the garbage in the headphones. In the same way, at the moment of shaking and getting out of the car, it is basically forgotten. Kurosawa is indeed cruel. The crampedness of a middle-aged man practicing smiling before entering the door, a housewife's hands reaching to the ceiling, a youth's motorcycle, a child's asthma... What's wrong with our lives? The problem is always climbing the age line, working towards the original direction. If a sentence such as "what's wrong with my life" appears in my head, I will be extremely lonely to find that the salvation I want to seek is so rare and insignificant. Constantly giving up life, constantly bending knees and ears, as well as lies, loneliness, estrangement, and helplessness. It's happening everywhere, and it doesn't stop for a moment. When middle-aged men wake up from the garbage heap with dirt and blood, when housewives look at the wheel marks that sail into the endless Black Sea, when young people who lack faith in foreign countries use bullets to end other lives without stories and codes in the name of peace, When kids turn their backs to police stations, staggered wires, railroad tracks, a quarter wheel in the noise. I don't want to look any further. After the dramatic madness, there is always such a desperate desire to breathe, but the arrival of fresh oxygen is too easy to nourish despair. How to live? This is a problem. At this time, there are really many "stills" in my head. Still have to live, still have to live numbly, still have to find a reason first, still have to not give up, still have to not give up even though I don’t know where the hope is... A middle-aged man gave up for nothing but gained real meaning The dignity of the housewife, while panting in confusion, saw the sunrise piercing the wet Aral Sea wind, the youth gained the belief in the worship of life and the harmony of the world, and the child set aside Debussy's "Moonlight"... "Vieiro ". It turns out that you have to run a lap carefully to get the hope of getting this name. The piece ends with an epilogue, a quiet tune and broken chords. The moonlight is flowing, life turns out to be like this.
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