John once said that there is only a thin line between an artist and a lunatic, and the genius of an artist is that he can remain sane after possessing the mind of a lunatic. This mother just crossed that line and went to another world.
She believed in her own thoughts, which made them hard. She loved her daughter, but her hard thoughts began to eat Astrid, and at first Astrid was against her choice Doubtful in her thoughts, she thought that if she put her thoughts into her faith, she would be redeemed, but life is her own, and no one can make the final choice for you. When the first guarantor is worried that Astrid will Said "Christ is a fart" to her when she took her man and shot Astrid, if it wasn't for the boy, she would have died, and faith began to become a disguise, a rhetoric, a A disgusting feeling. But it's not about itself, it's about people. Although my mother poisoned the man who betrayed her, and although everything she did was unscrupulous, I agree with her point of view: you can't forget who you are. It's just that you keep running and running, you find that you are so powerful, you have endless energy, there are vast fields for you to run wildly, and when you stop, you forget where you started and where you are going .
As for Astrid, she grew up with her mother, but she did not let her mind run wild like her mother's thoughts. What I admire about her is that she has her own thoughts. Of course, the formation of thoughts is violent at first. The process of tearing and bloody, a shot at her because of her beauty made her become indifferent to her appearance and indifferent to the outside world, but her heart was not closed, she knew how to be grateful and repaid, and she knew when to break free from her mother Hard thinking, her own death and the death of others made her understand what she should grasp and give up. Although everything became so contradictory, on the one hand, there was the weak shining point of weak humanity, and on the other hand, there was an aggressive maternal love, but in the end. She chose to be kind. Although she dressed like a motel prostitute, she rushed to the truth and cut open the ugly side of her mother.
I smelled that midnight burn again, and
I wanted to feel the heat of the Santa Ana wind.
It's a secret longing,
like a song I can't stop humming,
or like someone dear to me that I'll never have.
No matter where I go,
my compass always points west, and
I always know what time it is in California. '
When we have a beautiful weapon, put it away and don't hurt others.
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