always thinks that happiness is something more watery than hallucinations.
I am in this state now.
At noon, I told him about movies. I think Spanish movies are too special. Some are even more unbearable and understandable than French movies. I was looking for "SUMMER RAIN", but accidentally found "An Andalu Dog". As I opened it, I told him about a Spanish movie I found last year. The name was forgotten. At the beginning, I used a razor to open a woman's eyeballs. Because I couldn't bear the sensory stimulation, I didn't download it. As soon as I said this, the same scene appeared on the computer screen. Damn, it's this movie I haven't downloaded before. The visual impact made my hair horrified and got goose bumps all over my body. Luis Bunuel, this surrealist lunatic, forced me every illogical and unexplainable horror scene. After watching it, a brief and delirious mood accompanied by the neurotic director's masterpiece, as well as the Argentine tango and "Melancholy and Solitude" became confusing and confusing.
"What the film shows is actually just a desperate, fanatical instigation of murder, but they think it is beautiful and poetic. It's really stupid." In 1928, Luis Bunuel was talking about those who are "a piece of Anda". "Lu Dog" and the cheering audience said so.
Despair is the constant common theme of art lunatics in every age.
He said dear viewers, please suffocate with me, keep suffocating.
I watched "Summer's Tail" yesterday.
Today, I went to IKEA to see the bed and bought a glass bottle.
The gloomy blue light beam is as rich as an illusion, penetrating the dust, filling the crushed sky into a transparent bottle, and the illusion becomes thinner.
No one can comfort.
Only night and fragmented music, it's Bach, or something else.
The snow fell from the large expanses that didn't stop when I went out, and when I returned home, it was almost a foot thick.
There was a lonely person living in the silvery Northland.
I told her that we should not be alone, because we have God.
There is no sense of aesthetics, but I don't know when I fell in love with the transparent glass bottle. Such an unfettered obsession with something, or the unprovoked memory of those immortal tones is really enjoyable. This is the most accustomed state of existence. Life always appears in an intricate posture, just as the dark night is a damp flower, reflecting a person's face.
Avoid some things from happening.
The pale illusion grows in the most hidden and obtrusive corner of the heart, spreading and destroying.
Bought a lot of scented candles of lavender.
I am here, in the lives of others.
Happiness is more watery than illusion.
View more about Un Chien Andalou reviews
