Your wife paints her tiny, vague world, stroke by stroke. You use a magnifying glass hard, zoom in and zoom in again. In front of her painting, you step on the spot, you lean forward, but you can't enter, the molten woman in the painting.
The woman after that said, "After all, it's been a year since she left you."
You: "It's only a week."
The woman after that said, "I think I'm going to buy a calendar for
you ." Your daughter, it's up to you. The wife left. Your daughter asked her mother to tell you, don't peek at her diary at home. You naturally rummaged through the cabinets, dug out the diary, and wished to swallow it in your stomach. As you read, it took most of your life to swallow your four-year-old daughter in your stomach. She got a tattoo. Her limbs stretched out. Her period is coming. She no longer loves pink. She also knows how to accept the warm blood flowing in the body. She has grown up.
But you say: "She's only four years old. Fuck her only four years old."
Others said: "She is eleven years old, do you know."
Later she asked you to treat her as your wife. Ask you to treat her daughter as your daughter. But you still insist on defending your forever four-year-old girl.
Later, she chose a new house. Obviously it should be a new life, isn't it? But the flames are everywhere. There was a lonely fire, so she bought a smoky house. Just like that, she and you are in a dilemma. Just like that, the joke became obscure. Time happens to be the eve of the end. It's the end, everyone is leaving, and she just wants to go one step earlier than everyone. It happened that her man died watching her. The doctor came, and the cause of her death was heavy smoke. Hasn't it been so many years? The house sheltered her and killed her. But this house was chosen by her herself, do you remember?
Your staff said, 17 years ago, when will you bring the audience? So many people are looking at you, they are waiting for you, do you know?
The protagonist has experienced something, and then he can no longer recover or return to his previous state: being alive is actually the accumulation of small death experiences time after time. We accumulate one day's life, which means we can't return to this day. Previous life. The protagonist will feel very, very sad when he discovers this, because the reality of life is the reality of death. What's sadder is that in reality, he or she has never been a master. Never lived, and died so unimportantly all the time; so there was only one last hope left: "Help me write a story about me, okay?"
Everyone in "My Sister" gathered together and gave the corpse back to life. Prepare for the next reincarnation. In that miniature New York, reincarnation is an inward and endless process. He played you, and someone else played him, and someone else played him who played him. Everyone is an imitation of someone else. You are the center of the whole play. You watch all these people draw a complex and incomprehensible lotus flower composed of relationships with you as the center. Acting out
my story, okay?
So you found someone to play you and acted out your unfulfilled death. He said, I have been looking at you in this life, but you see nothing but yourself. So look at me, watch my heart break, watch me fall, watch me knowing that there is nothing after death. He jumped. He came to him and said, I was not dead at the time, and you are not allowed to die. Get up. But he is not Lazarus. None of us is Lazarus. So no one got up.
You are not dead, how do I leave. But you want me to leave, don't you.
Celina wrote "Wandering in the Dark Night", which was extremely dark. Speaking of his motivation for writing, he said that "the biggest failure is to forget, especially the things that make you go to heaven. You die unclearly, and you don’t know how despicable it is to die. When we are in a desperate situation, we don’t have to. You should not forget the swollen face and fill the fat man. Instead, you must tell the truth and expose all the reasons for people's fall. Then you close your mouth and jump into the abyss. If you can do this, you will have a life to explain."
But Charlie What Kaufman saw was the truth. He jumped into the abyss. To teach the audience, only darkness is available for gaze. I told myself that it was so black and black that I would definitely not be able to watch it anymore.
It can't go on like this, you know. Shouldn't wait for a phone call, a letter, a meal, and forget that you are now. It really can't go on like this, you know. No longer should you wait for the one who abandoned you to turn around. The person who abandoned you has been abandoned by another, you know. You shouldn't clean the same room again. It is going to fall down. do you know. You shouldn't just watch the story that you already know. You shouldn't listen to your words again before the end of the world. It can't go on like this, you know. Looking at the next self, how to correct the most trivial tone, you think the ending will be different. You think if we say a better goodbye, everything will be different. It can't go on like this, you know. Years and months have passed, no one is there, you know. It can't go on like this, you know. It can't go on like this, you know.
It can't go on like this, you know.
ps
I like a dialogue
Everything is more complicated than you think. You only see a tenth of what is true. There are a million little strings attached to every choice you make; you can destroy your life every time you choose. But maybe you won't know for twenty years. And you may never ever trace it to its source. And you only get one chance to play it out. Just try and figure out your own divorce. And they say there is no fate, but there is: it's what you create. And even though the world goes on for eons and eons, you are only here for a fraction of a fraction of a second. Most of your time is spent being dead or not yet born. But while alive, you wait in vain, wasting years , for a phone call or a letter or a look from someone or something to make it all right. And it never comes or it seems to but it doesn't really.And so you spend your time in vague regret or vaguer hope that something good will come along. Something to make you feel connected, something to make you feel whole, something to make you feel loved. And the truth is I feel so angry, and the truth is I feel so fucking sad, and the truth is I've felt so fucking hurt for so fucking long and for just as long I've been pretending I'm OK, just to get along, just for, I don' t know why, maybe because no one wants to hear about my misery, because they have their own. Well, fuck everybody. Amen.ve felt so fucking hurt for so fucking long and for just as long I've been pretending I'm OK, just to get along, just for, I don't know why, maybe because no one wants to hear about my misery, because they have their own. Well, fuck everybody. Amen.ve felt so fucking hurt for so fucking long and for just as long I've been pretending I'm OK, just to get along, just for, I don't know why, maybe because no one wants to hear about my misery, because they have their own. Well, fuck everybody. Amen.
View more about Synecdoche, New York reviews
