Ordinary is life itself.
Is a mediocre and meaningless life worth living? A life experience with a rough skin and a small soul (like myself)
Is living an unnecessary labor?
Or trying to excavate a sublime position in the tyranny of identity to offset one's own anxiety about the suspension of the present. Actually maybe that doesn't matter:
I myself have left authenticity itself behind, even numb to my own physical feelings
But now I have discovered that sea bass baked in a casserole with shallots, rice wine, garlic and soy sauce is very delicious. And adding a bit of pepper to the mutton soup would make a move.
It should be a wonderful experience to live.
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