A burglary traced back to the Garden of Eden

When I was a child, I was very afraid of writing essays (of course not in the actual sense, I still write more than other children), one of the reasons is because I often feel that once I write arbitrarily, I will never finish it, and an endless essay is very It was terrifying (I thought it at the time), and the extended words and thoughts were like a stage actor rehearsing on the street uncontrollably, and others would only avoid it suspiciously. I am still thinking, why is this?

When I was taking a shower today, I remembered all kinds of things from my last relationship. I remembered a time when I found out that I couldn't recite her phone number, so I sighed with a very slight, vague, thunderous, almost imperceptible breath.

That sigh and disappointment without an object was absorbed by me in an irreparable but inexcusable form. In the steamy bathroom, I was left from the inner depths of this emotion, slowly trying to distance myself from this weird feeling of guilt and self-justification, and longing to find a thread that could be traced back to the Garden of Eden, and finally To explain grandly, in the end it was all Eve's fault.

Civilization robs us of the necessity of many of our skills, making them a luxury.

In the beginning it was the ability to read, words were replaced by more and more avant-garde; people said; we don't need to rely on those poor smears to weave stories, we don't need an exclamation point to connect high, we let the story Let your thoughts manifest directly like magic. Have you found it, this is actually depriving the process of creation and belief. Before Harry Potter was on the screen, there were tens of millions of different Gryffindor saloons, living rice villages, tens of millions of beautiful portraits, but then we were left with only one created by someone The elaboration of these, and the belief of this man, became our belief, and became the truth, and at the moment when it became the truth, the other beliefs gradually fell. The old wisdom reminds us of the necessity of faith, but at the end he also sighs faintly: "Because you have seen me, do you believe?" (John 20:29).

Then comes the ability to remember. Seriously, have we really thought about what memory is? What is the memory, what happened, but this is nothing more than a poetic whisper (a lie). Memory is the overflowing reality in the three-dimensional world. This overflowing reality passes through us, like steam rising into the sky, slowly penetrating into us, and slowly penetrating away from us. We used to think we remembered the truth, but the language sickness of this sentence stems from the fact that we do not have the initiative of the verb part, "we remembered" is simply out of human arrogance, so we always say "we remembered" ", and said "we forgot", but the memory never looked down on our retention and ridicule, they just walked slowly, like an indomitable elephant, and at their last truck, they were about to leave the moon. When it was on stage, we could only vaguely recognize its outline—despite our attempts to reshape it, we were at first deprived of creativity based on symbols and imagination.

So we are arrogant to the end and say, forget about the memory, forget about the outdated reality, we don’t need that kind of reality that only belongs to those present. Let us imitate the real, "This imitation will stare at itself in every minute unit of time, creating a sure abyss like mirrors set against each other, it will not become thin, it will take our place into eternity." So we stop thinking about the realities that are penetrating our bodies, we say, "They're right here."

So the real turned into a corpse—yes, the string of phone numbers that could incriminate Eve. We got it right, the truth doesn't get thin anymore because corpses don't walk.

So we never lost a string of phone numbers, it never penetrated our minds with a kind of truth, minds, the ocean has lost a leaf boat, if it has desire, it is eager for an accident, so we lost the phone; yes , Don't question, how can there be so many accidents in the world, most of the accidents are our revenge on ourselves. Human civilization turned out to be a shroud, we stared at the sweat stains on it and said happily, look, that is what Jesus looked like.