A gray turning is just like a gray wall.

The dawn is sitting at the center of the wound. Gloomy, is sparking in the dark, I consider.

Around three o’clock in the morning, several people with sadness go to the boundary marker. A huge fissure lies from here to there, and from east to west.

The dark sky likes paralytic eggs.

How to define the light of pleasure in the dark? Contradiction itself is contradictory.

So I concern more about the boundary of contradiction and coordination. And I try to make things complicated-misreading, misreading, misreading-the greatest sophistication is increased to languages, plots, themes and wonderful things. All failures are clues; the revision is the miraculous inspiration. If there’s no presetting, then there’s no precondition, and every possibility is possible. Putting different elements into water make them stay in contradiction and magnify the contradiction to the greatest extent. Intensifying conflicts is the way to restrain conflicts, to make conflicts fiercer or more peaceful, like anxiety in the peace. Complexity is becoming restraint, contradictions are turned into surrender, to restrain the highlights all over the works, to restrain fears, to restrain knowledge, to restrain the fainted pleasure in the heart. Everything is just at the point of explosion.

So I concern about poetic sentiment and the procedure of illusion. Learning stories, inheriting history, telling an inexpressible story with no time, no ending and no reality. A lot of unreal existence, a lot of real illusion; fake-in -fake might be true, but in the end it’s a false appearance. So as the story, strange things become the mainline of the process, and are warped into advanced bottleneck. Those concealed analogies, those kinds of familiar mystery and doctrine, those contexts as if controlled, are spreading in hesitation.

For creativity, formidable tasks mean possibility, and progressing well means compromise.

I fall in love with the beauty of misunderstanding. Bluff is becoming the unspeakable words.