I feel extremely sorry and ashamed to write the word "exploitation" in my pen. Whenever it is mentioned, it is ashamed or ashamed.
Shame is not a breeze, saying that flying over is gone. Instead, my shame resides in my self-righteousness, rampage or dodge left and right, acquiescing to those ashamed indulgences.
There is no deliberateness, to be precise, there is no extra time to think, just to make everything that belongs to you logical.
I like coffee and flowers as solid, so I accept the blessings of flowers and coffee with peace of mind, and of course, other things I like.
So I like to graffiti in my own territory, the original set has always seemed to be original, friends to help tip, little by little, little by little, gathered into a river.
I walked by the river, thanking again and again for those who appreciated the reading, and again and again becoming "exploitative" people.
Shadows float, I'm an exploiter.
Purity and vulgarity, self-congratulation and praise and encouragement, superimposed wrapped around my vulgar impatience.
The impatience that cannot be eliminated has taken root in my bones, and greed is the culprit. What do I exploit is more than friendship and tipping?
I read forgiveness in my heart again and again, and I forgive myself again and again.
I forgive my recklessness and willfulness, I forgive my sentimentality, and I forgive myself for some extra help that is not worth the loss.
For example, the original intention of the article in the WeChat public account is not for those tips, nor is it a chip to test friendship. Like many of my friends who have weChat public accounts, I have my own reasons and reasons.
The words that come from hand to hand retain the mood and inspiration of a certain moment, the disturbing feelings blossom, and the beauty of joy and joy.
Everything seems to be an arrangement in the dark, everything is providence. I was obedient and had no scruples.
What I saw and heard was one section at a time, like pippi shrimp, and I made up for it section by section.
In the midst of the exploitation and blatant "exploitation", I have repeatedly tolerated myself, and I have repeatedly told myself and churned over and over again about "exploitation".
Flowers and coffee, sunshine and moonlit nights, I'm greedy, and favorite songs.
Everything is looping, and everything is repeated in the single.
The potato sprouted, which was very shallow than the sweet potato sprout, like some inspiration, bursting with lightness.
Pumpkin millet porridge, the warmth in the bones has reappeared. I passed the Autumn Wild Trail and plucked a gorgeous moment about the pumpkin flowers.
I am mercilessly "exploiting" again!
Some literary debts have not yet been paid off, and some days have passed, but they have not been able to write down again and again. The paper was white, the dust was wandering, and the document was empty, without a word.
The water temperature is just right, wipe the face, no cleanser, the face is greasy, like greasy middle age.
Sunflower seeds always like to study densely, like reading sunlight. The wind was sucking the full thickness of the grains, and my joyful gaze.
The alarm clock on my phone rang again and again, and I pressed it off again and again. I don't want to cancel the setting, so I clearly accept the exploitation of time.
As the Douyin copywriter wrote: allow yourself to wrinkle your cheeks, white hair on your sideburns, time will not let anyone go, how can you be an exception? Go with the flow, you are not old, how can you match the joys and sorrows of experiencing this road!
Who "exploited" whom in the joys and sorrows along the way?
The fields are sometimes breezy and sometimes stormy, and the land embraces everything with its arms open and accepts the "exploitation" of the world.
Suffering from gain and loss seems to be the norm, and the exquisite three twilight four or the twilight four and the three are perfect delicacies.
Both dispensable and nothing are "exploited".
A cup of tea, pick it up, put it down. The tea leaves are floating and sinking, and the sinking is calm, and the floating is also calm.
In the face of all my "exploitation", I am also calm, like tea leaves, I can afford to put it down...
Li Ping, pen name LengZi and Mozha, chief reporter, member of the Chinese Writers Association, member of the Gansu Critics Association, vice chairman of the Gansu Branch of the Western Prose Literature Association, and vice chairman of the Linxia Prefecture Writers Association. He has published 11 collections of works, and his anthologies and single works have won the Dunhuang Literature and Art Award of Gansu Province, the Yellow River Literature Award, the "Dongli Cup" National Sun Li Prose Award, the First National Popular Prose Award, the First Flower Literature and Art Award of Linxia Prefecture; the prose poems have won the first, second, and third prizes in the essay contest; and the news works have won the Gansu Provincial Good News Award and other awards.