Watching an old Iranian movie, the plot is very simple, a middle-aged man who wants to commit suicide, drives a white Land Rover, grabs a handful of gold coins, and looks for someone along the road who can bury himself alive. Of course, he can't find it, because the failure is the Hollywood-style ending of literary films.
After watching it at one o'clock in the morning, I said to him, "It is to let a person die, but not to die, at this time, just come to the individual to say something, and the audience will feel, well, philosophy." ”
The science boy coldly threw a few words, "Intellectual, it's really pretentious." ”
The film is not long, an hour and a half, and there is no more setting, and it does not even explain the reason for the man's suicide. His car drove from beginning to end, constantly looking for people who might be short of money, constantly asking, hello, can you bury me?
The sincerity of the words, the 100% politeness before death, looks more like a cold joke.
Asked a lot of people, the gardener who watered on the side of the road, the gray face, wearing a torn felt hat. A man standing by the wooden house, idle, a loser at a glance. The security guards guarding large machinery work along a high, brittle ladder, and the way to treat themselves is to drop a few drops of oil on the cake pan and fry an egg. There was also a young soldier, whose salary was far from enough to cover the expenses, and as long as he was buried, he could get twenty thousand gold coins in ten minutes, which was his salary for half a year as a soldier.
Then the young soldier ran away, and as soon as he pointed out the hole where he was going to bury himself, he got into the car. His feet were full of wind, and he ran out of the way with a drum.
Then came an old man, that is, the kind of old man who knows everything commonly seen in literary and art films, east a hoe and a hammer in the west, jingling bells to tell him stories and truths, saying that he had thought about death before, but it happened that a few mulberries fell into his hands, he tasted it, felt that the taste was good, looked up, the mountains and rivers were beautiful, the sky was high and the road was far, so he started life again.
I don't know how, the taste of cherries is really good,
"The cherries will be ripe in a little while, don't you want to try them?"
The man pondered for a long time, got out of the car, and looked at the sunset. The red light filled the sky and poured into the lungs, and I knew here that he would not die.
As I wrote the last few paragraphs, I sat in the study room by the window, the campus was expanding, and there was a man on the opposite site who was transporting cement, wearing overalls and wearing an orange hard hat. The pounds of cement were pulled in and out of the car, over and over again like a weak penis. In the autumn of Kunming, the sun is still harsh, and the red head and white face hit people, selectively burning some people.
Pulling a few more truckloads of cement, he stopped and leaned over the green fence at the construction site to look at the swaying trees outside, possibly looking out at the reservoir farther away.
I asked the boy, "Have you ever thought about suicide?" ”
He said no, and he didn't quite understand.
I said I could understand it before and don't quite understand it now. At the end of that movie, a thin barrage jumped out, and there was a sentence that said, "People who can see the present are either obsessive-compulsive or bored." I just think it's like some kind of prescription drug that works for a small group of people, and I should be happy that it doesn't work.
In the late spring of this year, I read Dostoevsky, and it was as if I lived alone, and often when I got up, it was in the afternoon, and my roommates were taking a nap, and when they got up, I was sleepy again.
Never go to class, the four people are divided into two groups, and they don't see each other. Reading, breaking your wrist with yourself, having to fight to win or lose, dead bumps, people twist into a twisted braid. Holding a book, I ask people what is the meaning of life.
Now whoever talks to me about Dostoevsky, I will put him on the spot with a double knife.
I suspect that the men in the film, like me at that time, have not suffered any metaphysical setbacks, that is, they are extremely bored, otherwise they would not have stuck to the ritual sense of death.
After a long time alone, the echo of "I don't exist" becomes louder and louder, and in an empty room, the idea bounces and breaks in the siege, and the louder it shakes, so it begins to feel meaningless, that it may not really exist, or that this star and a half of happiness is not worth existing for.
There is no great truth to talk about, maybe at this time an old man needs to come out, smile and squint, and send it to your mouth, not a tight thing, just a bunch of delicious cherries.
Text/Coke Tian children