As early as when I sang the song "Forever Day (LUCIA)" soberly back then, I knew what Angelopoulos' "Forever Day" was going on, but this movie made me chew until today. It is the characteristic of poetry, so that it is the real movie.
I don't want to write too much. In the face of such a film, looking at my words is useless and superfluous.
The terminally ill old poet will be admitted to the hospital tomorrow. This is his last day in the free world.
Memories, memories on the beach are all white. Reality, reality is all black.
Why didn’t it come to this day that I realized how much my deceased wife loved me; why didn’t I think of helping a helpless child until this day; why didn’t I realize that it’s been a long time since I went to the hospital to see my mother... Pursue according to the rules of the world, are they all correct? Do we really live a good day?
How beautiful Greece is.
There are no modern high-rise buildings, the grayish white of Northern Europe, the ruined walls left over from ancient times, and people's clothes are simply
lacking some color, but how beautiful Greece is!
I want to say:
When your mother calls you to go home for dinner, please go home immediately, at least promise.
When you talk, don't just talk about yourself, look at the eyes of others.
We always love to say that we have nothing, but as long as we have existed, many people will love you, appreciate them, and cherish them.
When you still have the ability to help others, do your best, even if you just smile and hug each other, it's also very important.
In this way, we have every day forever.
I'm listening to Trojan Horse's "I Lost Her". After listening to it for two hours, before I knew it, I was also infected with the problem of vomiting when I heard a song...
Why are things always unsatisfactory?
Why do we gradually rot?
Why have I been exiled all my life?
Why do I always feel uncomfortable?
Unless I can speak my own language.
Why, only when I regain the lost language,
or retrieve the language from the silence,
I will hear the sound of my footsteps echoing at home?
Tell me, mother,
why don't I know how to love?
Finally, a pre-dawn Morningstar
foreshadowed the coming of the sun's
fog, shadows, obscured all but dare not perfect clear blue skies of that
from there, a breeze blowing
softly touching the face drooping
as if toward the corner of the soul whisper
life sweet
life sweet…………
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