Think of Beethoven's composition in "The Unbearable Lightness of Life": Does it have to be? Must be so!
Does it have to be so tortured? Must be so!
Continuing the usual long shots, Gerry of the Death Trilogy is divine and wonderful.
I want to shout loudly, but I don't know how many times I've called it, my throat is hoarse, like sand, my body is paralyzed, twisted like a sand dune, my steps are deep and shallow, like ravines . Am I already in another country?
I long for company, I long for ideas, I hesitate, I am determined, my self supports another self. My soft body issued a firm cry, and my footsteps that had not collapsed were lying in despair in the endless desert. My name is Gerry, I am Gerry. I
always feel that there is only one Gerry, the monotonous way back, the seemingly unchanging scenery, I am really about to collapse. A huge being is calling to me, but I can't do anything about it. So, I made fun of myself, I tricked myself, I'm not alone. How could I just stand on that big rock, how could I encounter a mirage again. Am I really alone? I can clearly hear my footsteps like a sonata, sometimes overlapping, sometimes loose. I went northwest, I overturned it, I can't go south, there is only a dead end, I'm struggling, I'm proving myself, I'm planning, looking for a place to get out of this fuck thing. I kept scolding fuck the thing.
I want to take the Sichuan-Tibet line, when will the spark that has been burning for a long time go out?
Gerry? Gerry!
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