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写字写字。写字。我每天写字。但怪异的是,呵,我写下的文字常常是,一边出现,一边消失;一边呼吸,一边死去;一边构成颂歌,一边列成悼词;一边飘远成浮云,一边四散成灰烬;一边变成化石,一边变成风景……字在字的内部一片空无。字在字的深处一片虚静。字是字的婴啼,字是字的坟墓。字是字的血肉与躯壳。字是字的影子与回声。呵,想起,一字皆无真是一种境界。最高境界。
Write and write Write. I write every day. But the weird thing is that, uh, the words I wrote were often disappearing as they appeared, while they were breathing, while they died; forming eulogies while forming eulogis; floating ashes into ashes while falling into ashes; Fossils, while turning the scenery ... word in the interior of a void. Word in the depths of the word a quiet. The word is the baby’s word, the word is the grave of the word. Word is the flesh and body of the word. Word is the shadow of the word and echo. Oh, think of it, there is no word really is a realm. The highest level.