Narrative

Narration is so sad and beautiful. If it is not the amazing intelligence, it is difficult for narration to be free and unrestrained; Ordinary narrators still need to lay out the ways and methods of planning articles, so as to make up their weaknesses with this skill. Of course, speaking ways and methods may still be a kind of intelligence, although it is the general ability of narration, which can make up for the congenital deficiency through diligent study. But what can a poor person do? We had to use the strength of arms, waist and hip, legs and feet and even teeth as if we could shape and express this object which might be a commodity rather than a spirit. A well-known writer, a writer who seldom appears in public, is very fluent when staring at the capital, the Outland and the distant town, like knocking on the table and rubbing the flour cake, knocking on Beijing, the difference between Tokyo and Yili is extremely magical and amazing. In the final analysis, it was his talent, the reminder given by the dense cultural deposits of those towns, and the temperament of those towns easily excited his original talent, while Yili River, Kaifeng ice flow, it slips down, with vigorous momentum and various visions. From divinity to temperament, from appearance to inside information, from proximity to betrayal, from intimacy to love, we can see the author’s ease and wisdom in words and expressions everywhere. The best way of narration is the one that doesn’t leak any voice and color, the so-called form is scattered. Of course, such modern writers are everywhere, too many to mention. I used to think that I was talented, but it turned out to be a clumsy person for decades. Even so, every day, if you can write down these useful or useless words, you will consciously enrich and relax. This can not be regarded as a word or a witness of my own thought track, but a clear example of moving forward. It is my self-consolation that I still keep a good attitude. I told myself that I should write down something by this every day, although there are usually only some shining stars, just like seeing the wild flowers of broken orchid on the roadside, just like lighting myself as a small match. Always remember something, very interesting. In front of me is a tree I transplanted, called Nanshan Bamboo. Why is she such a name? Just a few days after I moved back, there were full of leaves falling down one after another like pieces of paper. I thought it was a problem of water and soil and adaptation. I just cut off the branches of the 1/3 and carried them to the balcony, after pouring through the water for three times, gradually, after a lot of leaves fell down, new buds sprouted, though not robust. But the leaves were thin, and the bleak atmosphere of a potted plant gradually became, which was the same as the cold color in the living room, and the home was set to be handsome and elegant, which was quite magical. Although I still dared not to hold her back to the room, I opened the window every day for her to have a night breeze, and loosened the soil, and prepared to water her with my son on weekends. I promised Boyuan’s son. This is the story between my son and me. Soon, I turned on the music and seemed to know that the music was so close to me that I hadn’t noticed it for decades. Stepping into middle age, seeing the brilliance of her star and satellite, hearing the sound of nature in the deep night, I realized that another beautiful way of narration in the world was beside me. When I touched her and talked with her, she rolled up and went away. Looking at her back, I sighed and blamed myself. Looking up to the sky, I sighed that how could I step into the palace of art. Without reading the history of music, painting and sculpture, those narrations with different tones, the time and space of music can not be spread freely, and the growing sounds of nature in the middle of the night can not be listened, on the one hand, he despises the current so-called literature, on the other hand, he lingers outside the palace of art. Regret ah. Now, the sunshine is pouring over my balcony softly, and music notes, Fu Lei’s letters and philosophy of art are piled on my desk heavily. When their families went out, they didn’t know that their thoughts could be so self-narrated and their emotions were more stable; Therefore, their narrations and stories were bred in a peaceful way, even the peace in sorrow, the peace between tracing and rebellion between life and death. The narration is so sad and beautiful. 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