Chapter 59 Section 59

You were invited to come to Toulon, a military port on the Mediterranean Sea, which you remembered in your middle school geography class. You sat in a temporary shed by the harbor specially erected for the book fair. Hold the pen in front of the book, waiting for the readers who want to buy the book to ask for their signature.But the people who passed by were reading books, ignoring the author whose name was written on the sign. How could there be many fanatical admirers of the singer Halliday, waiting in line for him to get off the helicopter to sign, as well as bodyguards and The police huddled around to maintain order.You are completely out of those wandering eyes, and people turn a blind eye.They pass in front of you, sometimes stop, and flip through the book with your name printed in front of them, but what does your name mean?What people are looking for in their roommates is nothing more than self-identity, and the gaze they cast is reflected from the book to their own hearts.

Fortunately, you have nothing to do, and you have plenty of leeway to catch this pair of anxious or vacant looking eyes and enjoy yourself.A handsome girl is swimming in the crowd, her chestnut hair seems to change into a bun at will, her brows are tightened, her face is heart-wrenchingly melancholy, her wide eyelids look haggard, she probably passed a sleepless night, maybe she is the man on the bed He couldn't keep her, but such a good girl might as well be said that the man couldn't keep her, otherwise, he wouldn't come to the book market alone on Sunday morning.She finally came to your booth, but what she picked up was someone else's office book next to her. After reading the introduction on the back of the book, she put it down and opened another book.She has no intention of buying any book, and maybe she doesn't know what to do, so she puts down that book, and picks up yours again, but her eyes are looking elsewhere.She narrowed her gaze!When you finally got your book, you turned it over and put it down before reading a sentence or two of the introduction, without even seeing the author close at hand.She is right in front of your eyes, the brows are still tightened, and the sad expression is moving slightly on the face, it is so beautiful that it is more vivid than any book.

Who will be your readers?It was impossible to imagine that when you wrote the book, it was impossible for you to imagine that one day you would sit in this book market by the Mediterranean Sea and face these possible readers.They don't really need to care about or even buy your troubles.Fortunately, the book seller is the owner of the bookstall. You are just a decoration, and you have lost your vanity too early, and you are too on the sidelines.Besides, there are so many books in the world that are still being published!It doesn't matter if there are more books or one less, not to mention that you don't make a living by selling books, and only if you don't make a living and write, this book is indispensable to you.

You put your pen into your coat pocket, ask the owner of the bookstall for some blank paper, put it in your pocket, and walk to the harbour.In Toulon, where the sun is so bright that it can ring, there are coffee bars and restaurants one after another on the small streets by the old port, and seafood stalls are placed outside the door, empty and empty.A street going to the city center has a very lively Sunday morning market, from fruits and vegetables to ready-made clothes, all kinds of daily groceries, there are also many Arab vendors and a Chinese snack takeaway shop!Business is good, and the city government run by the far-right National Front may find it an eyesore.They also have a book fair in the city center, which competes with the book fair organized by the leftist government in the area that invited you.You still can't escape politics, you can't hide anywhere, and suddenly feel Marguerite's anxiety, so realistic, like the bright sunshine that seems to be clanging, you can touch it with your fingers.

You don't want to go to the book fair to see what's new, the nationalist clichés are the same everywhere, so you go back to the harbor, sit down in front of a cafe, and want to write something. People are fragile, but what's wrong with being fragile?You are a fragile life.Superman wants to replace God, arrogant and ignorant, you might as well be a fragile mortal.Almighty God created such a world, but did not design the future.You don't design anything, don't waste your time, just live in the present moment, don't know what will happen in the next moment, isn't that instantaneous change wonderful?No one can escape death, death has given a limit, otherwise you will become an old monster!Will lose mercy, shameless, heinous.Death is an irresistible limit, and the beauty of human beings is to change before this limit.

You are not that Buddha, you are not an incarnation bodhisattva with three bodies, six faces and seventy-two incarnations.Music, mathematics, and Buddha are all created out of nothing, abstracting the concept of numbers from the indescribable nature, abstracting the combination and transformation of scales, tones, and rhythms!Abstracting Buddha or God, abstracting beauty, cannot be captured in the natural state.Your self is also created out of nothing. If you say you have it, you will have it, and if you say it is not there, it will be a mess. Is the self you have worked so hard to create so unique?Or do you have an ego?You are tossing in infinite cause and effect, but where are those causes and effects?Cause and effect are like troubles, which are also shaped by you, so you don't have to shape that self anymore, let alone find the so-called self-identity out of nothing, it is better to return to the source of life, this lively present.The only thing that is eternal is this moment, you feel that you exist, otherwise you will be completely ignorant, just live in the moment, feel the soft sunshine of this late autumn!

The leaves in the park are yellow, looking down from your window, the ground is full of fallen leaves, withered and not decayed.You're getting old, but you don't want to go back to your childhood. You see those kids in the parking lot downstairs who are noisy and don't know what to do. Youth is precious. When they finally understand what they want to do, they will be old.You don't want to toss it all over again, struggling in vanity and anxiety, hesitation and panic. You don't envy them, what you envy is their fresh life.But the chaotic life does not have such a transparent consciousness and self-awareness, you are sincerely satisfied with this moment, this solitude without falsehood, so thorough, like the ripples of autumn water, reflecting the bright light and shadow, arousing the coolness in your heart .No more judging, no more establishing anything.The water is rippling, the leaves fall when they fall, and death should be quite natural to you.You're heading for it, but there's still time to play a game and deal with death before it comes.You have enough left over to make the most of what you have left of life, a sensible body, and desires.You want to have a woman, a woman who is as thorough as you, a woman who frees all ties in this world, a woman who is not burdened by family and does not have children, a woman who does not pursue vanity and fashion, a woman who A woman who is naturally full of sensuality, a woman who doesn't want to take anything from you, a woman who just has sex with you at this moment, but where will you find such a woman-.A woman who is as lonely as you and who is satisfied with this loneliness melts your loneliness and hers into sexual satisfaction, into caress and each other's eyes, in each other's inspection and search, but this woman you Where can I find it?