Chapter 29 Chapter Twenty Nine

After you said this sentence, I think you still love me a little bit.You said that my little thing that even ghosts can laugh at is not small, and you said that adding up all the joys you had in making love with men before is not as good as the moment with me, otherwise you wouldn't be screaming earth-shattering.I smiled bitterly on your chest at this time, and I didn't laugh out loud because your chest was soft.My greatest strength as a person is self-knowledge; years of criticism of me have formed the habit of self-criticism from time to time.I know you're trying to comfort me and encourage me because you keep rubbing your hands on my back when you say that.If it weren't for the cold blood and mud of your ring, I would have believed you.But I'm still secretly thinking that I told you so many things why you only remember the small things that others scolded me for.I do somewhat regret many of the things I have said.But although I am a little sorry, I am still slightly moved by you.In order to show that your consolation has worked, I rushed into you desperately.I think I should make you happier.

In France, I visited churches one by one, both ancient and modern, some magnificent and some ruins like the town of Jumiès.I beat against the stone walls, but I heard no echo.You suddenly sank to the bottom of Wangchuan in my heart.The sacred music bubbling from the organ echoed in the empty colored sunlight.I smell the rotten grass, smell the sea, smell the gray room, smell the carnation, smell the straw, smell the soybean powder, but all the past is like the deception of memory and the fantasy of genius. I stretched out my hands to the statue of Jesus, but I couldn't catch a trace of time.

Only he, the image of Jesus, peacefully expresses his pain and mercy to us in the sacred music.But I didn't dare to stare too long. I looked at the stone or bronze hollow for a long time, and then I saw the eyes of my roommate.Just seeing those eyes makes me want to put my finger on the trigger of a gun. I say this because I often think about the day I was lying on the edge of the Atlantic Ocean and you said I was as sexy as Jesus. That day, after we had a successful lovemaking session, the sun suddenly leaped out of the water without any hesitation.It shone through the gray room and made us both red.For a moment I remembered what seemed to be an arc of light that had illuminated me and another woman like blue glass.This little memory lit my eyes red and rekindled my lust.I was dizzy for a moment and thought I had pulled the trigger, so I was sweating profusely.My sweat lifted me up, and I wobbled towards you who was sitting on the couch.I feel like I'm falling into the ocean when I fall on top of you.At this time you said that you saw blood dripping on my body.

And when you came to see me many years later, I had already been cleaned up by the doctor.I lie under the white sheet and smile, I think I have been busy looking for the place of death all my life, and finally found it.I look at you, I look at this white house, and I think of your house that was like a drawing library, and that gray house by the Atlantic Ocean, and this and that house where we were together again later... I ask with my eyes You seem to ask fate.I hope you or fate can tell me why I should die here instead of in that adobe house.Who moved my body here and there?That I have created so much iniquity in this world in vain.I wonder you cry.There is nothing to cry about!don't you see i'm smilingMaybe you cry because I can't make love to you anymore.Yes, you have been well maintained at this age, and I can see your soft and plump breasts through your clothes.But, I'm very sorry, as you often say "I'm Sorry", I have already smashed the little thing that even ghosts can laugh at.The world is filled with an atmosphere of lust, even in this solemn church.Jesus is sexy because of his nakedness, and the pained expression on his face and the blood on his body make women more sexually motivated.You once said that blood can arouse a woman's sexual desire the most. You opened your arms and shook me tightly when you saw the blood on my body that day.Yes, this world is really too bad!So there are holy people who bravely eradicate the evils of this world. They want to regulate people under their asses, so I only died a hundred times.

That day you shook me bleeding enough, then knelt down in front of the couch and stroked me from head to toe like a piano key.I know every bone in me is going to crack.Together we quietly listen to the voice of life.This kind of sound can only be tapped by your fingers who are good at playing the piano.Although the sound of the bones is not a melody, it is still light and melodious, just like the wind blowing the Japanese wind chimes. By this time the sun had cleared the sea.The crimson faded, and a pale rose filled the gray room.Your hair is extremely soft, if I had known that this was the softest part of your body, I would not have touched other places in vain.But I'm still obsessed with groping for something tangible in your cloud-soft hair: Maybe there's a gun hidden there?You said that the scars on my body are like numerous cracks on unearthed sculptures.You remember the urge to rub your hands against those ancient sculptures every time you visit a museum.The rough surface of the skin will definitely lead you into the trance-like depths. If you think about it this way, you can step forward more than a dozen centuries ago just by stretching out your hand.The sense of touch can make your heart tremble.You say that when you touch me like this, you feel time as an entity, hard and rough.You don't want me to tell you which scar is how, you say you'd rather imagine it yourself.I remember that I smiled wryly again at this time: the real historical records in me have all become illusions about the world in you.I sigh or Mao Zedong is right, there is "no common language" between you and me.Sorry!Although his old man's words have been used as a weapon to criticize me countless times, it is precisely because I have been criticized too many times that I am used to using his meaning to judge everything in the world, including your love and mine. There are also words of love.

So I lift my weathered arms to brush you away, with you, with sun, moon, and time.I said don't, the touch of your hot, trembling fingers made me feel like a shower of hot rain on my bare skin, as dry as a desert shower.But you flowed like the wind through my weathered arms and flung you irresistibly into my arms.In an instant, in the rose color, I smelled a smell of gravel, a smell of earth, a smell of thorns, and a smell of camel thorns, but after careful identification, it was a piece of soybean powder flying around... After that, I told you not to Don't move.I said I heard death go through the cracks in my bones.I can feel that although it is gloomy, it is cold and refreshing. After the excitement of sex, I fall to the death line. Death is actually the same as orgasm.I said you must not make a sound, I seem to have found some forgotten feeling in my memory...