Chapter 31 life is like a dream (3)

The funniest thing is that when divers have different shapes, one is short and fat and one is thin and tall, people think: how can this be synchronized, according to the principles of physics, they can't start and arrive at the same time, but you don't Come to think of it, they did.This teaches us a lesson: everything in the world is complementary.If you are not running fast, work harder.But what really provided me with journal material was when two young Chinese girls stood on the jumping platform.They were two slender beauties with shiny black braids, so similar they looked like twins, but the narrator was sure they were not sisters.Anyway, when these two girls came on the platform, I think everyone was in the same state as me: holding their breath.

After a series of beautiful movements, they jumped into the water, and in the first moment, the movements were perfect.This kind of perfection makes me feel the same way. I think this is the principle of "mirror neurons": when we see a person doing an action, although we don't do any action, our neurons and this person do it The same neurons that fire when he moves, the neurons that fire in our heads when he makes moves, so we can feel the same way even though we're not doing anything, so I'm a guy sitting on the couch , a freestyle diver munching on french fries: that's why people like to watch sports on TV.All in all, the leap of these two beautiful and graceful goddesses was fascinating at first.But then, oops!I noticed a very, very slight gap between the movements of the two.I stared at the screen again, worried: there is no doubt that there is a gap, and I know how crazy it is to tell this like this, because the jump did not exceed three seconds, but because of this three-second It took us only a few seconds to see the whole process clearly, as if those three seconds were as long as a century.It's obvious, don't cover your face anymore: they don't move in sync!One enters the water before the other!what a pity!

I yelled at the TV again: Come on and catch up with her!Hurry up and catch up with her!Unbelievably, I even blamed the girl who was a little slower, and sank into the sofa again, feeling uncomfortable, what is this?Is this the world sport?Can a small gap permanently ruin something that was about to be perfect?I couldn't get out of my bad mood for at least thirty minutes.Then, suddenly, I thought to myself: Why do I want the slower girl to catch up with the other girl so much?Why do I feel sad when the movements are not in sync?It's not hard to guess: all the things like that are missed forever, all the words we should have said, all the actions we should have been doing, these fleeting moments of opportune time that one day Appeared suddenly, disappeared forever into the infinity before we could catch it... even almost failed... But I have another idea, it has to do with "mirror neurons", and, it's a Always confused my mind, plus maybe a little Proustian (which annoys me).What if literature fires our neurons like what we see on TV, and we can get behavioral sensibility for a fraction of our effort?And, on the other hand, what if literature was like the gap that television shows us?

Hello, World Sports!This should have been perfect, but it was shattered in an instant.This should be really experienced personally, but it can only be experienced indirectly. So, let me ask you: Why do you still exist in such a world? 14. At this time, ancient Japan The next morning, Shabro rang my doorbell.He seemed to have regained his former air, his voice no longer trembled, his nose became dry, his complexion was still dark, but he looked like a ghost. "Pierre is dead," he said to me in a crisp voice. "I'm sorry," I said. I feel sorry for him from the bottom of my heart, because Pierre Arden is indeed no longer suffering, and Chabro has to learn to live like a walking dead.

"The undertaker will be here shortly," Shabro continued in a ghostly voice. "I would be very grateful if you would take them into the room." "Of course." I said. "I will try to come back and take care of Anna within two hours." He looked at me, silent. "Thanks," he said—for the second time in twenty years. I tried to answer in a tone befitting a concierge, but, for some reason, I couldn't utter a word.Maybe it's because Chabro won't come back, maybe it's because all defenses are meaningless in the face of death, maybe it's because I'm reminded of Lucien, maybe it's because decency finally prevents a possibility of offending the dead distrust.

Therefore, I did not say: "nothing." Instead it says: