The impulse of reducing the numbers on the electricity bill made me reluctant to turn on the lamp, I would rather use a little flashlight feature in the newly designed iOS 7 control center. I did not mistake my mom's shoes for mine or the left shoe for right - my phone has already been jailbroken and every apps and Cydia tweaks are the latest version. But the mysterious appeal of the darkness of living room remains. "Might there be a quantum ghost lurking behind me, and it quickly transformed into probability cloud because my consciousness has bewared of it?" It's utter pseudo-science. I always have the taste of eating things, but I never finish. It turned out I'd just forgotten to bring my umbrella. It was raining out there hours ago, and before that it was shiny, therefore I can't predict if it would rain. But I also can't choose a proper umbrella. Those in purple and blue and yellow and red are simply too colorful and third-world for me. The more colorful they get, and more flippant I consider myself. I needed the umbrella in black, and I discovered it unfolded on the floor with no snakes guarding it. On the way down, I saw the usual mouse constrained in its cage, curious about its predator.
It wasn't raining out there. Luckily. But the remnant of rain has left the ground in a much despicable state - wet and murky, reeking invisible smell of hopelessness and pollution. To me, the latter is more intimidating. The only people in this town who are not polluted are those who don't feel it. I felt it - I was polluted. The entire world then immediately became noble and clean. She wasn't that noteworthy. She had her forehead covered by hair, and that was an evident sign of incompetence. But contrast made her beautiful. I became horny, and planned to masturbate after my bogus philosophical contemplation over the phone with nobody. The topic was contradiction. Months ago when I was at interviews in Shanghai and Beijing, for the first time in my life I told them that I pretend to talk over the phone just to talk to myself, and that I wake up in the middle of the night, get dressed up, and walk on the streets alone for an hour. I was happy to be authentic; I was guilty to have betrayed my secrets. I wanted to be having a simple life like everyone else is having around me, watching TV and discuss politics with another seventy year old on the basis of rumor, eating dumpling once a day and 365 times a year. Simplicity means happiness, and my reason tells me that the purpose of life is to be happy. That was debasing, to be happy is the dream of the mediocre and repetitive. I should be sad and melancholy, deprived of emotions, indifferent, like a stone or the space-time itself. But I'm not space time, I'm a man with penis and hunger and everything rightfully animalistic. This is my contradiction, this is contradiction.
Before masturbation, I see females as distant and permanently beautiful. After masturbation, I see them as the opposite. But I'm always sexist, and hoping to be debunked in the future. I often download 6 pornography films simultaneously, and delete all of them when I'm done and begin to mock my inability to contain the mating instinct. I consider youth a continuation of death, and an alternative of it. Naively I refuse to get married and reproduce, but intelligently I acknowledge that time is indeed passing, I'm indeed feeble. Scientists don't know the purpose of the universe just like moms don't know the purpose of life, just like I don't know why the anonymous owner spend money making his hotel sign brighter.
It's 3/25/2014. Now, Earth is a planet above; Wuxi is a city below. I'm living; I'm dying.
