Stone A white goshawk, tired of flying, rested on a stone and took a deep breath. When its sharp eyes scanned things other than stones, the sky above its head instantly turned into a silent falling abyss. When it looked, it was just its eyes, because everything was only connected to a certain organ of it at this moment.

Nietzsche is watching.

Just like the appearance of a stone, sharp, smooth and rounded, monochromatic or colorful, because the indifference of the stone creates a hard and unfamiliar relationship with me, every stone is a cliff and a valley. .

This is the alternation of perception and being perceived. This is Nietzsche in my eyes.

When I am sensitive, he is retarded.

When a stone is fragile, it is tenacious.

When I am lonely, he is lonely.

And when I looked at a stone again, in my desire to communicate with it, a ravine appeared. It must have been when I ignored it, and it suddenly came from a certain space. Smash it down.

Like him, if I pursue my inner life like him, I will immediately turn into a stone, suspended, like a meteor or lightning in the falling trajectory.

Quiet, still. Even outside myself, I came close to finding myself outside the world.

The world is equal on stones, and there is an unequal alternation of peaks and abyss. I am terrified of every stone I encounter, and I am indifferent to, and even disgusted with, every stone I see. and intense hatred.

The stone was unmoved at this time, but I think Nietzsche must have been moved by something.

Rope

A rope is passed diagonally from the other side.

I cannot see the shape of the rope clearly for the time being. What cannot be seen is formless and infinite.

But which way is that? Ropes, ropes, countless ellipses, he was tied up infinitely, and he felt the most realistic pain in the invisible world: the pain of the wise.

In my dream, there was an autumn river, mirrors, morning mist, and a black bird flying from the boundless forest. Just when I was about to touch its feathers, it turned around, and the soft time suddenly Straighten it, bend it here and fly in the other direction... He used all his strength to keep the rope tight and straight, because he may never know the beginning and end of the rope.

If he lets go immediately, he will really tighten the rope.

The desire to tighten drove him into slackness, creating an uncompromising struggle between his powerful mind and his frail body.

The slack rope formed the abyss of his life.

Continuously tense. Because of the strong confrontational psychology, he evolved into an upward force in this uninterrupted gap, and the rope that has been unable to relax is not for transition and traction, nor for tying a tree or a certain stone. The rope is completely here for him. When it becomes a formal thing, it can be deduced into a reverse force and become a knot that tightens his body. The struggle made him rise and float, becoming the only sign of his survival.

I think he was voluntary, and he would rather tie himself until he was suffocated, because he saw the ecstatic state that accompanied this peak state: God is dead.

This thought alone brought about his resurrection. The powerful invisible throwback force of the rope formed violently undulating abyss and mountain peaks.

For me, it’s just an arc.

The glass

is full of danger.

The involuntary trembling from the long-term uneasiness of the self, the sharp feelings are surrounded by the sharp blades of language, and I am in nervous panic every second.

The glass of thought is extremely delicate, sensitive, transparent and fragile.

On the one hand, you can see through the world, and on the other hand, you can enter selflessness in complete and pure transparency. The inner penetration ignores the matter you see. Nietzsche suffered from various diseases throughout his life and was polished into increasingly thinner glassware, a carrier that accommodated or refused to accommodate. Transparency is the final graveyard for geniuses who die young. Even the soil and tombstones in which they are buried eventually turn into glass.

Transparency is a beautiful disaster.

In the process of constantly searching for an escape from this world, he became a wanderer of glass. Playing and dueling with shadows throughout his life gave him great power to compete with nothingness, and this power grew without limit. Resulting in direct destructive force, Nietzsche's glass was shattered.

Thankfully, this cup was never intended to hold anything. The moment the water and wine became what they were, they suddenly disappeared, including himself.

The night is clear and quiet, and the moonlight is like a mirror.

On a distant seaside, huge waves hit the glass on the table of the cabin, and the storm swirled around it. He was trembling in his alone meditation, maintaining a dazed and unconscious balance. .

Suddenly, a gust of wind broke through the window and he danced on the edge of the glass. This is Nietzsche. He is here. I see the danger of elegance gradually becoming transparent.

Time

Nietzsche’s time, is it happy? Or happy.

He kept folding himself and his books into paper airplanes, hiding them in the morning mist of time and flying in the white abyss.

The silent time was kidnapped and soared into the sky.

He is falling quietly and rising in life. The person who creates time with his own hands also breaks it with his own hands.

He has faced cliffs all his life, moving and slowly emerging in the relief of the void, and the fragments that are constantly peeling off quickly gather together and restore to another mountain peak, forming a new confrontation and confrontation with him, showing The instant perfection of his world.

As he returns, fragments, will, and illusions actively and passively invade his body. Isms, traps, politics, and prostitutes cause his space to quickly weather, collapse, and instantly turn into dust. The colorful time drifts and dances in the wind.

Standing in any place, it forms its own peak and abyss. The long-lasting snow affects the color of his hair and beard. When his eyes turned to the other side, the other side of the world was empty. His body was flying like cotton wool, like the wings of a migratory bird flapping the boundless invisible air outside the skeleton.

The lightness of time makes him heavy, fragile, weak, and destroyed at the touch of a touch. The competition with time made him helplessly become the enemy of time. His unremitting duel caused a huge rupture in time, and the cycle continued, allowing him to gain greater and more nihilistic power than time at the same time, maintaining the most lasting vitality and will. and eternity.

Time is dead, Nietzsche lives.

Finally living within himself, his own solid and unbreakable space structured by spirit and thought.

Time pampered him and saved him. The fickle soul of the constant affirmation and denial of his genius was retained by refusal.

As soon as he set out on the road, time accelerated his heartbeat. Time has no choice but to obey and mutate. In the form of time, it penetrates all the time and can hardly find any material basis. He penetrates into the hidden world that others cannot enter. He finally owns and completes himself.

Time lives, Nietzsche lives.