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| | Johann Christophe (13th Jan 23 at 1:08am UTC) | | The most meaningless thing for Christophe at that time was reason. The sun could only illuminate the inner wall of the abyss for him, but could not show him a way out, nor even make him see the depth of the abyss. As for the world of art, Christophe had little opportunity or desire to have anything to do with it. Most of the local musicians were conservative good men, belonging to the neo-Schumann or Brahmsian school, with which Christophe had struggled. There were only two exceptions: one was the organist Crabbe, who owned a famous candy store; he was an honest man, a good musician, and a better musician, as one Swiss writer put it, if he hadn't been "riding on a flying horse that he had fed too much."; The other was a young Jewish composer, full of style, temper, and agitation; he also opened a shop, selling Swiss products: woodcut things, wooden houses in Bern, bears, and so on. These two men, who did not take music as their profession, were more broad-minded and happy to be close to Christophe; at other times,heavy duty metal racks, Christophe would have had the same curiosity to know them, but at that time he had no interest in art or people, and only felt that he was different from others and forgot the same. His only friend, the confidant who heard his thoughts, was the river he crossed in the city, the Rhine, which irrigated his hometown in the north. Next to it, Christophe recalled his childhood dreams. But when the heart is dead,asrs warehouse, those dreams are as gloomy as Rhine. At dusk, when the sun was setting, he leaned over the railing by the side of the river and looked at the turbulent river, which was chaotic, so heavy and dim that it always flowed forward in a hurry. At a glance, there were only large and turbulent light Rawls, thousands of streams of water, and whirlpools that appeared and disappeared: just like many chaotic images in a frantic mind, which appeared there forever and became one forever. In this twilight dream, ghostly ferry boat drifted like coffin, and not a soul was visible. As the dusk deepened, the river turned into a mass of bronze, and the lights on the bank were black as ink, shining with a gloomy light, heavy duty cantilever racks ,heavy duty rack manufacturers, reflecting the yellow light of the gas lamp, the white light of the electric lamp, and the blood-red candlelight in the windows of people's houses. Only the voice of the river could be heard in the shadows. It is always a faint and monotonous sound of water, more desolate than the sea. After hours of listening to this song of death and vexation, Christophe managed to pull himself together, climb the peeling red stone steps in the middle, and walk home through the alley. He was physically and mentally exhausted, holding the railings on the top of the wall, illuminated by the street lamps in the empty square in front of the high church.. He couldn't figure it out anymore: Why do people live? Recalling the struggle he had witnessed, he could not help but feel lost and admire those who were reluctant to give up their faith. All kinds of opposing ideas, all kinds of different currents, are circulating: aristocracy is followed by democracy; individualism is followed by socialism; classicism is followed by romanticism; respect for tradition is followed by the pursuit of progress: they are intermingled with each other, so as to be infinite. The new people of every generation, those who will be worn down in less than ten years, are convinced that they are the only ones who have climbed to the highest peak and thrown down their predecessors with stones. They are busy, shouting, grasping power and glory, and then they are driven away by the new people with stones and destroyed. Christophe could no longer escape by composing; it had become intermittent, disorganized, aimless work. Writing? Writing for whom? For humanity? He was disgusted with human beings. For himself? He felt that art was useless and could not fill the void caused by death. Only his blind strength occasionally encouraged him to fly high, and then to fall down exhausted. There was only a faint sound of thunder in the darkness. Olivier was annihilated, leaving no trace. He resented all that had enriched his life, all the feelings and thoughts that he thought he shared with the rest of mankind. He felt that the past was a complete lie to himself: the whole life of people is a misunderstanding, and the source of misunderstanding is language. Do you think your mind can communicate with others? In fact, the so-called relationship is only the relationship between languages.
Speak to yourself and at the same time listen to others; but no word has the same meaning in two different mouths. What is more tragic is that the meaning of no word is complete in life. Language is beyond the reality of our experience. You talk about love and hate.. In fact, there is no love, no hatred, no friends, no enemies, no faith, no passion, no good, no evil. All there is is the cold reflection of this light, for this light comes from the sun that has been extinguished for hundreds of years. A friend? Many people call themselves this name, but in fact it is pitiful! What is their friendship? What is friendship in the eyes of ordinary people? A man who pretends to be a friend of others has a few minutes in his life to miss his friends? What did he sacrifice for his friend? Not to mention his necessities, did he sacrifice his superfluous things, his superfluous time, his own depression, for his friends? What did I sacrifice for Olivier? For Christophe did not exclude himself; he left Olivier alone in the nothingness into which he included all mankind. Art is no more real than love. What is its place in life? How do those who pretend to be obsessed with art love art? People's feelings are unexpectedly weak. Apart from the instincts of the race, apart from this force, which has become the axis of the world and is common to all things in the universe, there is only a large pile of ashes of emotion. Most people don't have the exuberance to get them totally enthused. They want to be economical and cautious to the point of being stingy. They are everything, but everything is concrete and subtle, and can never become a complete thing. Anyone who is willing to put himself completely into it regardless of everything when he suffers, when he loves,industrial racking systems, when he hates, and when he does anything is a wonder, the greatest person you can meet in the world. jracking.com | |
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