The real sorrow is not in the loss of Tsushin, but in the search for the lost Tsushin, that is to say, the effort to return to the basics. Because such an endeavor is bound to collide with secular reality, and may result in a fatal tragedy. (This is a book review)
For the farming community, the idyll is a word that has always been a source of fascination and excitement. People who live in cities today originally came from a field of some kind. Therefore, in the feeling that we can never leave the hometown of the sunset full of trees in the village, can not get rid of the nostalgia such as curling smoke. And even better, in the meadow with their own company or a young and beautiful pure and quiet girl. A beautiful field, a beautiful girl - what more is needed?
The novel gently stirs up our subconscious idyllic complex (or hometown complex) and the dream that men can never have enough of, and provides a pure land and a pastoral song for those who are tired and bored in the city to relax their nerves and relieve their nostalgia. (This is a book review)
I am a man of the utmost authenticity and integrity, as straight as an arrow. I exist as myself, extremely inevitably and naturally. This is a clear fact, as for what others think of me, I do not mind much. Because what others think of me is none of my business. That is not so much my problem as it is theirs.
They recognize the authenticity in me, the sincerity with which I maintain that authenticity - I can think of no other way of putting it. They wanted to say something to me, to befriend me. They were almost all good-hearted people, and I could give them nothing. Even if I could give, I could not make them content. I always kept trying and gave them all I could give and did all I could do. I also wanted so much to get something from them, but finally failed to get what I wanted. Soon they were far away.
There was neither half-hearted ambition nor expectation. It came and went and was dealt with methodically and quickly. Frankly, I'm not without thoughts that it's about a waste of life. However, since paper and ink were being wasted in such a way, it was understandable that some of my own life was being wasted - that was the conclusion I finally came to. We live in a highly developed capitalist society where waste is the greatest virtue. Politicians call it expanding domestic demand, and my generation calls it squandering and wasting, but the ideas are different. But whether it is the same or different, this is the society we live in. If it is not good enough, then we have to go to Bangladesh or Sudan.
The police are hesitant to put a stop to these incidents when they are attacked by thugs with Japanese swords, because the word has already been sent to the highest levels of the police hierarchy. This is not even so much corruption as it is an institution, otherwise known as an investment. Admittedly, there were more or less such kind of collusion in the past. Unlike in the past, today's investment network is much more elaborate and much stronger, far from being comparable to that of the past. Huge electronic computers make it possible, and then all the things that exist in the world and the phenomenon of a huge and detailed network into which, through the intensive and subdivided, capital this concrete thing sublimated into a concept, to put it in an extreme point, or even a religious act. People worship the vitality of capital, its mythic colors, the price of land in Tokyo, and the shiny logo of a Mercedes-Benz. Beyond that, there is no myth in the world.
It's been a long time since I've talked so openly about myself, and I've spent a long time talking about myself, slowly, piece by piece, as if melting ice. I talked about how I was making ends meet, how I was desperate, how I was wasting my time in the midst of desperation, how it was no longer possible to fall in love with anyone with all my heart, how I had lost my heartbeat, how I didn't know what I was supposed to be looking for, how I was doing my best for what concerned me and how it was useless, and so on, and I said that I felt that my body was rapidly stiffening, and my musculature was gradually hardening from the inside out. I said that I felt my body was rapidly stiffening and my muscle tissue was hardening from the inside out. I was terrified by this, and at least I felt that there was only one place where I was connected to myself.
, "As long as the music is playing, just jump. You know what I'm saying? Dance! Dance without stopping! Don't think about why you are dancing, don't think about meaning, there is no such thing as meaning. If you think about it, you're bound to stop. Once it stops, there's nothing more I can do. And all the clues that connect you will disappear, forever. Then, you'll have to survive here, and you'll be trapped in this world. So you can't stop, no matter how funny you think it is, you can't give up, you have to grit your teeth and dance on
. As you dance, the things that were solid will soften a little, and some of them are not completely irredeemable. Use all that you can, give it your all, and don't be afraid. You are indeed tired, exhausted, and on edge. Push has its moments, when it feels that everything is so wrong that it stops in its tracks."
No, I don't know what I'm looking for, I don't know where to go. I am rusty, so rusty that I cannot move. To be so alone must gradually lose itself, I feel. That's it. Where do I start now? Well, it has to start somewhere. How about that girl at the desk? I have a soft spot for her. There's something about her and me. And if I wanted to, I could sleep with her. But what then? Where could one go from there? Probably nowhere, and end up losing myself even more. For I have not yet grasped the goal I seek. As long as I am in this state, I am bound to do what my former wife said - to harm all kinds of people with whom I associate.
I said, "People call it avoidance behavior. That doesn't matter, let people say that. My life is mine, your life is yours. As long as you know what you are looking for, then go ahead and live your life the way you want to. What people say is none of your business. Guys like that should be fed to the crocodiles. I used to think that way when I was your age and I still do, maybe because I haven't matured as a person or maybe I'm always right. I can't figure it out for the hundredth time."
I don't think it's considered good for a 13-year-old girl to smoke. It's bad for your health and it's bad for your skin. But her smoking
posture was impeccably graceful, so I didn't say anything. That quietly articulated filter on the thin lips, such as knife-like sharp edges, light that long eyelashes like acacia leaves hanging down, it is very tempting feelings. A few strands of hair scattered in front of the forehead, with her small movements slightly shaking - the whole image can be said to be perfect. I can not help but think again: If I was 15 years old, I must have fallen in love, fell into this spring snow avalanche like unstoppable love, and then fell into the abyss of uncontrollable misfortune. Snow reminds me of a girl I've known - I was thirteen or fourteen years old when I liked the girl, the old days of the unavoidable helplessness suddenly surged to the heart.
Then I suddenly thought of my wife. The phone does not sound to condemn me, like a wife. I loved my wife and spent quite happy times together. The two of us talked and laughed, traveled around, and made love no less than hundreds of times. Yet my wife condemned me in this way from time to time, in the middle of the night, quietly and insistently, for my incompleteness, suddenness, and passivity. She fretted while both were in the same boat***. But there is a decisive difference between the ends she seeks and aspires to and my existence. What my wife seeks is the self-reliance of communication, the glorious spectacle of communication raising the immaculate white flag and leading people to a bloodless revolution, the spectacle of perfection overcoming imperfection and finally healing - for her this is love. But for me, of course, it is different. Love for me is the sheer notion of being given disproportionate flesh, of panting and squeezing out of underground cables and finally capturing the bond, and it is very imperfect: sometimes the lines are mixed up, sometimes I can't remember the number, sometimes someone calls the wrong number. But that's not my fault. This will always be the case as long as we exist in the flesh
It is the law. I explained this to her, I don't know how many times.
He said, "I am still attached to her, that is all. I often think: I do not want to be an actor, she also quit, and the two of us live freely together how good it would be! Don't want a high-class apartment, don't want a 'Benz', don't want anything. As long as there is an ordinary job and an ordinary family, it would be great. I also want a child. Go to a hotel with friends on the way home from work, have a drink, whine, and come home to her. Buy a Seabiscuit or a Lion with my paycheck - that's the kind of life I'd like to live, come to think of it. As long as I had her. But it didn't work out. She was hoping for something else. Her family was counting on her. Her mother was a typical behind-the-scenes person, her father was money-minded, her brother was in some kind of management, her brother was always in trouble and needed money to end it, and her sister was a singer who was on the rise. There was no getting out of it. Besides, she'd been indoctrinated with such values since she was three or four years old. She's been a small actress in this world, living in a limited image, very different from you and me, not understanding what the real world is. But she's pure of heart, fresh and elegant, and I know that. But it just doesn't work, it can't be undone.