DavidAviles DavidAviles's blog : Lonely Satan
I took it to school the next morning. The result was what I expected, and all
the people crowded around me, which was unprecedented. The male classmate was
alone in the corner, fiddling with his knife. I could finally look at his
embarrassment out of the corner of my eye as a winner. Strangely, the feeling is
not as good as expected. There was no jealous or frustrated look in the boy's
eyes that I expected. This also reduced my sense of achievement. Soon the pistol
was found by the head teacher. When he saw the gun, he jumped up almost high
enough to break the Asian record and described me with words like "thug"-maybe
he thought of the school shooting in the United States. I think it must have
been the most brilliant moment in his teaching career. As a junior high school
teacher in China, he could find a thug with a gun in his class. If he is
qualified to write his memoirs in the future, I don't think he will miss it.
Later things were even more natural-the head teacher called my home, and my
mother came to school to pick me up. My dad beat me for the first and only time
in his life, and he beat me so hard that it was almost a "beating" because he
almost broke my nose. Since then, my nose has become my most vulnerable part,
and it bleeds easily. The beating made me repent that I couldn't survive in this
family on my own terms, which would only hurt myself. I have to follow the rules
of the man who beat me. So I chose to be one of the "silent majority"-as my
father expected. I stay in my room all day and do my own thing. Reading,Berberine
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socialized with others, and even with my own relatives, I just kept the most
ordinary greetings, because I knew my father didn't want that,Nonoxynol
9 Factory, and gradually I didn't like it. In fact, it's good to be alone in
a space of my own, because then I won't worry about my world being violated by
others. I started denying people access to my room-including my parents. I no
longer expected my father to come into my bedroom and talk to me before I went
to bed, because I could not tolerate the smell of others in my room. At the age
of 16, my increasingly depressed mother dragged me to the hospital for
psychological counseling. That day I learned that I had a disease called
"depression". My mother cried that day. And when I got home at night, I had a
big fight with my dad-the first time in years. And for the first time, my father
silently endured my mother's loud noise, did not make a sound, just sat on the
bed and kept sighing. My mother's voice, Kava
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Manufacturer, which I could vaguely recognize, probably meant that my father
had hurt me, and that he had turned his son into a mentally disabled person. I
don't care about that. I was in my room watching a DVD when my mom was yelling
at my dad -- one of the most common things I've done alone in my room in recent
years -- and it was a Hong Kong movie called Fallen Angels. The director of the
film is a guy who wears sunglasses all day. The film is beautiful and colorful,
and it tells the story of a group of people called "angels" living alone in the
same city. Some of those angels kill people with smiles, some lie on other
people's beds in stockings like fishnets, some sleep with strange men they meet
by chance in McDonald's, and some are dumb but can keep talking all the time..
They are related to each other and isolated from each other, as if no one and no
one need have any necessary connection. I feel that all the people there are
myself. My mother has never given up her efforts to make me cheerful. She always
asks me to go out to play with my classmates, but I'm not interested at all. She
even paid a psychologist to give me regular psychotherapy, which made me very
helpless. In fact, I like the way I live now. If possible, I hope I can live
alone all my life. My father is now taking the initiative to find a topic to
talk to me. But unfortunately, I have nothing to say to him. I am also puzzled
about this, because it was my biggest dream in my childhood. Now that the dream
has come true, I feel very bored. Later, I was admitted to the computer
department of a university. It's in Beijing, but it's a long way from home. My
parents always thought things would change when I went to college and lived in a
dorm room, but I couldn't stand sharing a space with five other complete
strangers. So I insisted on going home every day, even though I had to delay a
lot of time on the road every day. If there was one thing that changed my life
when I went to college, it was that I learned to surf the Internet and became
deeply obsessed with the Internet world. For the first time, I found that there
was such a magnificent world in the world. In that world, no one knows who you
are, and you don't know who anyone else is. You can have your own space all to
yourself-and be as big as you want. You can also talk to an ID that might
represent any person in the world without having to worry about any
frustration-because there are only words between you, no sound, no expression,
no movement, nothing that can make you feel violated. Soon after, I started a
personal website called "Satan's City". Its theme is film and everything related
to film. I pour everything I'm passionate about in film into this site. As for
its name, I didn't put much thought into it. I just feel that I am more like a
lonely devil, contented to run my own city, hell, than those brilliant angels in
pairs. I imitated Wang Jiawei's affectation,Quillaja
Saponin, although I didn't have his brilliant imagination. I didn't
advertise my "Satanic City" because it means too much "private space". I vent in
this space, but I don't want others to know. Nevertheless, there will still be
people who break in by chance. I can't avoid that. I understand that any girl
who takes off her clothes with the window open shouldn't blame the passers-by
who happen to pass by. pioneer-biotech.com
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