Going to happen,

 Night .
quiet at night, hear the voice of a trace of wind, I turned off all audio-visual, single sink to the voiceless in the boundless Zither, again and again possessed like to read. I have never been so fascinated read an article, even for long-famous masterpieces, nor been so deep. At first, I was touched by it.
night when the rain and the grass from the cracks in the roof tiles, Shun the leaves drop off the dry reed, I Tengger unaccompanied a cappella music half asleep. reading and thinking in the best condition is over, fatigue, body and mind at the moment but dull miraculously restored to health.
Yes, I was impressed by its very beginning, so I suddenly start to fall into a very quiet atmosphere of posthumous title, in an extremely quiet night suddenly the spirit up, I seem to hear (or see) the water is covered with grass roof tiles from that gap in the dripping sound, crisp and sweet, sounded like the beginning Zither.
remember as a child listening to the voice of Qin, in the moonlight, and that bitterness music and his father, when smoking was bright spark in my mind. along the high walls covered with ivy, came the wind, the dust falls on the Susu of my face, I looked at the sky , Qin's voice drifted across the courtyard from the black come up and hug me. I get pulled while walking on the wall dry, rough Kuteng, walked toward the lighted areas. It was the blacksmith's home, and the ruins of iron the residue of coal piled high, almost blocking my view. lost a leg in the blacksmith sat Weixi, the moonlight from the windows of old photos over, blocked by his body, so I see a big blacksmith wide stature. fire roasted red my face, shouting issued firewood in the oven, the whole room was filled with wood, Chen Hong.
time blacksmith in a beautiful environment of villages there, and his family There are lights in the dark place, accompanied by Guqin clear voice and sprinkle moonlight, accompanied by the cry of fire and wood, occurs naturally tough blacksmith, he became a representative of the music, he would sing a lot good songs.
sometimes rainy day, I looked at the blacksmith picked up a big hammer, naked to the waist, sweating profusely, red iron pound fiercely. iron color from red to blue, eventually become black, that is the original color of farm implements. sometimes blue, frozen in flames, the color that is Pudao. and then chipped a good iron to be thrown into the water, those of iron will be screaming in an instant and the roar of water rushing air, blocking the door.
description of the blacksmith real life, but very delicate features, a flavor of life.
back from the blacksmith's home, to go through a grave . After a long wall, the black and dense cypress engulfed me, I can not find their shadows fell on the icy moon on my shoulder, looking back can see the block walls in the moonlight into a melting the river, floating the shadow of many bright silver.
writing beautiful rendering the environment, lonely, full of tone gradually increased, to enjoy at the same time began to enter such a tone.
Mongolian blacksmith is a strong man, But now a village in the south room playing old his snuff bottle. That spring I told him talk in the grasslands north of the poplar trees and things, and he smoked a cigarette, his eyes filled with a look of surprise. stove The fire is still very strong, like the human anger and temper. wood snapped sharp sometimes hoarse cry, and then the same as the soot out. silent for a long time, he finally put down the pipe, and said, I give you to sing some songs , not sung for many years the.
If the memory is not wrong, it is a Musical Instrument. turned out to be the qin, the blacksmith's hand stroked the rough piano body, there is not the right kind of imagination. Guqin black, dilapidated and aging appearance, tied with hemp rope with a few cracks with the place, paint flakes have begun to peel off, like the earth as soft, shock look, music, and paint flakes as the same muddy water poured on the ground. his voice slightly shaking, faces with some anxiety. stove flame rhythmic beating. Guqin beginning sound scholarly and soak into the warm wood of the old erosion of the atmosphere. tropical rain affect mood and thinking blacksmith, strength, breathing, finger strength Road. piano, breaking the Guqin, joys of life, this is all sad.
from here, I read little by little, into a desire, the text of the expressive and beautiful and sad scenes, all starts here , including more and more bogged down in my heart, there are faults and joys of life Guqin.
blacksmith probably came here in 1962. I just heard someone say that he is to flee from famine and came to this village . He was kind, honest, is a typical northerner. but I do not think he is Mongolian. I often will then north and Mongolia, the Loess Plateau together. According to my grandmother said that in those years was often to the south flee from famine, hunger prompted them to leave the land in the north to the south to find a can of rice to feed the body. I was a college student often eat rice, and sometimes by train, walked around the Huaihe River, when ordered out of the window you can see many neat rice paddies. in the village was often in the fields when he heard some odd songs to sing It is said that the ancient Mongolian song. to compare him to Rangers is too idealistic or shallow things. he seems in addition to outside labor, that is singing, and that hunger song, passionate emotions, and often I would sleep into silence. away from home for so many years, I began to miss the blacksmith used to like the song, it is the north, the Mongolian Plateau grass feeding out of pure music, not contaminated by secular scores.
seem scattered, it seems that some incoherently, but the rhythm in this seemingly messy, I can feel the impact of a text music , that emotion is scattered, nostalgic, singing, the North, as well as life.
grandmother lived in the big yard, there are many tall plane trees. tropical rain knocked the leaves of plane trees, rain , the grandmother was cleaning a person slowly. then my grandmother went to those plane trees also seemed to sweep through the years after mad gradually dries up, looked at the full House of leaves, cold wind blows, dry pieces sprinkled on the walls pale moonlight, I had a go to waste at a loss. grandfather living alone in this noisy world, is also a very lonely lonely face. In many of the trees, I find only that love alone plane trees, and every autumn cold, gray green leaves into pieces, and that insect bites scars and bird droppings stick together, full of sad and bitter.
sadness, sorrow, this is the beginning, is all, Indus leaves, wilted in the cold autumn in the movie, with the grandmother and grandfather left alone, and my loss, are filled with such sadness. live text, so that all the objects to life, red-hot iron can screamed in the rain, the fire in the wood can be screaming, and even the leaves can also Indus full of sad and bitter.
all my love and pessimistic, are associated with this ancient text and grassland related. I Black Steed pessimistic prairie, waiting for you back in my world. You are the master of my art, you are my conscience and the health of the text, you are my soul alone, the direction of the tragic loss of the impact of dry era River Ze; you and I are in this life and death on the plateau, you are my hand in the snow and sun, when I run the dust.
become more passionate emotions, like eight chapters unison, resulting in symphonic resonance, seemingly for no apparent reason emotional release, in fact, more impact and shocking, but also leads to the question, the bold declaration, exciting.
in the vulgar world, only those instruments with me exclusive lonely. Perhaps, in true art, I also, like the blacksmith lonely, angry, helpless, but very proud. Matouqin, erhu, qin, and bamboo flute, which is a disability depends on the hearts of all to survive. Mongolian folk song, Plateau, such as soil and water feeding out of the mighty rivers ancient as the music, rolled up the green grass, and my understanding of youth and music broke. I can easily pick the number of sheep bones on the prairie or corrupt debris, wet rubbing horse hoof prints slowly to the north of the majestic foothills of the mighty river and walked. youth, old manuscripts and grasslands but bright and beautiful love, gradual wear and tear in the time of its luster, leaving our young When those do not write love songs and the odd old font, such as the Mongolian Plateau blinding bleak music tent.
I mastered the tough texture of the grasslands of heresy Pentium music, I will gradually on the past to generate a kinds of expectations. red embroidered scrolls, depicting the music and playing musical instruments is a secret between the other. dragon and phoenix patterns of old trees, that is pure and strong texture of the music. instrument design and manufacture all done by hand, strings, bow , carved, color, rough hands that have left and ambitions. instruments on the loneliness of the study or the balcony of the city, and music to gush out, a pair of trembling hands and instruments have no boundaries, and that hand with the ancient musical instrument Desire, playing the desolate Love stories, soothing the body and the indifference of disability soul.
can I say? tough in the north, the open prairie, came into the music, accompanied by old trees and producers hands, accompanied by the bleak and empty in the heart, with the words gushing out at any time, in front of them, our so-called music, called the youth, have become fragile and vulnerable, become flashy and pale, or worthless.
What is art? please tell me.
What is youth? please answer me. If you can not, please tell me, what is betrayed and sad. just please do not silent, if You can not understand my question.
twenty years I used the time to understand you, my life and my road hesitant and cynical time. I Huaibei Plain in the village, waiting for your arrival, your voice training.
That is the power of music, I was not flooded temperate cynical mood, let me calm down, to forget the cruelty of literature and art of hypocrisy. grass taste of the music gradually changed my personality and thinking biased, so that I can get rid of the limitations of common sense, try to use their own language to express the significance of youth. that's concerned about your personal pain, you can not understand it, it can not accept your influence.
question ! impact! strongly to the aggressive questioning, the power of words, expression to the peak, the understanding of music on the youth to explore, both for the grass taste of music has changed and even affected the literature cruel and art of hypocrisy. < br> I remember I used to follow the music teacher to study music, we talked about Mongolia, about those immortal souls on the prairie and horses.
I quietly living in a village on the plains. I always think that has been missing blacksmith, Mongols, strong, robust Mongols. will strike while the iron horse will drink will be making musical instruments of the Mongolian men.
ancient nomadic song, always so low, full of mystery, do not give you endless absolute power and moved. I remember in the moonlight through the dense woods and black come to my bitter cold of the world. such as the Mongolian long song. stretches endless power can never be burned like the weeds in the dead of winter after a cold re in my world to life. It sounds like a valley with the ancient bone, flint knives born percussion music, striking sparks flashing, light your Artemisia dry pastures, wandering and migration in the emotional, not stop for all your wandering forever. that primitive, isolated, scattered notes in the grasslands of the turmoil in the combination of magic and the dismantling of all, everything is in accordance with the mysticism of the aesthetic approach to complete. in a time of great turmoil and catastrophe in the notes left behind recorded the significance of your new identity and ethnic culture. there is no obvious trend of law and the only blood in the disturbing elements and the seasons, the blood of the fierce dedication of the partial letter. I believe this Enlightenment should be the ignorance, hypocrisy in the world of truth. They are the arid grasslands, desert oasis, to give you breathing space and room. in the dirty world, it is a lofty spoke of a strong and vibrant practice philosophy. Those old age, in the whole world, nomadic, semi-nomadic non-stop migration, bleeding, I do not know destiny, and tireless. beautiful music full of pious religious awareness and spiritual teachings, but also rebuilding the destruction of the civilized world. This music can not use modern instruments in the guitar or bass to complete the piano can not, including the Masters and the elite, it only can use faith to complete. nomad's exclusion of secular musical instruments, alert and keen to look for it in this world of aficionados, but also looking forward to the destroyer and its opponents. They finally coming to an end or a wandering life, an end to a history of wandering. to learn the essence of this music must be of the heart, hard work indomitable spirit of the practice of it. Mongolia, Nigeria, Europa, Nigro - Australian race, all kinds of music in the process of civilization constantly mixed, continuous infiltration of new factors and new spirit. The new components continue to guide to enjoy the aesthetic and awareness of those with the secular world of tightly wound, continued differentiation, condensation. I am talking about love and art of language in this dense flow has been verified and the Half Blood where you and I finally boundless grassland in the north where the vast sea of bitterness know each other meet. from grassland to desert, from the golden reed to the edge is no longer, numbness of the machete, separated by a brutal, painful sense of text. so I do not want the simple text as literature, it should be able to I feel for the soothing music criticism and Mongolian songs linked together. I do not like pessimistic, gloomy words, I like to breathe in the sun, the air of freedom, so that sacred music to drown me.
or shock for the language of the opinion Anhui week, the understanding of music and dedication to the pursuit of the firm to explore the text, he is clear, the sun, or even feel the momentum honest, he pain and strong, and strength of the original, straight all comes down to the white and faith together, as the true origin of music and life, his thinking is that broad, that I can not bear, and fully understand, and as such, I will read again and again, again and again to understand the spirit of cohesion, a force to face the shock of the original declaration.
dark night water, such as stagnant blood. DiorSkin text, muddy pen and ink, ashes, like the arts and philosophy, are not as ancient Mongolian song a fresh note. so vivid art, and now I can only scars from the civil society to go looking for old carpenter, in his sixties days of youth throughout the digging. the kind of art has a strange intensity and tenacity, in the severe mental torture and physical destruction, the seeds of the same heritage as the field stayed on, living in the depths of his wound with flesh and blood. nightmare with the devil, like banners and slogans of revolutionary all-pervasive, the heart was finally filled with black gore, crazy's balderdash and storm into the struggle. living seed tearing up a picture of like a virus, like the mask, the same as the raging floods, destructive. the art of red blood, poisonous seeds of the rebellious nature of thought, interpretation of the tragedy and heroic life. the kind of fighting and bloody, in today's crowd has been rare. in full of all kinds of false, fraudulent, shameless flirtation with the times, I have hard to find a way of life legend. life is more deposition time under the impact of the dark color, people in the face of reality to become ignorant and brutal, the lack of real understanding of love and hate.
of thinking you understand? You can read these words behind the bloody Thoughts? If you can not, even if you leave, if you can, even if only understand part of your past you would do a radical change ideas? in front of this text, you have the number of sick Ganna up to express their thoughts?
I study in the country simple, plain, for idealists like me. I have a lot of manual labor and farming in the interpretation of all those I have learned the knowledge and utilitarianism and heroes farce. idealistic dying curse was originally just a moment and resentment, but it more than the plane trees in the yard this summer and winter storms with a patient nature.
study there is an old carpenter chipped chair. carpenter play system chairs are strong and tough, as if that is consistent when he was young man with principles. Erzhi incomplete because the body suffered beatings and tree rings of aging, so I used the value and strength of the text of the doubt and confusion disruptive. When He struggled crazy crawling crowd shouting, crying, praying, I felt a pressure and mental torture and fear. Every day he sat alone under the walls, such as despair of Christ, his art and the principles have been crucified on the cross in the beautiful, the expense of their freedom. in the face of harsh reality, he only insisted that their pride and discontent, and then looked at the time and day, the terrible disease bacteria themselves into a cowardly way torture. In the art of popular cynicism, he was as calm as stagnant water, use silence to express their contempt and disdain. Shanxi shadow of a carpenter who know, and I often talk about Shanxi Jin business, trading and banking house thing, Jinzhong Yangko, those folk arts, and shadow play in life, Dan, Jing, at the end, the ugly variety of roles, a character asks, there are dramatic color on the mask, the generation of loyalty and treacherous are painted by the color of people's faces, he had many years of wandering in Shanxi, Inner Mongolia, said from Shanxi, he always stopped working and my job description carefully. Ancient History of the Yao, Shun and Yu , are taking the capital of Shanxi were built in the southern Binh Duong, and Yasumura Po Osaka. where he often said, but I do not remember things associated with it, just looking at a lively wood, reveling in the wood fragrance. He hit a lot of the old uniform patches, throw in a wooden box on the hospital wall. He sometimes, like the blacksmith and the singing of Mongolia, but I actually do not understand that content and meaning of music. then just remember That shadow in the puppet's exquisite, delicate, full of effort setting. exquisite puppet monster like the puppet was being detained, and the old carpenter with the struggle, in the agony of living difficult. gloomy walls, desolate Song stressed that the hearts of disability, can no longer use the palms heal the damaged inner desolation and ruin. the blood of young and old carpenter has been dry in the years to come, and he was just one corner of the same children who, history will not have mercy on His art will not have mercy on his tragic fate.
front of the original craft, life is in front of the original, and all are not opposite and prevalent custom, real art, but it was in the middle of real life to the fate of the ups and downs, the underlying struggle of life crowd, they are real living people, their art more vitality.
I was there the walls covered with ivy to sing with him under the face of years of precipitation, surface The walls of indifference, silence may need is more courage than the roar. walls near some of apricot and mulberry trees, but also small plane trees. I alone in the evening walk along the long wall a long time, the spring bears flowers seeds on the walls bright flowers, powdery white, blue, ocher, and I am familiar with morning glory and loofah, died as the fire burst the text and the ideal can only be silent with this wall alone on the TV, and that the fortunes of flowers and worn in the eye. I saw the face expressionless against the wall, often old carpenter daze, cloudy and cold eyes full of tears of light. light stimulation of his eyes so that he shed tears, but more determined his skillful carving flowers, flowers on wood that has a faint fragrance. agony and scars can only increase his patience and let him aloof from the mental stagnation flame, I burnt the walls and ink blue. carpenter's hand does not know how many kinds of contact with trees, it is familiar with water-based, thin but solid bone often dreams of the sun hit my fragile heart, let me face the walls and trees into a dense shadow slumped after the intense emotion. wild flowers on the wall to open it again and again thanks, and the wind to another flash in the past, that dust is also a little bit of gray hair fell in the old carpenter . The wind also has a wild, continuous carpenter astringent sting the eyes, that sophisticated technology and the art of crashing smashing decadent, and abrasion of the. carpenter, a young man riding on the grassland in the north of the photos I retained, silver saddle and black shepherd's whip in the air still seemed to echo issued decades ago. confused, I always worry that one day will be drained wall, all his hard work and operate all buried. That bleak TUNE vigorous, intense high-spirited, tight strings, bang shot dead in the fire show in the fond dreams of the setting sun to clear the distant sound the same.
what is really sad? what is the real art? thousands For centuries, how many true art lost in the long river, the trail disappeared no one is interested, while those who inherited stubborn, we gave much attention? Or, they do not need such attention, for their own life to exist and develop naturally. but the face of status quo, in addition to the feeling of excitement, does what you can really stay?
1999 years, when I went to Xi'an, the terracotta warriors and horses buried under the Loess Plateau to find. Plateau there is a mother river, wash my bones in the root cause of superficial and blood. indistinct fiery torrent with the Yellow River, about conflict, drag the sediment and dirty, and anger swept away howling sound. Yellow Mixed water feeding, the rust color as the wild sorghum, sorghum thick neck, all in the north of the momentum in the shadow of this river. I stand alone on the plateau, a small tree, watching the river transpiration of smoke, heat short The text in the river erosion, the impact, records, passes into the bottom. sheep cheese side by side strapped intertwined sheepskin rafts made of wooden poles, floating in the polluted Yellow River water. Yellow, ropes,
in the legend originated in the era of faith and integrity, the Loess Plateau and the northern land and water should be and the structure of Chinese characters, in the arts of killing and crimes, retain and pay homage to the mournful silence. wild sorghum, romantic history books, black sauce in this was resolved in the mother river, the heavy chain of Chinese language and sonorous strokes, would crush the soul of a false countenance, to comfort simple, healthy, and keep my life in the gallant Chinese characters, the art of conscience.
in the north of the vast skies, luxuriant flowing momentum in the Yellow River, in the face of the forces that simple and honest nature, all speech and writing, have lost the power of expression, which is in the north, in the true real gun knife harsh environment of natural selection, this what kind of text to portrait?
I think of zither, a musical instrument with bone and personality. That Yinzhi sound of the instrument and playing the World's disposition phase for increase the generosity of many sad history of the amazing variation. deep anger of the music volume as the Yellow River to the idealism of perfidious traitor, in the paranoid nervous temperament, find a way to vent. corrupt system to play the piano and wood, the carpenter's hands modulation of the strings, in the chaos as the sound solemn, low and even. soul and body entanglement test of the performer best efforts, skills and patience. boiling Cho brute force with a plateau to the valley stretch, silk strings and go by the plain into rich, full steam ahead, badly, Ruqirusu, the same stormy sea. shame those who are separated by a layer of music and pessimism of scrap paper and buried in the ground are in the wilderness, Guqin, that sound exactly how much evil and has a dark , hatred, and how much disappointment and anger, only this Mangcang river to answer me. water such as smoke, like stretch in the middle of your words my sorrow to each other, have no need to hide his shallow and hypocritical.
as a declaration, the text to the challenges and pessimism prevalent custom declaration.
Shanxi passed that year, I think the old carpenter and I said to those of the past. I was removed for a week, and slowly over at least five Buddhist Temple in the Tang Dynasty murals, Five large murals smooth Cloud Hospital, Cao Bang Song opened Temple murals. age-old frescoes and towering wooden pagoda, I vaguely meaningful sense to the words of the old carpenter. That should be the ultimate art of what? is a banking house, or Buddhist mountains? Maybe not, when a person is really desperate, then first of all to survive is to learn to fight with anger. Ruicheng Yongle Palace was also seen Lou Rui Yuan Dynasty tomb murals and Northern murals, vivid characters and naive, simple, rough shape The gaps are where the insects that devoured, leaving only empty temple, an empty mountain, a river flowing throughout the year.
the ultimate what is art? here, I stay for a long time, or not thinking things outside the text, what can really come down? our pursuit of the arts, should have been on the side? leisurely to exist in nature? then we are talking about the fashion house of art , thought, literature is what?
However, I finally found a secular music outside.
in that benevolence, righteousness, wisdom and trust in the Central Plains bud and lay the foundation of civilization, when Chu during the Spring and Autumn a stunning musical instrument first appeared, it is an ancient harp. This instrument playing techniques and production methods in the experience of the lost, the re-discovered. the ancient texture of time bathed in the hard mahogany instrument , it Fauvism painters and impressionistic music has a different nature. elongated shape of the resonance box the same standard as the pipa, the use of bamboo pizzicato or blow-outs, this is the legendary harp lying. In addition to a species is known as vertical harp, this ancient sound of the instrument string Ming strange, and I know the bone flute, xun, Ocarina style and origin are not all the way. That elegant instruments in Central Asia through Persia and India, and natural gas with a hybrid of wild rebellion, the deep, deep and ancient beauty of the desolate Western implanted blood, but was translated into the modern civilized people, Tang harp hospital saved more charm defective. However, as the ancient Japanese ink painting buildings and there is a God of the instrument together, like the temple that the monks of the Golden Pavilion, that has a neurotic desire arson.
read dictionaries, the English know in the gorgeous. piano body are often decorated with a phoenix head, is that purgatory of Garuda, Phoenix. This directly changes the shape of the secret of this instrument means to enhance the performance of those arrogant and unruly disposition of the blood gas Yong . I can not conclude that for this instrument and the tragic sacrifice of warriors, that US limitations and glory. As the head of the Phoenix this piano, bright colors, reveals a mournful eyes, coldness in the pan in the middle of the night air, difficult Stop reading, and the rest is music to listen to this long absence. I first harp Phoenix fascinated, introduced from India in the Central Plains during the Eastern Jin Dynasty, the Ming Dynasty after the lost. Now substitute Yan column harp music but a rough division of the game . that Phoenix did not see the grief and the beauty is, it only belongs to the legend.
the same as the loss of the harp, the music of the essence and origin, a trace of coldness and Zheng Ming those things in the flow of time and space, the gradual be forgotten.
Grain Rain, dew, and then the sudden arrival of winter. for a long time between country and city from his study is not the question I think about most. in the courtyard of the plane trees sucking dismal rain, Woods leaves to fight in my face. I just lost the phoenix of the first harp was puzzled and fascinated. the old carpenter's song of sadness and Mongolian men can not solve my maze. their lives wandering, exile, with craft live down, but not form a family. old carpenter had been almost reached the end of life, and in that block walls under the lonely lonely figure it will appear in my mind. Let me think of him who carved wood, the impregnation wood of his character, it seems there is such a phoenix wood. It is a disease of old carpenter finished his art, it is a ancient phoenix, live in the desolate corner of human indifference, lurking in the weeds spread wall at the foot of a wounded bird Cry abjection, howling, howling, bleeding. spring, water flowers, gray fence and ivy covered up its light, the old carpenter's eyes to see the world has been blurred . when he was young and patches worn sandals clothes, dropped in a dark room, sweet and sour flavor of the wood box issue, in addition to oil-paper, a pair of blue gray cloth, carved red wood, dirty calendar, mothballs smell, there is a disappointing repression and obscure.
old and desolate, dilapidated and profound.
my chance an opportunity to go back to my home, my grandmother live in the big yard also felt that depression and melancholy, so I looked at the plane trees in the yard, think of a different life with different fates, I have an idea of roots. That proud legend of the Phoenix struggled in the southern rain the noble head would not hang down, and I face the full House of desolation and the plane trees of leaves could not help crying. grandmother was very good at some of needlework, and her in the corner of rooms left unfinished paper cutting and the use of thick thick cloth, shoes made with needle and thread. often thought, if I can have half of the beloved grandmother, the perseverance and the ability to face hardship and courage, then my art, my words would be like this in the desolate southern rain plane trees grow up as strong, the earth can be lonely alone on their own strength to resist side, you can for themselves and for my art to add new life force. Grandma embroidery and needlework of those goods, cut with scissors Phoenix, there is that blue plaid plain clothes, rain days, they are quiet wooden box lying on wet rainy day, just waiting for me back here one day, meet with them. I keep a person in the vast world walking, keep searching, and my neighbors old carpenter, as well as before that Mongolia, like men, need to face alone, to meet life in the various injuries and hypocrisy. They drift in the wider world, through countless villages, rain and the world experienced the joys and sorrows too. eventually come back to this age-old may have been blurred under the walls. the old carpenter's song I almost forgot, but still seems to remember the melody, deep, loop, sound , like the big waves sway in a small canoe.
low, Thanks for the Memories, appearance of personnel, has been reached within the heart, the feeling of heavy everywhere.
the music are what life is all about. Only one of these sounds can sadness, anger, frustration, expressed most vividly. traveled so many places, my shoulder covered with mud and dust, all the way to dusty, this music is my only soul mate, is my only care in extreme boredom . bitter and fragrant soil, the days of my life was passing only thing you can trust, give me a new vigor and contempt, hatred, hostility to resolve the brave heart. music fishes, hard against the darkness, and nothing against, in the delivery of ink in the warmth out of the seeds of compassion. string of clear crisp with bamboo, a rain of feminine and bitter hate.
I suddenly weather in the southern of the Yin Yu, felt the sudden death of his soul. desolation the world in ruins by that guided the flow of the river north of the far distance. Maybe I did not understand the origins of the music world, and I do know is only aware of one corner of the world some of the dust, some faint light. By these lights, I can not describe to you the complete birth of the music and history. idyll as perennial weeds, like a flood, can not be eliminated, deeply rooted in my emotional world, my life in the continent. It kept burning and I live in the world of break, and never compromise. but it is not limited to exchange ideas ....