Welcome to my website!Check out wiby.org
To be frank, I don't really know. Perhaps I wasn't even expecting visitors in the first place.
though I was kinda interested in old Internet stuff, which is quite different from the modern environment
Being of some purer substance, evoking a sense of nostalgia about the time when we cared less and hadn't yet got tired of life
A place where people share their simplest love of life, regardless of opinions
My ideas, creations and random thoughts are scattered everywhere in my life,
in notebooks, computer files, smart phone memos and pieces of maths papers.
Perhaps a website can sum this all up, keeping a record of my mind evolving through the days.
and even perhaps offering small delights to you through my works
My buddies in middle school(which happened a considerable time ago) used to talk in a weird way
and as my last name, which is "*&$#%", sounded like "Ben" in their tongue
they started calling me things like "big ben" and I genuinely liked them. Felt really intimate.
Then one day on chemistry class, there came up the benzene(in my language the word sounds exactly the same as Ben)
A random association was thus made
and with me considering cosmic as sth randomly cool
it just came into being. Just like that.
I live in a boring residential area in Shanghai, and I've been living here for the past 17 years of my life.
all around there's just rows and rows of tall apartment buildings deacades of age, crowded or empty or under construction
It's quite close to suburban farmlands, yet not far away from a riverside commercial center with a mall that I hardly visit
It is a place without a history, only the present, plus a little bit of unconvincingly promised future
I have been an incapable, incompetent, unindependent adolescent who naively dreamed of not choosing life and had no choice but to study hard.
I'm planning to be a less incapable, less incompetent, and independent human being who naively dreams of not choosing life and have no choice but to work hard.
Of course, I write things on my website. As I am right now, chilling at home on a schoolday thanks to that godsend fever XD.
I like to wander around on my bike (It's not very pro, but at least better than those filthy, clunky and snaily shared bikes)
I like to feel wind in my hair, or simply the fun of exploring new areas of town and getting to mind-map the vicinity of my home
I like films of any time in history and many genres. I would watch one or two random films every weekend
my favourites include Bladerunner, Trainspotting, Drive, the Deer Hunter, and so on...
Sometimes, when I'm too tired to play videogames or simply sick of it, a film would be really nice
Sometimes I find beauty worth appreciating in my life, and elsetime don't. But I always knew it's there.
I used to write a lot about that kind of beauty, back in the time when I was cuddling in my childhood peacefulness
I think I had been a bit spoiled, given too much love. I wasn't hanging out with guys or simply going out somewhere at all
And I would go inside of myself, instead of out there. I read a lot. I sought words from the prototype of my immature mind.
Things moved on, in that same monotony; and I lived, in an unchanging kind of mindset, a naivety that we had all gone through.
Then, at some point, that insight seemed shallow to me. And now I see the world as a huge chaotic bubble, after all I've experienced.
Who knows which one's better, the past or the present? What I only know is that we're not given a choice
so why even talk about it in the first place?
...
uhh let's just get back from there.
I write a lot these days, a lot more than before. Mostly it's during the night sessions, done with an exausted and desperate soul.
I would write about anything, anything that pops up in my own wit, so as to keep convincing myself that I'm at least holding that final stand
The words have become hard and harsh.
when I actually take my own thoughts into sight, I feel alive. More alive than watching a film, than playing games and gulping lunch.
I feel alive when I ceate. Guess that's got something to do with self-consciousness
Today I didn't go to class in the usual way. Not staright down the corridor, a gruesome and sleepy walk from the dorm to the class building.
Today the sun was not present. Everything was hiding itself, as a mist had quietly fallen the previous night,
thick and milky like an impenetrable glue, trying to hide over a disturbing truth
I looked up. The trees are black tentacles rigid sprawling into a silent sky
Giant construction site standing in the distance, a vague colossal shape delivering a message
of power that cannot be violated or comprehended
I walked alone, along the past. I don't know where I'm heading.
feelings of regret, like a wave of unconsciousness
was brushing over the tops of dawn
I don't feel the need to be understood, because the world somehow hears my thoughts.
I run. I feel my body screaming.
It screams for life. It wants to find something to hold on to
a false belief, a conviction that's too vacant to be true
they won't help.
I lift tired eyes from the sinking desk
Thank god class was over. Like in a stampede, locusts on the run
The room was emptied; I was alone.
I walked to the track. I started running
Under a smoothly grey and oppressing sky. Something was burning in my body.
I felt a hunger. One that far exceeds the hunger for food.
I run alone after class under a grey evening sky and thought about
Yes you are absolutely right. I write a lot of pointless combinations of dry words and write about the same feelings over and over again.
I just feel that urge to emit sth, I cannot understand that urge. Mabe I've been taking in too many things, I'm breathing for air under that
heavy air all around me. I succumbed to a way of life, to a decision that I had no hpe in whatsoever.
In the inevitable march towards a terminal of feelings. I have to scream to remember those feelings.
Eyed from the corner of the mountain
crisp morning air in mist and pines, alone among rocks
I take aim, ready for the shot
I've done this many times before.
He turned and looked back. I could not read what he's trying to say
in those mysterious yet innocent eyes
There is some kind of recognition
like a truth, and a sad story
story
Suddenly I felt very very scared
and very blank
shame gushed like heat waves on the mind's shoreline
as if something has changed
it's just hard to remember
And I will never feel like taking that shot
ever again.
He was walking on what seemed to be the top of a building, but a long walkway, concrete, with comcrete buildings no one has access to on one
side and air on the other. He walked past a group of masked guys sitting precariously on the railing against a city faraway beneath, heads under
black mysterious covering, no facial details, speaking German.
It was Franfurt. And he walked past them, trying to looked calm and cool while he was not.
On the street below he met his friend, whom he did not remember. They walked past a tree blossoming with white, in a fine drizzle, and they
said something about it, but this he couldn't remember either. Then they continued walking and sat down at a streetside cafe, where a lot of
Chinese dressedChinese dressed in 70s style clothing ate there in poverty. The friend had an argument with him, and kept asking the Chinese around them
about buying something for him as a graduation gift. I wouldn't give him anything, knowing that he's gonna lose it just as he lost all his
money. He somehow tossed me into the river by the cafe. I stood beside the river, watching myself drown in the mirky green water. It was a
quiet and unpleasant process. And I couldn't feel anything for him. How could I anyway..
I was a US bomber pilot, above Franfurt. Radio message came in, chattering like sand between your fingers and you feel them. The bomber was
fast approaching a tall concrete building. We were so low that the bottom of the plane almost brushed its surface. And then the soviet commanding
headquarters was in flames and rubbles. A hexagon sun shone through the cockpit, but hidden by grey, boring clouds. We were met with no resistance.
Again, just before nightfall, I went into the woods, this time with my friend. It was chilly and there was a lot of mist, we couldn't see over about 30 metres.The blindness ate at our courage.
But you don't have to worry, for no person would ever come out of that substance. No old man with walkstick, no outlaw stalking the dense bushes. The floor was soft with twigs and moss.
Leaves lay there rotting on their own. We laughed, talked about the caves and waaves in the short time back under. I don't care if it is getting dark. I don't know.
It's not the mysteriousness that inspires me. I am not drawn to some unknown seccrets to be found by a random passerby. I am not here for a purpose.
I like it when things remind me of other things, but so vague, a little bit sad. Don't know where we're going, but that's it, and I enjoy the walk.
I took a step forward. They greeted me with a flashing spark. light as feather, rose into the blue cloudless sky, then slowly descends. Blending with the smoke in a mess. That urge to nausea
An intolerable pain in the concussion I dlew into, a milky yellow square floating above the world like a symbol. It's a shame that I do not believe in any kind if religion. Otherwise I'd take that
as an omen, a scary truth that was shortly revealed before something trally important happens. It' always like that, in myths and stories. I never took them seriously. Not nearly enough.
There is a dark shade around the outline of that square. I gave out and went in full focus to the thing. I couldnt hear nor see anything. There was just dirt on the ground, and the square in the sky.
I wish I had more time to admire that thing. I wish it's not coming over me. But I feel it spreading, like a virus, that eats on conciousness.