Not talking weekly

  Nowadays, there are TVs everywhere, mobile phones everywhere, and boring gossip everywhere. In such a world, comedian Eric Kirk plans to speak for a week, can he stick to it?

  I love to talk, and I have a lot of words.

  Over the years, I especially loved to go to the newspaper shop near my home to chat with the owner and ask him how many “Mas” chocolate bars he sold. Why do you want to change the brand to Opal Fruit? “Starburst”, it’s a pity… and so on. When I have a pause in my chat, I will talk about all kinds of nonsense, from the weather to the tomatoes I planted, and I have nothing to say.

  Because of this, I decided to take a shut-down plan and continue for a whole week! I must prove to myself that my life is not just a meaningless chat. Besides, in this way, I don’t have to answer the phone when I hear the phone ringing. Finally, you can calm down!

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Repairsmith and artist

  The two artists, all of whom were related to the repaired items, had been repairers, which made me curious; after I understood them, they let me face the figure that they were getting older and looked up for a long time.

  One is the Chinese translation of the Indonesian folk song “Mother Mom” ​​Lin Caibin. In the 1960s, when countless young people were immersed in the beautiful melodies of this song, Mr. Lin worked as a locksmith in a city in Guangdong, and he worked for 30 years.

  The other is Mr. Ren Weiyin, a Shanghai oil painter. This oil painter, who studied art in Europe and studied under Pan Tianshou and Huang Binhong in the Shanghai Academy of Fine Arts in the 1940s, also accepted the transformation in the 1960s. And a repair for 17 years. Recently, the Shanghai Art Museum held a painting exhibition by Mr. Ren Miyin. Experts believe that “an oil painter with such achievements is not much in the circle.”

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Half the power

  One day in 2006, Kevin drove home with her 14-year-old daughter Hannah. When she stopped at a green light at an intersection, Hannah saw a sign of a homeless person holding a begging. There was a Mercedes-Benz in front of their car. Hannah looked at the Mercedes and said, “Dad, if the person in front does not drive such a expensive car, the hungry person will have a meal.” Kevin listened. Said: “If our car is not so good, that person also has food to eat.”

  Such a casual sentence is often said by parents in front of children, but Hannah is in mind. She constantly thinks about what is really important to her. That night, she told her parents and brother Joseph that she had to do something different. “I don’t want to just sit at home and say ‘I wish…”, I want to do something that can change the world.”

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Fear of life

  Many people know that the Japanese writer Oe Kenjiro has a child with congenital mental retardation and is named after the light; but many people do not know that he could have no such child named Guang. Because, before the light officially came to the world, the mother had already learned what kind of child he would be during the routine pregnancy test. According to the average person’s practice, although it will be very painful, it is still willing to take the form of abortion for self-protection in order to avoid suffering more and more pain in the future. This is really nothing wrong. However, Oe Kenzaburo is not an ordinary person, they decided to give birth to this child. Because they believe that they have all the responsibilities for the birth of this life, and they have no right to escape. The behavior of Oe Kenzaburo made me horrified and made me jealous.

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A statue in the flames of war

  In Sarajevo on the Balkans, the lively streets of the past are empty, and there is no flat area in the market of Vis Misesina. The atmosphere in the sky is still shaking, the glass on the building is still fragmented, The winery of the winery is still rogue… The fire has not stopped, the shells are roaring, the tanks are rushing, the bullets are flying, maybe just in the moment when God is unconscious, anyone can be this lovely and hateful world. Throw into hell.

  
  At four o’clock in the afternoon, there was a person on the street—skinny, a messy, almost ridiculous character, a sad look. He wore a formal concert costume, holding a cello in his right hand and a plastic chair in his left hand, stepping forward step by step, his footsteps were heavy and firm. He walked to the center of the Vis Mickey market, placed the plastic chair next to a crater that was blown out by a mortar, and then stood still and closed his eyes for a minute. Next, he raised his hands, holding the cello’s neck in his left hand, and the right hand put the bow on the strings, and began to play solemnly—the notes were long and the melody was flowing…

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