I wish I could stop because of a pure land, even if just for a moment to rest. I look around, when the 28th spring comes; I know a secret at last: nightingale had nothing; its fate will always be forced to look for. However, the beloved land, there is not even a needle, allowing the small claws to stand above.
The vast night, Land that It is obsessed is more dangerous than poison.
Now it must understand, if it petite heart can still faintly beating: on the ground it lost everything, maybe it has a hope, only one: its world is in the sky.
多么希望能有一片纯净的土地让我停下脚步，哪怕只做片刻的休息。我四下环顾，当这第28个春天到来之时；最终我明白了一个秘密：夜莺一无所有，它的命运就是被迫寻找。然而，亲爱的土地，你甚至没有留下一立锥之地，来让它的小爪子站在上面。
广阔的夜晚，沉醉的大地比毒药更危险。
现在它必须明白，如果它娇小的心脏仍然可以依稀跳动：在地上它失去一切，也许希望仅存，却也只有一个：它的世界在天上。
In a world where I was too radical,
another space where I threatened with extinction.
Who am I?
I was rubbish, my existence is meaningless,
so I was the treasure, more dazzling than diamond.
This is a crazy world,
all waste products are turned into gods,
all the treasures were abandoned in the shit.
在一个世界里，我过于激进，
而另一个空间我却濒临灭绝。
我是谁？
我是垃圾，我的存在毫无意义，
但却如此珍贵，比钻石更耀眼。
这是一个疯狂的世界，
所有废物皆变为神，
一切珍宝弃之如粪土。
Every day I kept thinking: those people, those people, what they really happy? They live in the real joy of the day instead of living in their own happy in mind. Why they are happy? Why they are not going to die? These walking corpses, these fly without a head, these - people!
I hate……because they destroyed me, used to be, now they are destroying me ,in the future they will treat me this way too(of course, this depends on how long will I live).I do not understand these zombies, Why they want to break my heart? It is already full of holes, each wound in turning bloodshed.
You say I'm fine, still young ... ... but I am not happy, in fact, the first time since I opened my eyes to see this dirty Earth, I has never felt that kind of thing called happiness . Others, the happiness is a cheap daily consumer goods; and for me, that is the source of the pain - I have made every effort in order to obtain the happiness in my mind, and this process of seeking happiness is my process of being destroyed, more precisely, is the process of self-destruction.
Do you believe a thing? Such as religion, Fraternity, science or love ... ... but I, my heart is empty, I do not have faith, and I do not trust anything, anything! Can you understand my feeling? I am a living person, every day I will see, feel a lot of things, but every creature, every word, every action , I doubt whether they are true, I even have often thought : I live in this space? In fact, every day when I was in the bathroom I would ask myself constantly: Now I am standing on the road？
My life is a tragedy.
"Bitterness sickens life; love heals it."
But, it is my fervent love for the world to destroy me and my world.
……They will devour the foliage and destroy the fruit, leaving you like a dry stump……
Freedom is the black Wing, with a heavy body
It wings to fly, but how difficult
Life was fresh originally, clean naked
Flying, is a world underfoot
Glory of my head is in the distance.
Dirty spirit,
Life is flashy without substance, which means nothing.
False spring, dress up my withered heart.
Hey, flowers of the season are not associated with me from now on.
Once, I have nothing except confidence; now, all I have just disappointed.
I can't justify my light of life did not go off also. Disappointment, disappointment, in my eyes only clouds.
Once I sing and dance alone, then I soak my fragile heart in cold water too long, so I have long been accustomed the taste of loneliness. But people need to look for their own goals in life constantly, in this process we need to understand and help, need to tell and listen. I use painting to express almost all my love. Now, I reach out and invite you to come here: the concert is about to begin……
Art is open, and must be open. Life needs to communicate,our heart keeps beating, is not confined in a numb body waiting for death. Those detained, subdued mind Studio, disguising them as a temple of art, is in fact a slaughterhouse, where freedoms are stifled; clean sweet springs not spewing there, leaving behind only a "fossil"; even they do not deserve to be affixed with the seals, waiting for the world's forgotten in paleontological showrooms.
Those of us, who live, should be warm enough to feel life and find the greatest significance for our existence. It is not easy, needs a lot of courage and strength. Living people, we need to prove that we are still alive, whatever form you express your existence. Humanity needs a frank exchange, for me, this form of expression of my personal, is my painting.
Is the long winter night, spring has really not far from us?
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