The original text, origin and deep meaning of "Nothing is better than Caesar"

This sentence is engraved on a sword, and the owner of the sword is Caesar? Borgia was born in 1476 and died in 1507. Wind, roses and poison. This noble son from an ancient aristocratic family in Spain was known as "the most beautiful man in Europe" at that time, because he was disfigured by syphilis and put on a mask. After the mask, he looked at the time when he was born great and strange with cold eyes. Renaissance, snobbish vulgarity and powerful bourgeoisie awakened the Greek gods and began their own history of binding the world with money. Others stumbled with swords, cut through the transparent film that God covered the world, and started their own independent history, built on a nihilistic real ruin, including Caesar? Borgia, the famous Duke of valentino. Caesar? Borgia, the illegitimate son of Pope Alexander VI, who is famous for playing politics and indulging in debauchery in history, is a graduate of Pisa University and has studied law, anthropology and theology. He was sealed in Louis XII of France and gained the territory of valentino. He is the cousin of French Louis XII of France the Great and the brother-in-law of King Nabal. Before his short life at the age of 32, he became the master and ruler of most parts of Italy. He is an outstanding archetype of monarch highly respected in Machiavelli's The Prince. His sister Lydia is the most famous and talented beauty at the end of 15, and she is also notorious. She was openly called "the wife, daughter and daughter-in-law of the Pope" by Italians, while Caesar? Borgia killed another brother Giovanni for this sister who made him fall in love, because his brother was also a rival in love. 1498, Giovanni was stabbed six times, and his body was taken out of the Tiber River. Before he died, he might not be worried that he would be like Lucretia's husbands. Killing my brother for women, killing my brother for power, because he is the flag officer and the highest military attache of the Vatican, and his eldest brother Duke Gandia, like lords, bishops and opponents, has not escaped his sword. Only that colorful, luxurious and elegant era can produce this poisonous duke; Only this Caesar can wash away the era of bloody conspiracy, ambitious talent, courage, passion and ruthlessness in which he lived, like a poisonous and dazzling evil flower, which was born in the clear and fresh air and changed the night in Italian cities with fragrance and poison. Educated, he cruelly and meanly trampled all bookish and feminine civilizations and virtues under his feet, making them make the truest sound. 1503, Caesar and his father were poisoned at the same time. His father died and he survived by luck. What followed was that all the great achievements just established collapsed in an instant. The Duke of valentino lost his territory, abandoned his relatives and was forced to seek asylum from his brother-in-law, King Nabal. I won't say anything else. I said that in the dark swamp of 1507, those spears were Caesar's? Borgia's stab in the back can only say that the world has turned to that moment and can no longer accommodate him. He must die. The above is my clumsy description of Duke valentino's life. Listening to intense music while writing, I suddenly flashed a mobile phone advertisement I saw when I was a child. The picture shows a handsome young man with a slight moustache and a lonely look. Among many boys and girls, the voiceover in the background is Cao Cao's poem "It's hard to go to Japan if the morning dew shows". I know I'll never see that advertisement again. It disappeared into the cola, fast food and condoms produced by the assembly line. I remember another advertisement that was also impressive. Two men looked at each other with guns, and at the same time a beautiful woman's tears flowed down with the dew of a rose. I also know that advertisements will not be seen any more, and will be drowned in the stench of the same fashion and lies. Countless lonely nights, I waited for the empty sky and quiet air in my hometown, because there was no Caesar? Borgia's world has no language, yes, it is full of noisy modernity. Too much sex is like a plastic product, engraved with symbols of discipline and administration. During the day, he kneels under lies and hard work. Many characters have disappeared, even if they left the impression as if nothing had happened, they were formatted and raped beyond recognition by various theories advocating flattening and unification, becoming another symbol or fashion, and being assembled into a flat consumerism era by ordinary people. The wheel tracks left by the car crossing the expressway are like the scars on Gabriele Dannunzio's forehead, and an Italian was almost killed in a duel with others because of jealousy. It is the charm of the Duke of Valentino, which will be more and more blurred and covered by the warm and happy noise of the modern KFC chain fried chicken shop. Like most people, I eat fast-food packaged food full of fashion lies, bury my head in the neat and narrow booth of the corresponding industrial assembly line workshop, and eat chicken wings and thighs from the same neat and orderly narrow booth, accompanied by a simple and relaxed feeling and skin-only loneliness. I am happy, when I am anesthetized, I am lonely, when I stand alone on a high place and light a cigarette. The past river turned around, stopped in my body and disappeared, which made me realize how ridiculous it is to trace the so-called personal history after many years. What does your personal life history mean? Global density

Railways, highways, flight routes, countless cycles of day and night, autumn and winter, I live in a corner, a drop in the ocean, quietly chewing the beef offal on the corner, holding an apple peeler at ordinary times, and watching the digital picture of blood spurting when a highly simulated sword cuts into flesh and blood in the cinema. Better than Caesar being nothing. This sentence is very good. Many things are actually not contradictory, and many specious phenomena are covered up by the poison of lies. Reality has become so realistic by various arguments and theoretical definitions of boiled water. It is the world we define for cowardice and self-deception, as well as its reflection, habitual acceptance and ulterior motives. The bloody killing in the bright spring will reveal the true colors of the world. I don't want to think too much. I slept soundly every night and went to work the next morning. But, isn't it? Absurd moments and places are everywhere, like the vast lake drowning us, making us like floating puppets, reading beautifully decorated magazines and surfing the Internet after dinner. One day on 20 1 1, I wrote these words, which are impetuous thoughts and music tossed and turned in earplugs. There is no Lucretia in the world, only countless replaceable women and their healthy and plump bodies are powerless animal thoughts and passions, crisscrossing with coins in the bright and dark subway. I'm wearing tights and covered in scars from many encounters with various women. When it rains, I feel dull pain, emotional bondage and hatred, and then I leave a scar. But when I am tired, I will have a feeling of joy, because they also have scars, and they will suffer when it rains. Neither their husbands nor their lovers can change this fact. Better than Caesar being nothing.

History is written by winners, and the historical birthmark engraved on us is a mixture of blood, cruelty and conspiracy. When we put our inner lens into our body, we will see countless faces distorted by smiles in swords and poison, which are bodies alternately folded in dark castles and quiet urban sewers. When the beam of matter is concentrated in a certain place, we will see the climax of carnival and loneliness, accompanied by the screams of all plants in the disappearing African jungle. Plants also feel pain, but this cry is inaudible to other creatures. Let's take the sex organs out of a woman's legs and sit quietly in a corner and think about it. One of the paradoxes is that human beings can't eat inorganic substances to maintain their lives. They must escape the fact of bloody killing between the illusions of food with great hypocrisy, and they must make up all kinds of myths and legends and traditional history to deceive themselves in order to sleep peacefully. The whole earth civilization, no matter what color, is the murderer's self-recording and decoration. All philosophy, history, science, art and its countless dead or living files are crimes. We must face up to the fact that this kind of crime is the most basic natural behavior, and human beings cannot survive without committing crimes. It is a basic fact that lions in nature completely follow the inevitable blind laws of nature and will not consciously refrain from killing in order to maintain ecological balance and survive better; Beyond nature, human beings will gracefully maintain the ecological balance of killing and rape with modern concepts, computing machines and so-called civilization. When we see women's elegant skirts, we should not forget the dagger pinned to the outside of their thighs. This dagger is a sharp weapon made by human beings. The difference with men is that they will not parade in the street with guns like men, but they will be labeled with the words of justice and attached with various historical and cultural explanations. This dagger was, is and will be stained with the blood of animals and humans. Better than Caesar being nothing. In modern streets, restaurants and cinemas is Caesar? The residue of Borgia's sword whistling is the shadow of several cheese spears on his back, which is vivid but extremely unreal. The rest is the Cantarela poison hidden in the ring worn by poor Lucrezia, which is not true and makes us weak. If it weren't for Caesar, it would be better to be nothing. This prototype disappeared in a large number of archives after the Renaissance. With with fire and sword, lust and killing, fame and immortality were abandoned, thrown into the bathroom of modern gentle and fragrant nephrite brothel, and washed clean with a gallon of water. I have been lost in books and thinking, wandering on the edge of many cities and villages, like a lonely beast in the jungle, passing through all kinds of symbols of sexual violence, which are absurd and wrong. In the open space of a university college in the south, I once saw a sexy and beautiful girl. Her long legs were exposed to the shorts and exploded, and she was exposed to the scorching sun in the south, riding a scooter toy car that I had never seen before. It was a hearty laugh and a clear sound of fuel burning. She was followed by a young man riding the same fashionable machine. I watched it for a long time and calmly told myself that the sword, poison and loneliness in the eyes of this female college student will be swept away by the handsome young man who may become her husband behind her in the near future, becoming a warm body in bed and a numb machine in the kitchen. All this is nothing, it doesn't matter, there should even be a vicious pleasure, who cares? The stench of daily life rotting in the swamp, the smell of mediocre henhouses, and the body of Caesar who died in the swamp have long since disappeared. Without Duke valentino's world, what I hear in my ear is sad, sharp and hoarse music, and I think of countless crazy nights in bars and crazy heads. Better than Caesar being nothing. I think, if necessary, Caesar? Borgia will kill his father, for power, for fame, for love for his sister, and for a supernatural immortal soul that is unstable behind a cold mask. He will hang Alexander VI's head on a picket in the gloomy Italian city square. His father and his family were set in the Renaissance, which may be the most unprecedented love-hate relationship in the world, and it is the ultimate. Better than Caesar being nothing. I want to write this article as a turbulent movement. In the narrow and polluted sky in the south, in the cell of my hometown where my ancestors echoed, reason is powerless and indifferent, and can only be expressed reluctantly with these messy words. The world and daily life, the eyes of paranoia and schizophrenia, or beyond or humble, swept through subtle traps and sweet lies, and the stench of rotting sewers in the block came to my face. This was an ordinary funeral that lost courage. Just do it hastily and say a few crocodile words. Intimate feelings, sensual satisfaction, timid vanity, art and drugs, travel and entertainment, and fashionable clothes have all become natural sinister anesthetics to eliminate fatigue, disappointment and emptiness after our daily lifeless hard work. All kinds of culture, history or culture and art are actually the echoes of the swords and shadows of every nation or individual, or the self-consolation of frustration after failure, the gorgeous and dirty music of gene struggle and the poison of mutual conspiracy. There is no other reason, so it must be admitted. But that's in the past. Now, there are only timid plots and struggles between flies and dogs. The stinking bourgeoisie controls the whole world. It used to be heroic and turned the world upside down, but it was finally destroyed by its hopeless and fatalistic philistinism. In the accidental absence, it still wants to find the so-called historical laws, futile jokes and powerless self-anesthesia, middle-class passion and adultery. There are mobs and mobs like locusts, holding various declarations or false theories full of jealousy, cowardice and claiming equality and happiness. They are actually rustic greed and corruption, and in the name of grand justice, they steal chickens and dogs to enrich themselves. Under the rock of the mob, the last nobleman disappeared into the nothingness of time. I know the decay of nobility, but this flat and powerless world full of fried chicken wings and prostitutes lacks that aristocratic spirit, Caesar? Borgia died, by a cowardly spear. Now, the intrigue is still the same, just less courage, passion and spirit. All the past history, all the history organized in my mind, all the imagination and charm are my despair and powerlessness in daydreaming. After the holiday, I will go to work orderly and orderly like everyone else, and there will be that disgusting peace, that kind of anesthesia of spring flowers, autumn moons and poems in Tang and Song Dynasties. Depressed, depressed cups always want to be broken in vain on the hard concrete floor. In the illusion woven intentionally or unintentionally, in the occasional roar and noise of the plane, I saw a figure with a sword flying by, exciting music and lust, outdated cloaks whistling in the wind and falling into the trap of language. Better than Caesar being nothing.