Mr. rainbow "Changjiang, why not the future," a text, cite the first iron mining and other industries the fact that resources can not be recycled, Changjiang status of the tertiary industry dead than alive, Chen worry about the future of tropical rain forest development, construction of nuclear power more harm than good in particular, environmental pollution and so on. Changjiang earth haze seemed lifeless, gray dust in our hair down tine, an uncertain future, life and death. Let us be more worthy of attention, the article resorted to hard to reach the general population data, not a trick like the letter, Mr. Feihong imports kaihe.
The face of Mr. rainbow text of this network, I am lost in thought. Rather I fell into the thirties of last century Chen Yinque "freedom of Road Scholars pen, scholars most is not free" by the kind of emotion in pain. Who can say all Feihong's remarks out of nothing, when he spit out the soul-stirring directly whether the "literary inquisition" of the disaster from heaven. Where is freedom of speech watershed. As a radical writer circumspect to easy devoid of spirituality and conscience. Will not follow the trend of reverse thinking piece of the Royal violate the law. How to face the society, to mobilize judge thinking, really want to see their own conscience and the emotions tied.
I recently folk songs associated with the Changjiang Group article in full bloom along the Kapok home Miao Li, drains farmland, factories and mines Yue read in a circle. Into the sea and the jubilant end of town to visit the Changjiang Tong Village has just started construction of nuclear power. Evening, is to be seen and heard like the feeling in the heart tidy, woven into warm words. Suddenly received a phone call, the person call me as a teacher, consumed twenty minutes of calls, to tell me Tong Changjiang Village location of nuclear power will move the whole village sorrow and grief that occur. One said, ancestral homes destroyed, second is the field which waste of life, and third is the future survival of his folks worrying. He seemed to be in a mood of despair, his grief at the vent, said white-haired old men in holding the tablets of their ancestors could not bear to leave the case broke down in tears when actually pouring sadness, and asked me to speak out to write articles for the people plead. The phone that far but still familiar baritone, then screen reminds me of my lifetime he has no place at several obscure document delivery.
Put down the phone. My soul for a long time has been inquired of, the activities of the delay requested by folk songs out of their own to write things. Why, their own do not know. At this point I really want someone gave me a glass of spirits, or so I turned around and become a Buddha. Since that day in the new nuclear power site bare soil line of sight, all alone I saw a small shrine. It is tough to stay there, stubbornly refused to disappear. Although old simplicity, but I see it dignified and stick. Bursts of dust raised by excavators, and I seem to see an old cattle barn by pull back a step and shouted moo not bear to leave; I seem to see an old female dog prowling in the It is left with the nose sniffing the air; hot day there is no shade of the ancient banyan tree, static drum sound frog night; the cold moonlight poetic country road, no longer hear the sound tone Danzhou Millennium ballads sung . Home away from home abandoned with imports dragged his wife was forced to leave their homes for generations, survival, Hard to Tell the people at Tong Hing difficult.
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