Sunday, August 27, 2006

A Moody Diary in May 18th, 2006

§ The Prejudice of a Professor §


Silence, which shall always destined to be gold; yet speak isn't that "silver" in some ways. There are lots and lots of troubles just sprung out from it. Therefore, I reluctantly realized out from my personal experiences that once things happen will inscribe for life. Indignity will never let go and prove to be free. Bird soars too high and delight, yet so sundden bang should shoot it down to its grave yard. Therefore, says its tomb stone "never soar too high" craved in depth. The mourning bell is still crying till the grave moundgone dry. The cilling wind shouts but scene so peaceful; flesh went rotten, yet words craved so harsh. Shape of sharp knife on the tomb stone of the bird. So pale it look shadows my heard and the bird's pals cried silently...so silently... then no gold would be ever worth than gold of love to the life of the damned bird.
Thy body so fair
treasure like jewl
soar like eagle
so firm and pride
innocent heart like yours
hardly seemed lately
magnifivent the world
yet not even matter at all
to the treacherous hunters
bird makes nothing wrong
hunted down with nothing right
two woulds diverged
dare linked with the one shoot
bang bang bird falls
hoorays the hunter
trouble makes no point
but prejudice to the birds
how come we fuss?
such makes no wrong
the world makes no loss
killing makes no sense
yet men make go on
sympathy makes no use
protest makes no changes
our thoughts make no harm
so damaged are we like their brain
owe to the bird
prejudice never end
hatred never dies
Aye and Aye
'Tis our life
They are the knife
We shall be chopped
Chef O chef
How would you like us
be seasoning with?
For this, here I am, no matter how you like to deal with like to sentence. I am right here stripped down nude. I make no hide, make no explainations which already destined to be absolutly in vain as your command. The jury had made decide before the court begins. The wole procedure they goodyly make is the way to see how I will make my last struggles before my execution. My trembling voice and fragile breath is the starter; my twisted face and my suffering shouts in such toeture should be their dessert.

'Tis not trial; 'Tis my gallows in the disguise of the court.

Then you said sorry as you always do after my trial, I didn't said anything but "Okay!" yet cried in my mindwith"Too early seen unknow and known too late! Prodigious birth of hate it is to me, That I must love a loathed enemy, Jesus? Death, my nurse. What's this? what's this?" Shall I commit suicide like poor Julieta? You tell me! For thy prejudice make wounds so deep that merely neglectful sorry can never recover me. The horrible and fithy face of her can never cover with her fake, goody, kind-like smile, which just can make it worse. She is not as great as John Milton and never so mature than those in kindergarten. Lots of readings makes only not you be further wiser to the utmost wisdom but short-sighted bias. She shall not be croened as professor but "Predudicer" of PhD (Phoney Ducker) in "Prejudice Theory" and "Discriminatism Literature".

May jaundice with people like her. Amen.
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