German @ MindSay

It just keeps on raining, I don't think it will ever stop. This is our rainy season but I think we are cought up for the year and even over some. It's great for the plants if you can get them in the yard and plant them. We are suppose to have rain till Thursday, My husband took the week off so we could finish the 3 tier flower bed in front of the house.It will have a water feature and some shady plants. We bought some knock out roses to put along the side of the house they are Hot pink. We are going to do something with that also. We also need to plant a veggie garden but it just keeps raining.
Today we had over some very close friends of ours. We have alot of fun when we get together. Alway's trying out new recipes on each other. Tonight I cooked chicken fried steak, garlic smash potatoes, green beans with mild graveyand the fixing's, and creamy cold slaw. With some cheese buns. This was as close to Southern You can get.
For desert we had apple custer pie. And we toasted to our meal with Oliver red wind.
It was so delicious. Everything turned out perfect.
Later we played a card game name clabber. This is a german card game and anyone with german hertiage would know about it because it was a house hold everyday game in
German homes. Anywhere the girls were against the guy's and the guy's beat the stuffing out of us. We just coul not believe that they beat us so bad. Oh well next time will have to see who beats who at cards.
I Have my grandaughter over towmorrow her name is Sloane and she is a real trip.
I have so much fun with her she is 4 years old. I think towmorrow we will take her to the donut shop and let her pick out her donut and milk. She has never been there so I know she will be excited. I alway's look forward at seeing how she acts when she does something different.
Well it's getting late I will be posting about the yard work later this week when I get more pictures. I will let you know about Sloane and her antic.
Everyone have a wonderful day towmorrow.

So, I'm working on translating a particular song into ASL.

Said song originates in Germany. I can translate most of it just fine...as long as it's literal. And I have a basic understanding of some cultural distinctions, so I can understand a little more. But I've been stuck on a particular word, and I finally decide, "Okay, if I'm going to be able to sign that, I need to understand what it means."

Literally, it translates to "Deadly Sunday," or perchance, "Dead Sunday." The only thing I can possibly think of in our culture that this might be referring to is Easter Sunday. Somehow, I don't think that's it. So, I call Santas.

Santas is splendid when it comes to German. I've a friend in show choir who could blow her out of the water with it, but he's married. It's after ten, and I don't have a practice of having any contact with him outside of choir. MY cultural distinctions indicate that it would be unacceptable for me to call him now. So. Santas it shall be.

Santas is also just plain fun to talk to, because she's a hoot. The way she delivers her ideas is both brilliant and goofy. My sister is quite simply a genius. To add to this, I have a near-guarantee of learning more information on the topic than I'd even thought to ask. I approve of this.

Admittedly, her first response was unexpected.

"WHAT?!?! Why are you signing THAT?!! It's about a pedophile!!!"
I am somewhat taken aback[1]. "What?? How?? It's about a coma!"
"Spiel mit mir? No it isn't!! What possessed you to choose such a thing?!!"
"Spieluhr. The music box."
*pause* "Oh. Well, you're right. That one's a coma. That one's okay."
I sigh, relieved. "Oh, good. 'cause, I've been going over these lyrics for the past couple days straight, and I was pretty sure I would have noticed that."

Spieluhr is also a rather creepy song, to be honest. But something about it grabbed me and said, "Sign this!" when I needed to pick a song. So, er, I'm going to be rather creepy, perhaps. The story's about a kid who stops his heart, and people think he's dead, so he gets buried with his favorite toy, a music box. When the weather gets cold, the music box starts, and his heart starts, and he sings with the music box. The people hear the song, and are shocked, and go find him in time to save his life.

So, my sister explains the "Deadly Sunday" concept as being something like Funeral Sunday. Then, she starts to teach me about the German approach to dealing with death. Remind me never to die in Germany. Mourning is apparently to be a very quiet affair, and the concept of celebrating one's life (she may have only mentioned this because I frequently mention what a bash I want my friends to have in remembrance of me) would be viewed as very disrespectful of the recently departed. Oh. Okay. Cool.

My sister rocks also because she's not afraid to give me advice. After the chat on German culture, I told her I was trying to get it done in the next few days. She gives me this:

"Don't be scared, don't hesitate, and don't do that thing-um[2] where you look at the sky because you're trying to think of the next sign, because then I look up there too to try to figure out what you're looking at and I get lost because I'm not looking at your hands even though looking at your hands doesn't really help me anyway because I don't understand Sign."

I am indignant. "I'm getting better at that! I make more eye contact now!"
"Good."

She's right, of course. It's tough to understand what a blessing it is to have someone like Santas around, because she sees right through you and identifies the problems. She's also incredibly loving, loyal, and compassionate, but it's usually hard to understand that her problem-identifier is not the contrast to those attributes - it's actually a very, very straightforward expression of them. We just don't like having anyone point out what needs to be fixed.

Until Mom explained to her that this is kind of normal for other people who sign, too, she would get royally ticked off with me whenever I signed something while saying it. (It should be noted that Signscout, in contrast, gets annoyed with me whenever I say something while signing it. :P) Now, she accepts it as another one of Phirefly's weird things.

_{[1]To put it mildly. I work with kids in a few areas of my life. Child abuse is, in my book, the worst crime of all crimes.
[2]"thing-um" is not a hesitation. It's an extra syllable added to "thing" to clarify that it's not a particularly important thing. Santas and I had our own language when we were very small, and she's blended it with high English, lolspeak, German, occasional bits of Russian, other sources I can't even guess at, and made her own alterations.}

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I've given it some thought - I'm going to post Regenbogen-Striefen to my blog.

I've decided I'll post it to my Stonehall's Scrapbook on FPC too. And that can be found here.

Bear in mind - this was written around a month or so ago - there's some things in here that have changed now. I'm thinking about writing an updated version. I don't know.

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Regenbogen-Streifen

Dixie Stonehall

 

 

I am disgusting.

Filthy hands, vicarious mind… I am aroused by acts of humiliation. I am pleasured by performances of degradation. Sights of atrocity, scents of repugnancy, sounds of nausea, textures of brutality and emotions of obscenity provide me with the utmost of interest.  

 

Rot, gelb, grün, blau, rosa, lila und braun… Der regenbogen streifen…

Colours separate instinctively, as unique and fascinating as each and every one of my emotions. Blurring into one another, my moods overlap and tangle, mixing tones into a sloppy mess, all of one shade… Schwarz.

Colours torn out from their blended black light, shattered into seven by the spectrum of sadism.

A combination of colours as the innocent child of five clumsily splashes her paint to the page. Primary to secondary, seven shades splatter together and the page becomes swamped in the one. One that represents all that I feel… Schwarz.

 

I garb myself in the one colour. The fabric of my clothing, the canvas of my shoes, the frames of my spectacles and the flesh of my heart…. Schwarz.

 

Natural beauty lies unknowingly in its own vile bath of pulchritude. The ripe tender skins of fruit, bore from the immobile souls, rooted in the dark earth.

With these filthy hands, I tear their children from their arms, tear their conceived seeds from their wombs; I crush them in my fists and watch their sticky blood run clear along my wrists. Their mangled bodies I smear along my face, basking in awe, pulsating in delight as I feel their flesh congealing upon my skin.

 

Manmade directions beneath my feet lead me to my appointed torment. The concrete ground, I squash beneath my feet – its punishment for separating me from the thrill of the traffic.

If I step out into the path for the traffic when I do not see a green gentleman, I am pulled back by the scruff of my neck by those who surround me.

I question why. They do not know me. They know not of my feeble soul, oppressed by unclean, sinful desires. Yet they protect my foul skin, my vile bones…

 

If only my dirty white blood could be spilled to the traffic’s ground. If only my fluids could spray with such force from my unworthy body, enough to cover all of those who witness my death with liquid sin; they too could feel my curse.

 

When I am walking alone, I barricade myself from reality. I hear nothing of the world around me, I hear nothing of those who shall mock and shun me – those who do not wear the schwarz garb and do not have such disgusting thoughts contained within their pathetic skulls.

I do not hear anything but the art of those tormented musicians, with desires and souls as sin-filled as mine.

 

I offer my ears to the one I desire. When I hear her speak to me, my black thoughts are whitened until they are merely grey. She takes away all of my needs to kill, my needs to murder those who have previously shunned me.

Though instead, my chest is clouded with paranoia. The whites of my eyes are bloodshot and my eyelids twitch with every word.

 

For I am unaware at how one as fine as she could ever find a single grain of positive rice from a field as ravaged and ridden with disease as mine.

These filthy hands do not deserve to touch a body as tender and carefree as she one she resides within. These clumsy fingers cannot ever appease her; they cannot do anything to a standard that she deserves.

 

With hatred as rich as the one I hold for myself, my heart remains black.

Although she does not want it, I cannot offer such a deformed organ to one like her.

I fold my mutilated, scarred arms across my chest a lot of the time. I must use my feeble efforts to contain these unneeded screams that my mutant organ continually produces.

 

For every mistake I make, I apply considerable pressure to a silver steel blade that rests along my flesh. I make hundreds of mistakes daily.

To even breathe is incorrect; so I could never punish myself enough.

 

I am only satisfied when my dirty white blood is spilt from the wounds I have inflicted. Until I reach that point, I remain locked in comatose – possessed as I scrape away this undeserving skin from my bones.

 

For every discomfort I cause to the whitener of my mind – I inflict wounds twice as deep, twice as hard, in the shape of her name. Such an innocent introvert would never express her true dismay and disappointments at the mistakes I have made around her; so I lead by assumption and punish myself accordingly.

 

But this is a larger mistake to make. By engraving the sacred eight letter word into myself, I am soiling its integrity by allowing it to reside on such an undeserving arm.

The whitener is not pleased by my efforts. She is saddened and troubled by such an act.

What I feel is correct to do, she does not agree. I am unaware why; for those who hurt me, I wish pain and suffering upon them.

When I witness that my wishes have been granted by the almighty demon who resides in the sweetest fiery depths – sadistic satisfaction fills my sinful soul.

 

But to feel discomfort within myself is a far more pleasing sensation.

When I am tormented by those who associate with me; when they use curious movements upon my sides, I am doubled up. It is oddly pleasurable, yet discomforting and embarrassing. I hear my voice leave me at a higher pitch as I feel my muscles within me twitch uncontrollably.

 

A rarity as it is, when I am immersed with filth of the land – I am truly appeased.

The times where I have been seated nervously, my head slightly lowered as I awaited an appointed downfall of a viscous substance to cascade over my head - I have been thoroughly satisfied.

Those who associate with me have allowed themselves to enter into my disturbed thought pattern, appeasing themselves sadistically while I am appeased masochistically.

Only when I am rendered helpless, drenched with a foreign matter that slides underneath my clothing, drips into my ears and clings to my face do I truly feel gratified.

 

The humiliation that follows is by far, the greatest part.

Although they do not admit it, those who associate with me are pleased by their vicarious senses. My embarrassment is both my own pleasure, and theirs.

 

However, as it were – when the time arose that the whitener of my mind took it upon herself to inflict these feelings upon me, I was left stranded in a shell of shame; her smirk never leaving my thoughts.

The same pleasure arose, but was far more intense than ever before.

 

As I sit and remember the time it was my turn to be the inflictor; the whitener was my chosen victim. Oddly, she was willing – and admitted to enjoying it. How pleased I was that I could share a sample of my pleasure with the one who deserves it most.

I do understand the importance of being both a receiver and a giver. It is not just enough to be a sadist, nor is it enough to be a masochist. One must be both.

 

While the whitener is the object of my desire – it seems that I am a whitener to another…

To be desired by another is a most curious feeling. To most creatures, this would be flattering. It would make them feel wanted, possibly valued.

Not I.

 

I am undeserving of this. I do not deserve to be desired after.

Like my feelings to the whitener, they are mutual and one-sided.

However – I am the sort of sick-minded and cold-hearted cunt who would use another’s desire to their advantage.

 

It does feel that I may have used the desirer for my own personal gains. - My twisted and selfish sexual gratifications.

For in the act of sexual appeasing, I am the receiver – I do not seem to give. These useless appendages have been used; but I viewed it as a pitiful and pointless effort. The desirer’s longing for oral stimulation is not satisfied; for I am repelled by my own condescending thoughts. I am aghast by the desirer’s personal scent, and I am far too fearful to ever discover how she may taste.

 

These feelings shame me. I retreat to my bed where I shed tears of stupidity. Too cowardly to ever admit these things, I stumble over and around numerous excuses, my own fears and prejudice gnawing at my intestines.

 

I have been gratified numerous times by the desirer, leaving me feeling sleazy and heartless.

Particularly so when I was given that which pleasures me the most… Even forcing the desirer to overcome personal fears, purely for my gains – it occurred.

My dirty and taboo request was fulfilled as I lay eagerly on my back, clothes discarded; the desirer soiled herself by inserting clean hands into my sinful sphincter.

 

This too – these emotions of feeling like I may have used her emotions against her… These were also worthy of the steel punishment.

 

It is within my bed where torment begins when I am unable to fight it.

A state of helplessness is rendered by my sleep – I cannot shake away invading thoughts that enter my brain during my state of almost-unconsciousness.

It is in my dreams where my desires are presented to me in full-colour – the entire regenbogen streifen unfolds before me. Accompanied by flavours, scents and sounds, it is the worst possible torment that haunts me forever afterwards.

 

It is here where I witness that which I long for so much.

I see the whitener displayed in front of me – all of her glorious skin on show.

In my dreams, I am not troubled by paranoia, I am not troubled by fears, I am not troubled by prejudice or critical ideas…

 

It is in my dreams where all occurs exactly as I would want it.

Whereas in reality, my attention is unwanted; the whitener accepts any and all that is given to her in this filthy fantasy. Chocolate that I indulge in frequently is held within her hands. She gratifies herself, pushing it slowly into her backside. Such a combination… Such temptation.

I lower myself to her delicate behind and slurp the sweet nectar that drips from her delicious anus.

 

I awake from my fantasy world and return to the place I detest more than life itself.

 

I am so bitter. I do not taste as sweet as the chocolate that arouses me in my dreams…

I am so alone. I am not surrounded by those who I would want…

I am so hated. My mistakes and abuse to others leave me stranded by myself, left to wallow in my own remorse and regret.

 

To act in an unneeded manner to the whitener would be to sign a death warrant.

The punishment would be far greater than the penalty for a mistake before.

 

These regenbogen streifen must be filtered. I cannot feel these intense twisted urges any longer. I cannot suffer these torturing dreams anymore. I cannot cower under fear or twitch under paranoia for another second longer.

 

It is not I who views these people as objects or sadist cult followers.

Seeing the world through regenbogen streifen shows me horrible things.

Awful lies. I experience thoughts that aren’t true, emotions that are undeserved.

 

The desirer and the whitener are my friends. I love them. I cannot view them in such a way.

It’s too disgusting. …Even for me.

 

This is not how I want to live.

The spectrum of happiness is my one true desire.

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Top 10 songs by: Rammstein

 

1. Rosenrot

2. Mann Gegen Mann

3. Asche Zu Asche

4. Keine Lust

5. Ohne Dich

6. Reise, Reise

7. Ich Will

8. Mutter

9. Teir

10. Mein Teil

 

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Top 10 songs by: King Diamond

 

1. The Wheelchair

2. Broken Glass

3. Mirror Mirror

4. Abigail

5. The Storm

6. Waiting

7. Sprits

8. More Than Pain

9. Slippery Stairs

10. No Presents For Christmas

 

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Top 10 songs by: Blackmore's Night

 

1. Ivory Tower

2. Fires At Midnight

3. Under A Violet Moon

4. Morning Star

5. Shadow Of The Moon

6. Ghost Of A Rose

7. Wind Dance Of The Fairies

8. Avalon

9. Past Time With Good Company

10. Castles And Dreams

 

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Top 10 songs by: Maximum The Hormone

 

1. Chu Chu Lovely Muni Muni Mura Mura Purin Purin Boron Nururu Rero Rero

2. Black Yen Power G Menspy

3. What's Up People?!

4. Rokkinpo Goroshi

5. Buikikaesu!!

6. Bikini. Sports. Ponchin

7. Rock Bankuruwase

8. Kuso Breakin' Nou Breakin' Lily

9. Rock 'N' Roll Chainsaw

10. Kyoukatsu

 

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Top 5 songs by: Slipknot

 

1. Wait And Bleed

2. Left Behind

3. Spit It Out

4. The Shape

5. Vermillion

 

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Top 5 songs by: Mini Moni

 

1. Mini Moni Telephone! Rin Rin Rin

2. Mirakururun Grand Purin!

3. Mini Moni Jankenpyon!

4. Ai~n! Dance No Uta!

5. Mini Strawberry Pie

 

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Top 5 songs by: Cannibal Corpse

 

1. Blood Drenched Execution

2. Chambers Of Blood

3. Hammer Smashed Face

4. I Will Kill You

5. Rotted Body Landslide

 

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Top 5 songs by: Children Of Bodom

 

1. Children Of Decadence

2. Hate Me!

3. Bed Of Razors

4. Downfall

5. Lake Bodom

 

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Top 5 songs by: Freezepop

 

1. Brainpower

2. Less Talk, More Rokk

3. Get Ready 2 Rokk

4. Parlez-Vous Freezepop?

5. Seven Boom Medley

 

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Top 5 songs by: Skillet

 

1. My Obsession

2. Comataose

3. Falling Inside The Black

4. Live Free Or Let Me Die

5. Whispers In The Dark

 

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My current favourites from the 'NEW PLAYLIST':

(Not including any songs mentioned above.)

 

1. Crazy On You - Heart

2. Vicarious - Tool

3. Smashed Into Peices - Silverstein

4. Misery Business - Paramore

5. B.Y.O.B. - System Of A Down

6. All Day And All Of The Night - The Kinks

7. Johnny, I Hardly Knew Ya - Dropkick Murphys

8. Dammit - Blink 182

9. Polaris - Ash

10. Trapped Under Ice - Metallica

 

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