#FACHING HELL

[trenchcroats]

Folks, just went to first Japanese class and they were doing kanji

I don't know kanji

[theuniversalscat]

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

Truly the best animals to play this game with are insects, we just have so many names for each. So! Today we are playing with WASPS! Good old wasps.

Notes for Further Reading!

Cacynen feirch: a livestock connection, so I'm guessing it's a farmer name from frustrated agricultural workers in August trying to keep their animals unbothered. But also, there's the etymology of 'cacynen' itself - from cach (shit) and ci (dog). Ci gets used fairly generically with Welsh animal names, but possibly the cach is from the old belief that bees, wasps and flies were born via spontaneous generation out of faeces, corpses and mud. Perhaps in Wales it was specifically believed to be from horse shit?

Cacynen felen: not much to say, they are yellow. Ooh, although, a fossilised example of a gendered colour term; you only see these in nature names now

Gwenynen feirch: the stinging fly that bothers horses. The verb gwanu means to stab/penetrate, so referring to the puncture-like nature of a wasp's sting

Cacynen y geifr: as with entry one, but goats instead of horses. I expect these came from farmers who worked different livestock

Cacynen fach: slightly odd because the common wasp is not that small. But it is smaller than many common species of Welsh bumblebee? Certainly smaller than hornets. Or possibly it's just a standard generic term.

Cacynen y cythraul: well WHAT a fun name. Cythraul is like... a demon, a devil, a creature from hell. Very evocative. Clearly, whoever came up with this one had a picnic ruined and was fucking livid about it.

Picwnen: from 'pig' (thorn) and 'cwn' (dogs). The '-en' ending shows it's singular and often creeps into Welsh words that technically had alternative singular/plural forms. A big example of this is fish, which used to be pysgod/pysg (singular/plural), but over time got hyper corrected to pysgodyn/pysgod because it sounded more correct

Piffgwnen: a corruption of the above (remember the cadno/canddo thing)

Piffgi: a further corruption of the above that has remembered the word 'cwn' is correctly singular-ised to 'ci'.

Cacynen frith: brith means, like, speckled/brindled/striped. Colour-marked. So referring to the stripes. Quite an old and poetic term that crops up a lot in nature names, just like cacynen felen, and also in old cookery terms (e.g. bara brith)

***

Okay! That's all you get! As ever, these are all true EXCEPT one. Also, I use a random number generator to decide where the fake one should go and how much explanation to give; and several people have started talking about red herrings, so remember! There are no red herrings. I'm not picking and choosing, these are genuine words except one. Beware of thinking you're seeing patterns in the options in these! It's you Vs etymology, not you Vs a standardised test. My logic ONLY plays into how well I can hide the fake, and I am randomising a lot of that process.

Good luck and happy clicking!

[that-ari-blogger]

What's The Point Of A Chorus Anyway? (Loser Baby)

Hazbin Hotel has a structure to it lays out its songs. Each episode has two, with one set piece and a supplemental number to get information across in an entertaining manner. For example, Welcome To Heaven is supplemental to You Didn’t Know, and Happy Day In Hell is supplemental to Hell is Forever. Naturally, this is subjective, as importance varies on reading, but you can generally tell.

However, episode four gives us Poison, a showstopping tune that brings the house down. The type of song that feels like a finale to a story. But it’s the first number in the episode, which means something is going to try and outdo it, and what could possibly do that?

Enter Looser Baby, a song that sets the bar for what the entirety of the series is, condensed into just under three minutes.

Let me explain.

CONTENT WARNING (Vulgar Language, Mention of Sex)

SPOILERS AHEAD (Hazbin Hotel)

Not every song has a repeating chorus, or even a chorus at all. Sometimes there is a refrain, but often there is nothing, and this isn’t a bad thing at all.

Bohemian Rhapsody, for example, has either no chorus, or six different ones, adding to the jumpy thought process of the song. Meanwhile Bitter Sweet Symphony has nought but a consistent riff and a bridge to nowhere creating a feeling of momentum.

Hazbin Hotel has done this before with Stayed Gone, which is symmetrical, but presents no chorus to speak of.

This is actually really simple to explain, but more difficult to examine in detail. The chorus is the most central idea of a song. The audience remembers it the most and highlights its importance purely because of the number of times they are shown it, although musical cues might also imply significance.

For example, Beneath the Brine, by The Family Crest, takes on an operatic tone to discuss a tumultuous relationship, and how it handles personal struggle. This is a song about love drawing you to a person, and then getting caught up in their own downfall and being unable to stop it. It presents itself as a crossroad, does the perspective character delve into the wreck, or do they cut their losses now. As such, the chorus feels painful, like the agony of severing something that was part of yourself.

“Oh young love, young dear, why have you taken me in your fall? All of my love, all of my life Given to you, sacrificed!”

The lyrics give a thematic statement, and are repeated to reenforce that idea, hence why I’m calling this the chorus. But the song itself changes around this to show the song evolving. Each time, it gets more expressive and adding more and more melodrama to itself.

It's becoming the centre of an opera, a theatrical piece, too emotive to be real, too painful to complete. Add to that the progressing difficulty of the vocal performance and you get a song that keeps coming back to itself, keeps begging the question and never truly answering itself.

A chorus is the central idea of a song, you get setup and payoff elsewhere, but if you need to remember something, you remember the chorus.

It's also the term for the backup characters who don't have names. The crowd is the chorus. This is thematically relevant to what I will say later.

Obviously, it is more complex than that, as all things are in life, and I’m sure that those who know more than me would be happy to explain that in the replies.

In pub songs and folk music, for example, the chorus just exists to be memorable for everyone to sing along to. Sosban Fach’s chorus is simple.

“Sosban fach yn berwi ar y tân Sosban fach yn berwi ar y llawr A’r gath wedi huno mewn hedd.”

Or, in English:

“A little saucepan is boiling on the fire A big saucepan is boiling on the floor, And the cat is asleep in peace”

You may remember this as the “silly saucepan song” that keeps getting mentioned in Howl’s Moving Castle. The chorus is fun and booming. You belt it out with mates at a pub or at a football game.

But the song is actually about stagnation and the passing of time, as such, the chorus reminds us how little things have changed and ends on an upwards inflection to set up the next verse. You may also notice that it is morbid as all hell. The only constants in life, according to this song, are overwork and death. Welcome to Wales.

All this leads me to Looser Baby, a song about redemption, in a weird way. It’s not about lofty ideals, just community, and companionship.

“You're a loser, baby A loser, goddamn baby You're a fucked-up little whiny bitch You're a loser just like me You're a screw-loose boozer An only one-star reviews-er You're a power bottom at rock bottom But you got company”

The chorus does change over the course of the song, reflecting a developing idea, so we’ll start here, with a subversion.

Loser Baby opens quietly, and soulfully. Husk is reaching out to Angel and checking off what upset him. You are expecting reassurance, everything is alright, things aren’t actually that bad.

In short, you’re expecting the type of advice that Charlie gives, and hold on to that idea for a moment.

Instead, Husk flips the whole thing on its head and gives us the song’s titular theme. Yes, everything is fucked, but it’s like that for everyone else here. You need to have solidarity with your fellow human beings, or demons, or… you get the point.

That is actually an important element of jazz music, the community of it. Once again, this is more complex than a Tumblr post can go into, but in short, there’s some history here that carries over into the theming of the song.

According to Jazz Observer:

“The beginnings of jazz actually date back to the 19th century. New Orleans was home to Congo Square, a space where slaves would gather and play music. That tradition started a bit before 1820, and it brought together people from a wide array of countries, each introducing a bit of their nation’s unique sound to the mix.”

In other words, Jazz arose amongst the downtrodden as a way of keeping culture alive. It became a melting pot of ideas that were outside of the mainstream, and if you associate the genre with shady bars and speakeasies, there’s a reason for that. The music was created as a means of subversion and community amidst oppression.

Subversion and community amidst oppression? If that ain’t sound like Hazbin Hotel’s entire deal, I don’t know what does.

There is a jarring tone shift in the first chorus as drums are introduced along with brass instruments and a general sense of fun. The song feels like it’s being improvised as it goes, allowing for individual expression withing a general plan. Everyone has their own story, but it's being put together to form something greater.

That vibe continues into the verse, which mentions opening up and that sense of community again, but I’m focusing on the choruses, and so the second one of those goes as follows:

“We’re both losers, baby, we’re losers, it’s ok to be a…” “Coked-up, dick-suckin hoe?” “Baby that’s fine by me.” “I’m a loser, honey, A schmoozer and a dummy, But at least I know I’m not alone” “You’re a loser,” “Just like me.”

Once again, the solution isn’t that none of the bad things matter, it’s that it’s ok to be going through them. Losers together.

That’s why Angel sings along in this chorus, we’re opening conversation, and he’s realising what the theme is of the story he’s in.

Linking back to the instruments here, I mentioned briefly in my post on Poison that the electronic synth feels fake to me. I don’t mean this in an “it’s not real music” way, because listen to the song and tell me with a straight face that that ain't music. I meant that the synth is artificial, there’s a human element that has been forcibly removed.

Even the percussion is electronic, meaning that the only emotionality in this song is Angel himself. He’s blending in and the pitch perfection of the vocals mean that everything about him is fake, until he breaks down.

The last verse of Poison hits so hard because he is alone against an unfeeling backdrop.

Side note, this is why the Poison AI covers annoy me more than usual. Not only is it theft, not only is it cheap and effortless, but it misunderstands the point of the song.

Loser Baby is truly the opposite of this, with a ton of instruments giving the vibe of a full band backing up the characters. Husk brought friends to this, and they are all here to lift up Angel together.

Angel adds his higher vocals to this, but also his vernacular. “Schmoozer” isn’t a word typically associated with jazz, it's Yiddish, a pseudo-Hebrew language that was common among American mobsters and is still very popular in New York. Fun fact, the word “bagel” comes from the same place.

As such, we get that melting pot that is this song and jazz in general. Everyone adds their unique vibe to the larger motif.

“You're a loser, baby” “A loser, but just maybe if we…” “eat shit together, things will end up differently”

Everything is cut off abruptly, except for that piano and the drums.

I do love that little tap of a hi-hat, because on the one hand, it’s establishing a rhythm and reminding you all that everyone else is still here and running up to joining back in. But on the other hand, I can’t help but visualise it as accidental. Like the drummer clipped it as she leant forwards and has to pass it off as an intentional decision. To me, that makes the song seem more human and especially more fallible.

The visuals also simplify here. No longer are we on the street, but something more symbolic. Husk is sheltering Angel from the rain, sitting alongside him and enduring the world together. The two are taking comfort in each other.

“It's time to lose your self-loathing excuse yourself, let hope in, baby Play your card, be who you are” “A loser, just like me.”

We’ve brought in the full band for a finale, and added one more instrument, kinda.

“Ooooooooooooh”

I’m sorry. I couldn’t help myself.

In seriousness, Angel has become part of the group. He’s backed up by everyone else and is now lending his own voice to theirs. He doesn’t get outshone by anyone, he’s not fading into the background, he’s just making the music denser.

He’s playing his card and being who he is. He’s accepting his flaws and trying to improve on them, rather than pretending that they ain’t there.

Here’s my argument, then: I think this song is the chorus of the whole musical.

We’ve had our thesis statements, but this is the thing you need to remember. Everyone is fucked up, everyone is a loser, and they need to bear that together. Community, introspection, and hope.

Remember what I said about Charlie? She’s optimistic, she looks at the bright side of things. My reading of this series is that it is fundamentally about the difference between optimism and hope, and that that difference is something Charlie learns over the course of the story.

I’ve seen a few public figures (whose names I will not give because I think they are eejits) wax philosophical about how hope is fleeting. As someone who grew up in Wales listening to songs like Sosban Fach, I want to firmly disagree.

If it’s fleeting, it ain’t hope. Hope looks to the future, a time that notably hasn’t happened yet, and tells you it will be better. Optimism looks at the present and finds something nice in it. You cannot disprove hope, you cannot say that a future will not come to pass, no matter how unlikely, because you can’t know.

By the same ticket, the nihilist idea that the world can’t get better has been disproven so many times. The world has improved again and again and when there have been hardships, there have always been people who will get in the way of that and work to oppose them. Grimdark isn’t reality, the world may not be kind, but it is fundamentally good. And those things that make the world worse can be changed, progress has been made in the past and is continuing to be made now.

Hope has wings, but it also has talons.

That’s what redemption is. It’s not looking at the bright side of sinners and ignoring their flaws, its making work towards getting better. The musical as a whole is about doing that together.

Essentially, if we eat shit together, things might end up differently.

Final Thoughts

I write these in Microsoft word before I post them to Tumblr, because I don’t trust the draft feature of any website. Ao3 has burned me too many times before to allow for that kind of mistake. However, one caveat of this is that the application can’t comprehend the phrase “power bottom”, which makes me laugh.

On a different note, I am not a Husker Dust shipper. Don’t get me wrong, if you ship the two characters, go for it. I simply read them as platonic. A friend helping out a friend. It doesn’t have to be romantic to mean something. There doesn’t have to be something more for these two to care about each other. Community isn’t always romantic.

That being said, if the ship becomes cannon, I will not be surprised at all.

Next week, I’m covering Hell’s Greatest Dad, and the global treasure that is Jeremy Jordan. So, stick around if that interests you.

Previous - Next

[fayamn]

Feedee or Feeder: Bridget

This is two scenes with Bridget from Guilty Gear as a feedee or a feeder. Gender neutral reader.

Feedee Bridget

E-Easy as pie...! Ayayay... I'm so full... It's fine I can count on you to prepare my food without the stuff I dislike... Yeah, you know it! Bitter herbs and shiitake mushrooms, bleh... It's not like there is space for that between the sweets and the greasy food huh? It's no good, you're filling me on quite the unhealthy diet... Don't you worry about that, I love all of it. The food, the extra weight, the attention... You just have to accept you've made it hell for me to find cute clothes, meanie! Wait! No fair! You can't threaten me with giving me less food! I know you enjoy this at least as much as I do. And you can't deny it, I almost have the imprint of your hands on my belly by now. All right feed me more, I really want to make my wasted bounty hunting career worth every single pound.

Hmph! Wait! Too fast! My limit? I'm just getting started! You're too eager, my cuteness requires you to be more gentle and - UuurRrrp! Oh... That wasn't very professional of me... Not that there much professional left on display here, except professional eater. And professional cutie of course, you're right. Hmmm... I know you wanted me to keep the handcuff hula-hoop around my waist until my absolute limit... Well... It's now... Oh, I'm dizzy... It's too tight, help me remove it! Hmmm... Aha! Much better! Behold! Unleashed lard! Oh I look so much fatter without that pressing in... I know there's no way I'm ever putting it back on, you're making sure of that - umf! Right Now by schtuffing my fache even - ulp! More. You can wait between two sentences you know, I'm not going anywhere! Urp...

Slow, huh? Of course look at what a blimp you made me! I'm short too, so my BMI shot through the roof... And I'm definitely not burning calories and yo-yo tricks and moving... Don't tell me you think those clumsy weak fat hands are for holding anything more than junk food now! And my flabby legs are for jumping around, I'm not getting an inch off the ground. I'm not even getting off my butt most of the time anyways. Hmph! Woopsies! Oh yeah that was definitely my skirt... Appropriate that my butt ruined it when I was talking about it. It's okay don't bother trying to retrieve it now, no spelunking of my fat rolls until you're done feeding me. Going easy on me? Does it look like I can't take it? Keep the calories coming, I need more belly to cover any indecent parts, and to have more of the cutest thing around~

UuuUurrrRrpp!... Oof! How's this? Okay now I'm reeaaally getting stuffed... Which means... Time to get your hands on my gut. How yeah it's huge and soft and heavy? You bet, I only have the biggest and fattest belly around. So, happy to have engorged, fattened, plumped me this much? Reaching down for the skirt? Good luck digging it out, I'm not budging while you're all up on me, it's too good. Hehe, got you! Did I fluster you pushing your head in my belly fat? S-Stop! You're making me blush~ Ah, your hands feel so good yes! Knead my plump fat dough, I'm so stretched from the stuffing but there is too much blubber on top you can even barely feel it. And what I'm digesting now is gonna make me so much fatter than now, a poor little obese thing that is filling our couch.

Now now, help me get up! I want to lie down, and we're gonna have a way better time in the bedroom anyways. Haaa... Haaa... And I'm up, aha! Huff... Look what I can do! I can stand, I can waddle... Enjoying the show of my gut reaching my thighs? You better, it's not going anywhere. What? No, I'm not jumping, I'm already tired!... Fine, I wanna try too. And... Whao! What happened? I didn't leave the ground did I? But that noise the planks made... That was scary. I better go to the bed before I break something. Well, might break the bed soon given how I'm overfed like a piggy. Aaah, finally! I'm not the nimble thin cutie I used to be... Now I'm a ton more cute~ Well, not yet. You know what? That little walk freed some space in my stomach that requires a snack...

Feeder Bridget

Whoever you are, welcome to the show! Too slow! Whoop, caught ya! Too easy! Mind holding yourself right in my yo-yo string for a while? Let me give your face a good look. Oh, you're cute... But I'm way cuter. And also I don't have a bounty on my face, meanwhile you have, and I'm going to be the one who claims it. You're not going to resist if I unbind you? Yeah, would have guessed you'd try and be a pain in my butt. Guess it's time for plan B then. Or F, for Fattening. Oh yeah, I've tried it before, it's effective at pacifying baddies like you. Oh, I wouldn't? Don't underestimate the cute ones! You already did, that's why you're bound and on the floor, and you're the one of us that is going to be morbidly obese and all docile soon. How's that? Woo boy... I'm definitely going to prefer you with cheeks too puffed up to protest.

Of course I'm prepared for that, I gotta admit it's super fun. How about a treat? Take this! Here we go! The little candy I made you swallow is just gonna make you fat. How did I get that? Money can get you a lot. Looking plushier already. And it's just the beginning! My yo-yo string is starting to feel snug huh? Don't worry, you won't break it, it's pretty solid. Not soft, unlike what you're getting. What's this, getting tubby aren't you? Ripping? Oh, that's your clothes, still not my yo-yo. Let me check those legs... Yeah should be fine, those are soft and plump now~ Here's a bonus! I should have told you before, but the fat forms by reducing your muscles, so you're gonna feel extra weak. And you're gonna feel that because you'll be. As soft and weak as a plushie!

Here you go. Get going! You're free! Are you even trying? Just kidding of course. must be so hard to be obese and weak now. Aha, you're waddling already? Out of breath... Come on, you're not that fat. You're still squeezed in your clothes! Although that's not an outfit I'd be going outside with. Huh, you're kidding me? So not cute, I'm glad I made you ruin it with lard. Too bad there aren't any cute outfits that's going to fit you once I'm done fattening you up. You thought it was over? Not done yet~ The first candy did well, but I'm sure you're gonna try something, you're not fat enough! Want some more? No? Come on, you'll love this! Oh of course it's too much. I don't know the meaning of quit. And you just had not to act tough. Aren't you happy you're given attention and a new body?

Here it goes! You're growing again! Aww, it's already too late for escaping... How slow do you waddle? My casual walking outpaces you. Aaah, giving up, that's more like it. Or is it the lack of muscles in your legs now with the extra blubber to lug around? Oh you're so tired. You're done! Just as your clothes, geez. It's so indecent... Luckily you have a natural apron to hide your crotch huh? Might have to roll you in now. I hope they'll recognize you with your bounty poster, because that lard has made you quite the disguise. I guess we'll find out when we get there. What's that look? Embarrassed? I mean, you should be, you're a bloated fatty standing in the shreds of your former clothes, just for being caught for your bounty by the cutest bounty hunter there is.

There! Come here... Oh, you won't move now? How frustrating! What can I do... It's not my first bounty not cooperating after extreme obesity you know? And I know exactly what to do with a piggy your size. Aww, blushing? Read you like a book. You're enjoying this, all of this, right fatty? Come on, you like having a cutie like me groping you, teasing you? What a wonderful thing I did to engorge you like you're cattle, don't you think? I'll charge up your batteries for you to walk, a massage of your massive body will be enough huh? Let me press right there... Aww, what a cute burp. Good, I'm sure you're going to enjoy it. I might give you a treat too if you beg enough. And if that's not enough to make you follow me, I guess I'll have to drag you in with my yo-yo string around your neck like a leash. Are you ready? Because I sure am!

[dyslexicandakeyboard]

I'm on the vocal side of YouTube (very 2015 I know) but sometimes it's pure delusion.

No hate to anyone but:

1. Mariah Carey is not as good as before and has regressed in terms of vocal ability. She can still sing but to expect her to sing like 20-30 year olds as a 50 year old is pretty stupid and y'all setting her up for failure by gassing her up.

2. Miley Cyrus voice while beautiful now deepened due to unhealthy habits. (I love her lows but don't act like it's was purely natural)

3. Rihanna has vocal chops, y'all just like high notes and sporanos and mezzo's with higher tessituras. Rihanna is a competent singer with a good understanding of her voice and can use it to the best of her abilities along with consistence within her range.

4. Ariana and Demi have fine, if not stellar, techniques. All this resonance and support nonsense makes no sense as if they weren't supporting their notes, they would be straining and their voices would have been damaged to hell and back since the beginning of their career as they been consistently singing out side of their supported range (usually one octave) for 5+years.

5. Not all singers have to be Mariah Carey/Celine Dion levels to be good. Different styles of music exist meaing different skills (techniques) are needed to the style. Belting would not suit Lana's style, loud and tangy vocals wouldn't fit Kali's style, and clear vocal and no distortion wouldn't fit Taylor Momsen style.

6. Y'all saying theres no interesting male singers is purely confirmation bias. You don't care for male singers ( Gerard Way, Bruno Mars, Patrick Stump, Brendon Urie, Shawn Mendez, the Weeknd, James Snyder, the list goes on) so you don't listen to them. There are many talent male vocalists (look in any gospel, musical theater, rock, rnb group) and you'll find a plethora of talented male vocalists. You just don't care.

7. Not every new era is a singers prime.

8. Using classical opera classifications(like the Fach system) is stupid. Most pop vocalist, this include non-opera trained singers, will not fall into any category. The only reason Bebe Rexha can say she's a coloratura soprano is cause that was her classification given by her teacher. You can't call Ariana Grande a light lyric soprano as she was trained in musical theater, which has it's own classifications, not opera. Opera has specific sounds they train singers to produce, it's not just something you can do. Ariana is most likely that classification but it's not written in stone and voice type is more than range (tessitura, vocal color, vocal weight, flexibility, and passaggio)

[blog-aventin-de]

Die grüne Vase

Die grüne Vase · Su Winter · Kurzgeschichte · Fantastik

Sie lagen im Gras unter den Bäumen, der Sommer hatte begonnen. Sie sah hinauf zu den Blättern, in denen die Sonnenstrahlen spielten. «Phantastisch, dieses grüne Laubdach», sagte sie, «diese wundervolle Farbe». Er sah sie an. «Nicht nur schön», antwortete er dann, «sondern überaus wichtig. Blattgrün absorbiert beispielsweise radioaktive Strahlen aus der Luft. Das biologische System der Bäume schützt uns vor schädlichen Strahlungen aus dem Weltraum, um nur einen der vielen Dienste zu nennen, die uns die Bäume täglich leisten». Er war Biologe. «Das wollte ich in diesem Augenblick nicht unbedingt wissen», entgegnete sie, «die Schönheit wollte ich nachempfinden, die der Bäume, der Farben, des Augenblicks». «Wenn du aus der Sicht deines Berufes sprichst, musst du schon gestatten, dass ich aus der Sicht meines Berufes ergänze». «Es war nicht mein Beruf. Nur mein Empfinden». «Das ist bei dir doch alles eins, oder? Und bei mir eben auch. Du bist ein Träumer. Ich bin Wissenschaftler». Sie war Künstlerin. Versponnen und phantasiebegabt. Er war Wissenschaftler. Voller Logik und sachlicher Nüchternheit. Sie lebten in zwei sehr verschiedenen Welten und hatten doch die des anderen bewundern gelernt, ohne sie je ganz begreifen zu können. «Auch in diesem Augenblick brauchst du den Schutz vor der Strahlung», sagte er. «Wenigstens in diesem Augenblick solltest du die Schönheit der Welt sehen», sagte sie. Ein Jahr später lernte er eine junge Dozentin kennen, die in seinem Fach an der Universität las. Sie verstanden sich sofort, waren sich verwandt von der ersten Sekunde an. Plötzlich faszinierte ihn die Welt der Künstlerin nicht mehr. Sie war zu weit weg von ihm. Er wollte in seine Richtung gehen. Mit dieser Frau konnte er es ganz und war nicht einsam bei seiner Suche. Er fand die Worte nicht, seinen Abschied rechtzeitig zu erklären. So kam das Ende heimlich und böse, und sie erfuhr davon zunächst nur durch ihr sensibles Gespür. Als sie, misstrauisch geworden, auf seine Wege zu achten begann, sah sie, dass es längst zu Ende war. Und es traf sie ohne Vorwarnung. Aus allen Himmeln fiel sie auf die Steine. Es war wieder Sommer. Sie ging noch einmal zu jenen Bäumen, und auf dem Weg dorthin schien es ihr, als sei er noch neben ihr wie damals. Sie legte sich in den Schatten und sah in das grüne Blätterdach hinauf. Erst in diesem Augenblick erkannte sie, dass er für sie endgültig verloren war. Hier nun, in dieser Sekunde begriff sie es ganz. Und spürte unbeschreiblichen Hass. «Ich werde ihn umbringen», sagte sie, maßlos in ihrer Wut. Unwillkürlich dachte sie wieder an jenes Gespräch vor einem Jahr. «Grün absorbiert radioaktive Strahlungen aus der Sonne. Und das biologische System der Bäume macht sie unschädlich», hatte er gesagt. Wie gleichgültig war das nun. Wie unwichtig, ob sie getroffen wurde von schädlicher Strahlung oder nicht. Er war nicht mehr da. Was interessierte sie da noch ein Weiterleben in solcher Einsamkeit, die ihr nun geblieben war. «Ich werde ihn umbringen», sagte sie wieder und spürte, dass dies das einzige Ziel wurde, das ihrem Leben noch Sinn zu geben vermochte. Sie erschrak vor sich selbst, weil sie erkannte, dass es ihr bitter ernst war. Dann dachte sie wieder an das Gespräch, an die Worte, die er im Schatten der Bäume gesagt hatte. Die Erinnerung war das letzte, das sie mit ihm verband. Ihn hatte immer das Wesen der Dinge interessiert. Nicht die Farbe allein, die für sie bereits wichtig gewesen war an allem. Sie begann nun, suchend noch, seine Gedankengänge nachzuvollziehen mit dem unbestimmten Wunsch, eine Sekunde lang Forscher zu sein, um etwas herauszufinden, das ihm zu entdecken nicht gelungen war und das sie gegen ihn richten konnte, ohne dass er es bemerken würde: Sie sah in das Laub hinauf, in dem die Sonnenstrahlen spielten und ließ sich gefangen nehmen von den flimmernden Lichtern und dem verwirrenden Hell und Dunkel der Farbe. Nach langer Zeit erhob sie sich. «Ich werde dich umbringen», sagte sie noch einmal kalt. Wenig später begann sie eine große Vase zu bauen. All ihre verlorenen Träume, ihre ganze Liebe legte sie in die Form, und diese wurde unter ihren Händen zu einem Kunstwerk. Sie überzog die gewölbte Oberfläche mit einem feinen Ornament, dessen Zentren winzigen Parabelspiegeln glichen. Aus der Skala all ihrer Farben griff sie dann nur eine einzige heraus, ein klares, dunkles Grün. Malte diese Farbe auf die Form und brannte sie ein. Sein Zimmer lag nach Süden. Auf den kleinen Teetisch, mitten in die Sonne, stellte sie die große, schöne Vase. Die bauchige Form und das strahlende Grün gaben dem Raum einen neuen, eigenartigen Reiz. «Zum Abschied», sagte sie. Er küsste sie. Es rührte ihn, dass sie so großmütig sein konnte. Sie ist ein bewundernswerter Mensch, dachte er. Er wird sterben, dachte sie. Die grüne Vase stand auf dem Tisch und spiegelte die Sonnenstrahlen wider, die reichlich in das Zimmer fielen. Die sachlichen Möbel, die er sich ausgesucht hatte, verloren sich neben eigenartigen Form, die den Raum beherrschte und den Blick bannte. «Ein außergewöhnlich schönes Stück», sagte er, «wie kannst du es mir nur einfach schenken!» «Die Idee kam mir unter den Bäumen», sagte sie, «ich bin ein letztes Mal dort hingegangen. Es war so schön in jenem Sommer. Und die Vase soll zur Erinnerung sein». «Verzeih mir», sagte er. Sie lächelte. «Tue mir noch einen Gefallen», bat sie, «die blauen Übergardinen verderben jetzt das Gesamtbild. Bitte besorge dir grüne, am besten genau in der Farbe der Vase. Es würde ihre Wirkung noch unterstreichen». Er ahnte nichts von dem Doppelsinn des Satzes und versprach es, da ihm die blauen Gardinen sofort selbst nicht mehr gefielen. In der Woche darauf hängte er grüne Vorhänge an die Fenster. Wenn die Sonne zu stark schien, zog er die Gardinen zu. Durch den Stoff gedämpft, fiel moosfarbenes Licht in den Raum und fing sich in der Vase, die gespenstisch zu schimmern begann. Das feine plastische Ornament fing das fließende Licht ein und gab es als dünne, helle Strahlen zurück, seltsame Zeichen auf die Wand malend. Wenn er an seinem Arbeitsplatz saß, fielen diese Lichter auf ihn selbst und hüllten ihn ein wie in ein zart gewebtes, grün seidenes Spinnennetz. Manchmal blendeten ihn die Strahlen sekundenlang. Dann sah er von seinen Büchern auf und betrachtete das eigenartige Gefäß auf dem Teetisch, von dem aus das Licht in den Raum strahlte. Sah auf die ebenmäßige Form und das feinsinnige, in der Sonne wie tausend kleine Spiegel leuchtende Muster. Die grüne Vase fesselte seinen Blick für lange Zeit, und ohne er das hätte begründen können, verursachte sie ihm mit ihren Lichtern und Dunkelheiten Unruhe und zuweilen eine Angst, die ihn trieb, das Gefäß fortzunehmen aus seinem Blickfeld. Manchmal schien es ihm, als nähme er Spannungen wahr, die aus der grünen Form auf ihn übergingen, aber er fand diese seltsamen Regungen lächerlich und beugte sich dann wieder über seine Arbeit. Flüchtig dachte er daran, dass das Kunstwerk etwas von der Unergründlichkeit seiner Schöpferin hatte. Er erinnerte sich an die Künstlerin und ihre seltsamen Phantasien, die er nie ganz begriffen hatte. Und dann dachte er an die Frau, die er liebte, und vergaß darüber alles und war glücklich und vertiefte sich wieder in seine Arbeit. Kurze Zeit darauf heiratete er. Und sein Glück war vollkommen. An die Künstlerin dachte er mit ein wenig Rührung und Dankbarkeit zurück. Zwei Jahre später begann es, dass er sich müde fühlte, sooft er an seinem Schreibtisch saß. Er war häufig abgespannt und leicht gereizt. Schließlich bekam er Kopfschmerzen in nie gekannter Stärke, die tagelang anhielten. Appetitlosigkeit stellte sich ein, und er nahm ab. Er schob das auf Überarbeitung und griff manchmal zu schmerzstillenden Tabletten. Als er schließlich zum Arzt ging, war es längst zu spät. Die Metastasen des Tumors hatten bereits seinen ganzen Körper befallen. Die Künstlerin hatte sich nicht verrechnet: das Grün, das nicht an das biologische System der Bäume gekettet war, hatte zwar ebenso wie diese alle Strahlung aus der Luft gesogen, um sie dann jedoch unverändert und gebündelt zurück zu schleudern auf den, der sich in ihrem Bereich befand. Und sie kam zu seiner Beerdigung und gab seiner verzweifelten Frau die Hand. «Wie lieb, dass Sie gekommen sind», sagte sie unter Tränen, «er hat so oft und so gut von Ihnen gesprochen. Sie hatten ihm diese wunderbare grüne Vase geschenkt. Wollen Sie sie als Andenken zurücknehmen?» «Nein», antwortete sie, «behalten Sie die Vase. Ich hatte sie damals ihm geschenkt, und jetzt gehört sie Ihnen!» Die grüne Vase · Su Winter · Kurzgeschichte · Fantastik Read the full article

[werwolfpoesie]

Da ist ein Feuer, das tief in mir brennt

Das loh keinen Schmerz und noch Gnade nicht kennt

Das brodelt, beißt, eifert, es kratzt, kreischt und geifert

Es singt, tanzt, verneigt sich, es schmilzt, fasst und trennt

Sag kennst du das Feuer mit lohroten Haaren

Es wütet, schlägt um sich, fasst dich im Genick

Und wenn du's nicht siehst dann wirst du es erfahren

Und wenn's dich nur fortjagt dann fürchte dich nicht

Das Feuer, es lodert und leckt an den Wänden

Das Feuer verschlingt und vereint und umfängt

Das Feuer greift nach dir mit glühenden Händen

Das Feuer erhebt sich, das Feuer versengt

Ihr wollt es mir fangen, in Öfen es sperren

Zu eigen euch machen, das Feuer mir nehmen

Wollt mich an euch binden, nach hinten mich zerren

Wollt mich und mein Feuer ersticken und zähmen

Ich werde es füttern und nähren und schüren

Ich fache es an mit der Luft die ihr sprecht

Die flammenden tanzenden Zungen verführen

Euch und ihr entfernt euch von Freunden und Recht

Das Feuer fließt in jede Ecke und Ritze

Es tobt in mir hell und so schwarz wie die Nacht

Das Feuer ist Hitze und Kälte und Hitze

Ich hab es genährt, doch habt ihr es entfacht

Da ist ein Feuer, das tief in mir brüllt

Das Augen und Venen und Lungen mir füllt

Und du sagst es wärmt mich und ich sag es beißt

Und ich bin nicht schuld wenn es dich dann zerfleischt

[theart2rock]

Vor 40 Jahren - Oktober 1983

Ich möchte mir vornehmen, jeden Monat 40 Jahre zurückschauen und einen kurzen Rückblick zu machen. Dabei auch einmal über den Tellerrand der Rockmusik zu schauen. Events - 03. Oktober - Die Erstaufführung der Oper Marching Song von Benjamin Frankel wird auf BBC gezeigt. - 21. Oktober -  Die Länge des Meters wird neu definiert als die Distanz welches das Licht in einem Vacuum innerhalb 1/299'792'458 Sekunden zurücklegt. - 25. Oktober - Die Software Multi-Tool Word wird veröffentlicht, daraus wird später Microsoft Word. Hauptsächlich haben Richard Brodie und Charles Simonyi programmiert Wichtige Veröffentlichungen - Genesis - Genesis - Colour By Numbers - Culture Club - She's So Unusual - Cindy Lauper - Voice Of The Heart - The Carpenters - Without A Song - Willie Nelson - Uh-Huh - John Cougar Mellencamp - Midnight Madness - Night Ranger - Infidels - Bob Dylan - Zones - Hawkwind - Pipes Of Peace - Paul McCartney - No Parole From Rock 'n' Roll - Alcatrazz - Life - Thin Lizzy - Melissa - Mercyful Fate - Caught In A Game - Survivor - Hell Hath No Fury - Rock Goddess - Standing In The Light -- Level 42 Schweizer Hitparade Platz 1 Single Charts - I Like Chopin - Gazebo - I'm Still Standing - Elton John - Karma Chameleon - Culture Club Schweizer Interpreten in den CH-Charts - Amore Mio Sei Sempre Tu - Dorados US Billboard Single Charts - Total Eclipse Of The Heart - Bonnie Tyler - Islands In The Stream - Kenny Rogers & Dolly Parton US Billboard Album Charts - Synchronicity - The Police UK Single Charts - Karma Chameleon - Culture Club UK Album Charts - No Parlez - Paul Young - Genesis - Genesis - Colour By Numbers - Culture Club Happy Birthday - 10. Oktober - Jack Savoretti - 10. Oktober - Lzzy Hale (Halestorm) - 16. Oktober - Loreen (2-fache ESC Gewinnerin) - 26. Oktober - Ant Scott-Lee (3SL) - 29. Oktober - Amit Sebastian Paul (A-Teens) Farewell - 16. Oktober - George Liberace (Violinist) Lesen Sie den ganzen Artikel

[ohriginalsanktwendel]

7.3.23

Linooooooooleum soweit das Auge reicht! Grün, braun, blau und beige. Immerhin, die Heizung funzzt. Trotzdem, die besten Tage sind vor 25 Jahren vorbei gewesen. Im Treppenhaus gibt es farbige Wände zur besseren Orientierung, auf welcher Etage man sich gerade verirrt hat. Ich bin blau. Also so richtig blau, nicht ein schönes karibisches blau, nein, dieses blau will mir sagen „hier ist deine Etage du Idiot, jetzt geh schon rein!“. Nun gut, ich bin folgsam. Das Zimmer ist mit funktionalem Sperrmüll ausgestattet, immerhin schön hell. Ich schaue auf Sankt Wendel, eine Kleinstadt, ein Nichts, ein Kaff. Gleich fühle ich mich heimisch! Ist ja wirklich wie zu Hause. Nachdem ich meine 1,2 t Gepäck in einigen Touren klammheimlich aus den Auto geholt und alles in den einzigen Schrank gepresst habe, bin ich speisen gegangen. „Mir hebbe Schweineschnitzle odr Spinnnnat mit Ei“, danke, bitte den Spinat. Nicht so viel! Runde Augen schauen mich ungläubig an, die gefüllte Kelle Spinat kleckert wieder zurück in den Trog. Es wäre auch kein Platz mehr gewesen, da das Rührei die Ausmaße des Mont Blancs hatte. Die Kartoffeln? „Ja die kann sich jedr selber nähme“, danke. Ich habe alles geschafft. Nachdem ich meinen Proteinschock überwunden hatte, mußte ich zu Dr. Masi. Dr. Masi ist sehr groß, sehr weich, sehr freundlich und sehr braun. Namasté! Hätte ich beinahe gesagt, konnte mich aber noch rechtzeitig zügeln. Aber egal. Dr. Masi hat mich das gleiche gefragt, was ich auf den Aufnahmebogen auch schon angeben mußte, Gewicht, Stuhlgang, Drogenkonsum. Den Aufnahmebogen hatte ich ja im Januar bereits per Mail geschickt. Ich habe beschlossen mir 400 Kopien zu machen. Ich bin eben gern vorbereitet, vielleicht kommt ja mal eine Reinigungskraft und fragt danach. Ja, da muß man gewappnet sein!

Am Empfang habe ich dann noch Internet für drei Wochen gebucht. „Kei Fernsehr, kei Telefon?“ Ich muß unbedingt an meiner Außenwirkung arbeiten! Offensichtlich sieht man mir an, daß ich mit der Wählscheibe aufgewachsen bin und auch nichts anderes kann.

Am Nachmittag habe ich mich dann in die pulsierende Innenstadt begeben. Es war, wie soll ich es beschreiben, übersichtlich. Zwei Kirchen, ein Bahnhof, zwei Plätze mit den Resten des Weihnachtsmarktes. Ich habe ernsthaft überlegt, ob hier ein anderer Kalender gilt. Das Highlight war eine ADAC Geschäftsstelle in 1A Lage gegenüber der Kirche. Seitdem alles ins Netz gelegt wurde, gibt es hier die wahrscheinlich einzige historische Geschäftsstelle der gelben Engel! Das ist nicht Nachnutzung, das ist NachNachNachNutzung. Wirklich nützlich waren zwei Tattoo-Studios, ein Barber-Shop und ein Waffenladen. Was braucht man mehr? Schön ist die Zugverbindung nach Saarbrücken, die werde ich sicherlich mal nutzen. Vielleicht bekomme ich dort endlich Drogen angeboten. Deprimiert haben mich blühende Osterglocken. Na ja, im September habe ich dann auch welche. Ist ja nicht mehr so lange hin.

Wieder zurück habe ich dann den Therapieplan aus den Postfach genestelt. Ich habe eins, ganz unten links, über der Fußbodenleiste. Ich lege mich also flach auf den Boden in der Eingangshalle und öffne das Fach. Es ist winzig klein, ein A4 Blatt schnappt heraus und entfaltet sich, mein Fahrplan bis Samstag. Blutentnahme, Hörtest, Gewichtskontrolle, Motoriktest. Ok, ich bin jetzt 57, offensichtlich wird das jetzt die Zukunft sein. Auffallend ist, dass alles im Untergeschoß stattfindet. Wahrscheinlich damit man die Schreie nicht so hört. Nachts werden sicher quietschende Wagen mit Verstorbenen von humpelnden Pflegern in den Küchentrakt geschoben. „Schweineschnitzle?“ Nein, meine Phantasie geht durch…und es gibt ja gleich Abendessen. Ich beschließe erst kurz vor dem Ende um halb acht dort zu erscheinen. Es wird zwar hart werden gegen den Strom der Rollatoren anzukämpfen um nach unten zu kommen, aber vielleicht sind die Witwen dann schon durch.

Mein letzter Kaffee von heute früh. Ich habe beschlossen meine Sucht anzugehen. Der kalte Entzug wird schrecklich werden, ist aber notwendig.

Abendessen. Ich sehe gelassen der wöchentlichen Gewichtskontrolle entgegen.

[moebel-weitergeben]

Rollcontainer - Spende in Nürnberg

Bitte an Interessenten im Raum Bayern weiterleiten Spende: 20x Rollcontainer Details: - Menge: 20 - 3 Schubladen und ein Stifte-Fach, Schlüssel nicht mehr vorhanden - Maße: 58,5 L x 43,5 B x 59 H (cm) - Länge x Breite x Höhe - Farbe: helles Holz - Hersteller: Wini - Gebrauchsspuren: leicht - Zustand: funktionsfähig - Kategorie: Büro Spenden-Nr. A00004127 Fotos Abholort: DE, Nürnberg Postleitzahl-Bereich: 90411 Stockwerk: 2 Transport über: Aufzug Hilfe beim Abtransport: nein Spendenangebot aus der Region: Bayern Zeitraum für Abholung Abholung ab: 2023-03-01 Abholung spätestens: 2023-03-24 Kosten / Kostenlos Der Eigentümer gibt seine Möbelstücke im Rahmen der Aktion WeiterGeben.org kostenfrei ab. Allerdings wird u.U. eine Vergütung für den Vermittlungsservice erhoben: Kleine gemeinnützige Einrichtungen können die Möbel kostenfrei abholen. (gilt für Einrichtungen mit weniger als 10.000,- Euro Jahresumsatz) Für alle anderen fällt eine geringe Vergütung für den Vermittlungsservice an, damit WeiterGeben.org weiterhin gemeinnützige Organisationen kostenfrei mit Möbeln versorgen kann. Wenn Ihre Organisation/Einrichtung anerkannt gemeinnützig ist, dann klicken Sie bitte hier das Feld „Möbel suchen“ an und tragen Ihre Daten plus die oben genannte Spenden-Nr. ein. Wer kann diese Spende erhalten? Im ersten Schritt ist dies exklusiv für Gemeinnützige und, nur falls sich niemand meldet, im zweiten Schritt auch für die Allgemeinheit verfügbar. Lesen Sie den ganzen Artikel

[russian-soft-bitch]

Robert Langdon x reader

Author's note: I don't care this is shit, I wanna write about this man. Send me fluff requests, I can't write action lol

Might contain spoilers for Da Vinci Code!!

You were standing under the cool jets of water and thinking about what happened in these last couple of days. You weren’t exactly sure how many days had passed, it felt like an eternity.

When Robert told you about the lecture, you decided to go with him and support him there. You’ve been dating for about 7 months now, so it seemed logical to you. Besides, you didn’t visit Paris in ages. Thinking about that now, you were glad you came with him. Robert tended to get into deadly situations, it seemed. You were pretty shocked he stayed alive in Rome, everyone was talking about it back then.

When Robert went somewhere with Collet, you were pretty calm. It wasn’t great that the curator was killed but it just happens. Then you couldn’t reach him on the phone. To say that you were worried was an understatement. In a couple of hours after that, Robert called you from Chateau Villette. You made it there in 20 minutes. Thanks again to the guy who took you there on his motorcycle for 100 euros.

The moment you saw him was the happiest moment of your life. You could see Robert wasn’t exactly fine but that was understandable. And Sophie (you learned her name pretty quickly) looked like a little confused girl. And she was a little girl in your eyes - much younger than you, not knowing what to do. You would be confused too if that happened to you.

The way Teabing and Robert were explaining everything - it sounded foolish but you believed every word. The facts were there - you just never saw them. The woman who studied the Renessainse all her life, who knew Da Vinci like her own hand never could’ve thought that it was always a woman. Red-haired beautiful woman, Christ’s companion, not a man.

You were thinking about re-writing your still unfinished doctorate when the monk showed up, you tried to stop him. Bad decision, very bad. It led you to have a small injury from the bullet. It was small but it hurt like hell. You already knew the police were there, so you just told them to run. Robert didn’t want to leave you there, but you insisted. Police arrested you, of course, but at least you were able to get medical help.

They let you go when Fache arrested the right guy. Who knew it would be the little old man (that bastard). Anyway, after that Robert was able to call you. You saw both of them again in Rosslyn Chapel. What happened later, you couldn’t explain logically. You were proud to call yourself an atheist but after that, you didn’t know what to believe in. Your whole world just changed. You were still trying to understand everything.

Stepping out of the shower, you wrapped yourself in a towel and looked at Robert. He was standing there looking numbly at the sink. “Love? Are you okay? Did you cut yourself again?” In a moment he was running into a bedroom searching for something. You went after him. “What is it?” He looked at you briefly, “just need to check something”. Next moment he was already dressing. You were confused as hell but made sure to do that too. In twenty minutes you were almost running on the streets of Paris, following the Rose Line. You exclaimed suddenly, “no way! Is she there?” He looked at you, “I think so, but who knows? We can’t say for sure”. “That’s why Sauniere was the curator! He was trying to tell her that, oh my God!”

When you reached the Louvre, thousands of thoughts were crossing your mind. Was it even real? Will the world know about it? Should you tell Sophie about it? Or should you simply forget about it?

You were sure you won’t ever forget it. You will always think about it. Maybe you’ll believe in God again.

Robert fell to his knees and you finally felt peace.

[alovevigilante]

Ok. This is me above-above (with makeup filter) and this is me today, with Lou the elephant. One f’n day apart….and by the by, this is the only photo that I will let you see from today, because unflattering and because no.

I am extremely fickle and picky about taking photos. I pretty much let allow it to get me really down. For some reason other than the filter, I feel like I look like hell in photos that people take of me. I mean, I look like a completely different person. So much so, that I would never have to go into hiding for any reason other than my mortification about my image in photos that I don’t have control over, because I look like a completely different person in every one I appear in. And…. I hate it.

So what does one do, when they don’t have control of a situation like getting their pics taken, and at the same time don’t want to be erased from their own history? Because I gotta say, the sighting of a “Kari Keillor” in a photo that I haven’t taken over the past 20 years is EXTREMELY rare… probably worth its weight in gold… and yes, it’s a digital photo, so there you have it.

When you have a low self esteem, and you want to change it, how do you do it? I’ve tried the appreciation of the new and enlarged boobies and culi. But it’s worn thin. And when I’m on vacation I want to walk around the pool with my head held high, not like a turtle peeking it’s head ever so slightly out of its shell… I’m hunched over, and my face and body, reveal how I feel…. Not so great.

Ok. Well, yes. I am, a woman. I am, a fully functioning, relatively healthy if you don’t count my feelings of paranoia and inferiority to other beautiful people, so what the hell?! Can I eat something that’s not so great for me and be ok with it for once in my life? Unfortunately the answer is, no.

Bathing suit season is tough. I noticed that my latest suit was strangulated to death by my ass, and it’s wasn’t meant to be a thong. Oh how I long for the days of winter, where my sweatshirt and sweatpants are the costume of choice, and the extra can be slightly hidden and shielded from the immediate notice of others.

I’m looking… for an outside cure. Ain’t gonna happen. So, I’ll try to look at it this way; if Godzilla was to come and visit my neighborhood, thrashing and destroying everything in sight, I probably wouldn’t give 2 rips about my cellulite, or how big my ass, arms, thighs and stomach were. So, should I try to focus on world destruction the next time I’m at the pool? Probably not the most fun choice. Maybe I could just use a different, more flattering camera angle like I did on the photo below. Or, just focus on having fun, and get a really cool, and hot, cover up until I get to where I’m ok…. in my head. Self love…. I’m working on it. I mean I was somewhere really great, and I was ruining it for myself by not being there in my head. The love is there, it can even be smack dab in your face. But if you don’t recognize it, and allow yourself to enjoy it without judging yourself and everything else then how can you enjoy… well…. anything?

So, you have a choice: You can either embrace the elephant in the room…. Or… just always stand next to a 9ft elephant. 💕

With makeup filter for my fach…. And No, I’m not perfect…and I am human, and whether you agree with me or not, you cannot argue with how I feel about myself.

oh! And for those of you who are concerned, these 3 elephants I loved today: Lou, Patty, and Carol, are housed on 1,100 acres of beautiful rolling hills of farmland in Indiana, and are treated amazingly. Today we helped feed them, and wash them. We try to take my son every year. (We missed 2 years due to covid.)

I believe it’s important for kids to have encounters with animals and to develop a connection to them. Because like anything else, how can you expect kids that turn into adults to care enough to protect animals without more of a bond via sharing personal experiences? And unless human beings classify differently now, we’re all animals after all… (with the exception of plants and fungi… and perhaps some single celled organisms…not sure. I can check. All still relevant…) yes. According to https://www.bioexplorer.net/animals/:

“From the biological classification perspective, animals belong to the kingdom called Animalia. They are eukaryotes and multi-cellular living organisms. Animals are locomotive (i.e., ability to move around), heterotrophic (i.e., consume organic material as a source of food), and reproduce sexually (with the exceptions of asexual organisms). The study of animals is called Zoology.”

[awed-frog]

Maybe, possibly, hopefully it will be spring soon, so here we go: what the hell do we call those things? And why?

butterfly [EN]: butter-eating fly

Schmetterling [DE]: cream-eating creature

boterschijte [NL]: she who poops like butter

sommerfugl [DK]: summer bird

zumer-feygele [YI]: little summer bird

fjäril [SV]: feathered thing

farfalla [IT]: vibrating thing

papillon [FR]: vibrating thing

balafenn [BR]: vibrating moth

babochka [RU]: little old woman

mariposa [ES]: Mary come down!

mariavolavola [SC]: Mary fly, fly!

borboleta [PT]: the beautiful little thing

Iar fach yr haf [CY]: little summer chicken

psychi [EL]: soul

flutur [SQ]: the flyer

pinpilinpauxa [EU]: thing that goes on flowers

peperuda [BG]: darling and dreadful wife of the underground thunder god

drugys [LT]: shivering thing

��Butterflies are such perfect symbols of transformation that almost no culture is content to accept another's poetry for this mythic creature. Each language finds its own verbal beauty to celebrate the stunning salience of the butterfly's being.”  — Haj Ross 

[zeros-silly-art]

late (ish) night bonus post!!!

here what my phone thinks all of the text on page #2 of the silly book says!

(under a cut cuz it separated it line by line and also im obsessed with doing these cut things now that i figured outhow)

& style Baybe!

Dunk

I Deal

Bevis

Emale

Body

las 341)

Im last

Salmony

Babe,

goad

WHAT?!

worms

Bean

Boy

Man?!?

Crime

Anda

MUM

Dragon

SED

11

Piss HELL

Chemical

Ovo

Regotion

Ren fal Re?!

boy

(1949

Solidarity

Hours

The resign

Hu?!?

is atest

Beezzz

Buzz

Buzz

Nen

00

Catboy

fach's family

(and that, it, nothing else)

Soup

نونه او شهر را در

e twn Baby

MELISSA

(from poster

раар

'Doul

[howtomusicmajor]

my singing teacher likes to tell the story of how she confused the hell out of all /her/ teachers because they couldn't place her fach. it wasn't until much later in life that she figured out she was a dramatic soprano, and she attributes her previous teachers' confusion to "no one knows how to train dramatics (in England)". I for one am a pre-T trans man who's a "makes dogs perk up" high soprano, so the usual "your voice will keep changing" advice applies so much more dramatically to me lol

Voice training in England is sometimes a bit of a situation when it comes to opera and tbh I'm not sure why. I suspect it's because English opera folks are used to just heading to Germany or Italy for training because it's not like the entire Atlantic is in the way.

Also: if you decide to go on T, you've got Many Many voice changes ahead! Hold on tight and be ready for basically two years of additional vocal puberty though. If you want to drop some cash on figuring things out, the book "The Singing Teacher's Guide to Transgender Voices" is a good text that came out just recently.

Also: multiple trans people have been making the news with their operatic careers over the past few years!