22 Apr 2012

deidrichenstein: (京)
I haven't slept in over 30 hours.

I feel so fucking weird right now. I'm tired but not sleepy, my body is aching but it's not painful, everything, especially lights, are unfocused and grainy and when I turn quickly my vision becomes slightly clouded over for a moment. Then it clears when I squint a little. My body feels very heavy, heavier than it should feel.

It's clouded over as the day has worn on, and I wish it had stayed clear today. Usually bright sunlit days feel oppressive to me and I spend much of the time wishing it would all go grey. Today it's the opposite and I feel just as dreary as the day looks. Everything is dull, I want it to be vibrant.

My head is a dull mush. I can't concentrate on anything, and I had planned to do a number of things today. I can't be fucked. I'm sitting at my desk staring at this screen, at the window, at the tree outside, at my bed, at the woman's face on the magazine I'm using as a mouse pad and there is just nothing there. I can't think. This makes me tense and jittering and very ill-contented. It makes me bored and there is nothing I fucking hate more than being bored. Hopefully it's just fucking burn out and will be better by tomorrow. But I can't sleep now... I have to continue till nightfall. It's only 2PM. I need more coffee. I need a lot more coffee.

I visited my grandparents this morning as I usually do on a Sunday. I've moved recently and I don't have a fridge or a washing machine so they do my washing for me once or twice a week. I've never before been in such enjoyable, regular contact with anyone. No matter how shitty I might feel before hand, even on the way there, when I there and with them I'm joyful. I suppose I'm grateful. I've never had any kind of support in my life, genuine, loving, all encompassing support that makes me feel so much gratitude and affection for them I almost feel ashamed.

Ah well, I'm going to get a coffee and listen to Buck-Tick all afternoon and try to work on more of Uroboros. I've decided I'm going to complete that album fully before posting others, although I have done work on them. I'll post the verses throughout the hardcover book in the deluxe edition as well, because I've never seen them anywhere, as well as english versions and any rambling or annotations I might have because I like the idea of it being ~complete~ and thorough :P
And the documents on my computer are in a disgusting horrendous mess and there is shit everywhere and I'm too lazy to go and clean everything up. So I'll have it all neatly stored here. :P


Misshitsu is just indescribable and it's been my favourite B-T song since forfuckingever. I just found this video and jesus fuck me sideways I'm just watching it over and over and over. The mic cam is amazing, I've never seen a performance shot like that before. SAKURAI YOUR EYES ;-;
... I need that fucking DVD.
deidrichenstein: (filthy)
作曲: Dir en grey
translation by deidrich

I question the void )
deidrichenstein: (Default)
作曲: Dir en grey
translation by deidrich

The fate )
deidrichenstein: (gansokuya)
Translated from the italian by Guido Waldman



Although his father had pictured for him a brilliant future in the army, Hervé Joncour had ended up earning his crust in an unusual career which, by a singular piece of irony, was no unconnected with an charming side that bestowed on it a vaguely feminine intonation.
Hervé Joncour bought and sold silkworms for a living.
The year was 1861. Flaubert was writing Salammbô, electric light remained hypothetical, and Abraham Lincoln, beyond the Ocean, was fighting a war of which he was not to see the finish.
Hervé Joncour was thrity-two.
Her bought and sold.


France, sea-voyages, the smell of mulberries at Lavilledieu, steam-trains, Hélène's voice. Hervé Joncour continued the narrative of his life as he had never done in his life before. The girl continued to gaze at him with such a fierce concentration that he felt obliged to charge each word with exceptional meaning. The room seemed to have sliped back into an immutable quiescence when in absolute silence she unexpectedly thrust a hand out from her dress and slid it onto the mat before her. Hervé Joncour noticed this pale blur impinging on the edge of his field of vision; he saw it slide over Hara Kei's tea cup only to continue bizarrely on it's path until it unhesitantly grasped the other cup, which could only be the one from which he had drunk; her hand picked it up lightly and bore it off. Hara Kei had not for a moment taken his expressionless eyes of Hervé Joncour's lips.
The girl gently raised her head.
For the first time she took her eyes off Hervé Joncour and transferred them to the cup.
Slowly she turned the cup until her lips were at the precise point where he had drunk.
She closed her eyes and took a sip of tea.
She moved the cup from her lips.
She slipped it back to the place from which she had taken it.
She withdrew her hand within her dress.
She rested her head once more in Hara Kei's lap.
Her eyes remained open, fixed on those of Hervé Joncour.

France, 1861. When an epidemic threatens to wipe out the silk trade in France, Hervé Joncour, a young silk breeder, has to travel overland to distant Japan, out of bounds to foreigners, to smuggle out healthy silkworms. In the course of his secret negotiations with the local baron, Joncour's attention is arrested by the man's concubine, a girl who does not have oriental eyes. Although they are unable to exchange so much as a single word, love blossoms between them, a love that is conveyed in a number of recondite messages. How their secret affair develops is told in this remarkable love story.


deidrichenstein: (Default)

July 2012

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