Spitz

I couldn't get a recording or pick out any lyrics because it was in a supermarket and there was a lot of background noise. But if you've heard the song, I think the title might be enough. It had a very sparse instrumentation, drums fairly prominent, male singer, very strong melody.

I set up this lemmy account about 10 days ago and my subscribed feed is really good, I'm having a lot of really good interactions.

So I made a kbin account a few days ago and I can't seem to get it going. I've tried searching for "magazines" and I subscribed to a few of them, but I can't seem to find my groove there. Any tips would be appreciated!

Wer reitet so spät durch Nacht und Wind?
Es ist der Vater mit seinem Kind;
Er hat den Knaben wohl in dem Arm,
Er fasst ihn sicher, er hält ihn warm.

Mein Sohn, was birgst du so bang dein Gesicht? –
Siehst, Vater, du den Erlkönig nicht?
Den Erlenkönig mit Kron’ und Schweif? –
Mein Sohn, es ist ein Nebelstreif. –

„Du liebes Kind, komm, geh mit mir!
Gar schöne Spiele spiel’ ich mit dir;
Manch’ bunte Blumen sind an dem Strand,
Meine Mutter hat manch gülden Gewand.“ –

Mein Vater, mein Vater, und hörest du nicht,
Was Erlenkönig mir leise verspricht? –
Sei ruhig, bleibe ruhig, mein Kind;
In dürren Blättern säuselt der Wind. –

„Willst, feiner Knabe, du mit mir gehn?
Meine Töchter sollen dich warten schön;
Meine Töchter führen den nächtlichen Reihn
Und wiegen und tanzen und singen dich ein.“ –

Mein Vater, mein Vater, und siehst du nicht dort
Erlkönigs Töchter am düstern Ort? –
Mein Sohn, mein Sohn, ich seh’ es genau:
Es scheinen die alten Weiden so grau. –

„Ich liebe dich, mich reizt deine schöne Gestalt;
Und bist du nicht willig, so brauch’ ich Gewalt.“ – Mein Vater, mein Vater, jetzt faßt er mich an!
Erlkönig hat mir ein Leids getan! –

Dem Vater grauset’s; er reitet geschwind,
Er hält in Armen das ächzende Kind,
Erreicht den Hof mit Mühe und Not;
In seinen Armen das Kind war tot.

(I chose a literal translation because I think any attempt to convert it into an English poem fails miserably. The literal translation lacks the poetry, but stays true to the meaning and nuance).

Who rides, so late, through night and wind?
It is the father with his child.
He has the boy well in his arm,
He holds him safely, he keeps him warm.

My son, why do you hide your face in fear?
Father, do you not see the Erl-King?
The Erl-King with crown and cape?
My son, it is a streak of fog.

"You dear child, come, go with me!
(Very) beautiful games, I play with you;
Many colourful flowers are on the beach,
My mother has many a golden robe."

My father, my father, and do you not hear
What the Erl-King quietly promises me?
Be calm, stay calm, my child;
Through dry leaves, the wind is sighing.

"Do you, fine boy, want to go with me?
My daughters shall wait on you finely;
My daughters lead the nightly dance,
And rock and dance and sing to bring you in."

My father, my father, and don't you see there
The Erl-King's daughters in the gloomy place?
My son, my son, I see it clearly:
There shimmer the old willows so grey.

"I love you, your beautiful form excites me;
And if you're not willing, then I will use force."
My father, my father, he's touching me now!
The Erl-King has done me harm!

It horrifies the father; he swiftly rides on,
He holds the moaning child in his arms,
Reaches the farm with great difficulty;
In his arms, the child was dead.

Vi estis fantasta
perfekta,
serafa vizio
(iom afekta).
Implicis en vi
virtaro ĉia.
Vi estis...
Kotenfalita nun:
ho, Dio mia!
Sniff! Neniu dubo:
lilio putriginta
pli stinkas
ol ĉiu rubo.

You were fantastic
perfect,
a seraphic vision
(a bit put on).
The human embodiment
of every virtue.
You were...
Well - you're in the mire now:
Oh my God!
Sniff! No doubt about it:
lilies that fester
smell far worse than weeds.

This living hand, now warm and capable
Of earnest grasping, would, if it were cold
And in the icy silence of the tomb,
So haunt thy days and chill thy dreaming nights
That thou would wish thine own heart dry of blood
So in my veins red life might stream again,
And thou be conscience-calm’d –see here it is–
I hold it towards you.

She could make the night moan.
The darkest hour lies
before the sunrise.

Don't shake her,
She'll awaken
on her own.

...

One day she realises
The phoenix has to burn
before it rises.

Don't shake her,
She'll awaken
on her own.

I currently have this issue with a work colleague. I don't like her personality, I don't find her particularly attractive physically, but for some reason she makes me "hormonal". Is this a normal thing? I hate it!

He wanted to solve riddles
and illuminate the darkness
where everyone gets comfortable
much as it weighs them down.
He was frightened not by what he saw
but by the refusal of others to accept it.
Would he always be the exception?
He could no longer stand solitude.
So to find his fellow men
he plunged the two pins
deep into his eyes.
Still he distinguished by touch the things
that no one wanted to see.