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.