Deaf to the world, blind to the soul, dumb to humanity. Deaf and blind and dumb. Who would listen to her? There was nothing for her to say that was not already mentioned elsewhere. What was the point of her? She was just another face, another body taking up space. There was nothing for her to see nothing for her to hear, nothing for her to say.
“Im sorry”, I said.
Nothing.
“Im sorry!”, I yelled, I cried. “I dont know what you want me to do. What do you want me to do?”
The words were lifted from my tongue with a heavy breath, and fell softly on deaf ears.
I took a deep breath and dived. I was soaring through the air, and pierced the water, slicing through it, as if I was a knife. All the noise and bustle of the busy pool, was gone. The underwater was deliciously silent to my ears. The clear turquoise water was all mine. I swam through it easily, gliding through it as though a fish, or even a mermaid. The only thing I could hear was the silence of the world. I was in my OWN world. A beautiful, blue, shiny, warm world. After a few minutes however, I knew it was time to leave my secret silent hide out. I closed my eyes, and my head broke the surface, and all the noises came flooding back. It was as if it had never happened…
Unfortunate bunch who have lost their hearing. However, they are, apparently, gifted in other fields of senses, such as touch or sight. idkkkkk, really.
The beautiful silence. Waking up and feeling for once like I could survive the day. No need for distractions, to run. To look for an escape everywhere, anywhere. No voices, no thoughts, no sounds. The unbelievable silence of a peaceful mind. I couldn’t remember the last time I felt so at ease, so quietened. So contented in myself. The beauty of silence, it cemented in my mind exactly how much I struggled and suffered with my own voices; conscious, subconscious and external.
Verzeihung, können Sie mich hören. Ja sie. Verstehen sie mich. Ich würde sie gerne etwas fragen. Verzeihung, hören sie mich überhaupt. Ja sie. Ich möchte sie kurz etwas fragen. Eine FRAGE!
handicapped person who cannot hear. Or non handicapped people who just tune other people out because they don’t give a shit about what that person is saying. My dog is going deaf I think.
Ears aren’t the key to creativity.
Let the mind invite the creations, allow the hands to bring that creation alive.
Being deaf, doesn’t mean that you’re imagination is dead.
I turn the music up high and let the vibrations fill the room. I bob my head back and forth with my eyes closed. I can feel the stares of others on me as I walk through the mall with my ear buds in, but I don’t care. If someone gives me a look, I either ignore them or simply say “I can feel the music”.
too many people think that being deaf is a curse. in reality, it can be a blessing. perhaps never having to know what the sound of screams of terror is better.
The Christmas tree is shining bright little stars of color all around the room. the angel on top looks down on us; her face is serene. all my family sits around me, smiles, laughter, crinkled eyes. everyone is talking but for a moment, i am deaf, i am speechless. i just drink it all in. the first christmas ive ever had surrounded by love. and probably the last.
Reminds me of my dead dog, Bear-Bear. He died about 5 or 6 years ago, when I was 11, and when he died he had becoe quite the old man (for doggies, that is) and had inhereted many old man qualities, such as blindness and deafness. It was sad, but he’s in a better place now.
“Did you not here me? Are you deaf?”
John had learned to recognize the word ‘deaf’ on any pair of lips, in even the darkest of rooms. What prevented him from gurgling out his typical confident explanation of his condition was not his lack of hearing. This girl was gorgeous!
She stood, deaf to the world, as he strode towards her. Tall, dark-haired, and blue-eyed. Isabella felt herself shifting slightly forwards onto her toes as his eyes met hers.
“Hey, Bella,” Oliver said with a soft smile. Isabella sighed contentedly.
“Hello, Oliver.”
Do deaf people appreciate the things they see more? If they can’t hear outside noises, can they hear the thoughts they are having? Do they have a voice? What kind of language do the deaf speak? Are we born with a natural language?
Ludwig van Beethoven sat grumpily at the piano, unable to concentrate. Inside his fine mind, and behind those silent ears, a melody – perhaps the most captivating he would ever write – was aching for escape onto paper, sealing its glory for all time. But it could not get out. Those hands simply would not bring themselves to pick up the quill, and write the notes down.
Perhaps there was something wrong with it – some infirmity in its structure that would force him to improve the melody’s education before he would allow it to be released into the world.
For a full two hours he struggled, now standing up and storming round the room swiping the air in irritation; then sitting down, on the brink of playing, but his fingers refusing to touch the keys of the pianoforte.
As the clock chimed three hours later, he resigned himself. The tune must be written. It wasn’t perfect. In fact, the more he had wrestled with it, the more it had seemed like a momentary lapse of judgement to get so carried away with the idea that it was anything more than mediocre. But after spending so long thinking about it, it would seem more of a waste of time not to write it down.
After which, he could always seal it up, and hide it in a drawer somewhere, never to be found again. He might always be wrong, and if he forgot the tune, then it would be entirely lost.
So he sat down and calmly applied quill to paper, and filled the staves with black dots of a simple tune that, unknowingly to him, continue to influence generations beyond. It was catchy. Irritatingly so. A tune like this wuld be best written and destroyed, if anything to give it life before its certain death.
He gave it a title, folded the manuscript, and sealed it with wax, locked it in his ‘for later’ drawer of his study cabinet, and went to lunch, and promptly forgot about his intentions to destroy the manuscript. It remained hidden at the bottom of sheaves of other manuscripts that piled up on top of it, over the following months.
One hundred and sixty years later, in 1972, this manuscript found a new owner. An assistant at Sotheby’s, London, was attempting to fix a faulty drawer, in an antique cabinet from Germany. In his enthusiasm, he prised the door of the cabinet too violently, ejecting a manuscript (which had been holding the door shut through its position) was flung into the air. It hit the assistant’s chest, and dropped heavily to the floor, breaking the thick wax seal.
Staring at this assistant, was a tune which he could read, despite its aged appearance, and in spite of comments written in German along the margins, suffixed by plenty of exclamation marks and heavy underlinings. Reading the tune, he could sense why – it was catchy, but mildly irritating.
He had no suspicions as t the origin of the paper, and since no one knew of it, he pocketed it and went home.
The manuscript sent the assistant mad. Round and round it went, in his head, leaving him sleepless, and unable to work. The tune had to be written down again, released into the new world it had found itself in. He quit his job, and spent a month in the isolation of his bedsit, surrounded by sheaves of new manuscript paper, trying to deal with this tune that played so much violence on his mind.
It was a year after its discovery, in December, of 1973, that the tune found its way back into the world. Having sent its reader mad, it intended to do the same to the population as a whole. Through him, and his new band, it would unite minds, and then terrify them, as familiarity with it preyed on their sanity.
The ghost of Beethoven would surely have screamed from his grave as he saw the rising popularity of that tune through the hit single ‘I Wish It Could Be Christmas’ and damned the day he ever decided to write it down for posterity.
It didn’t matter what they knew, or didn’t knew. They wouldn’t be a part of my life anymore. It’d be as though they never existed in mine, so what they retained of me was a moot point. I had no more reason to bother with them.
What a coincidence. We brother is deaf. He’s also captain of football baseball and basketball teams and homecoming king. Next year he is going to Harvard university. All of this is good but what I love about my brother the most is that through his hearing loss he has found hope and never ever, no matter what, has he ever doubted himself or his beliefs or where he has come from.
I had a deaf friend who used to wear a “I’m not deaf, I’m ignoring you” button :)
I took one or two years of American Sign Language in college and taught myself from books before that. I’m ok on paper but not as good in practice. As with most people and learned languages, I speak it better than I understand it. And I don’t speak it that well.
I wouldn’t mind taking more ASL classes someday, but I think what I’d really need is to go someplace like Gallaudet, and I don’t think I’m interested enough to be *that* immersed in it. If a family member were deaf, I absolutely would. I’ve always loved ASL. I think it’s a beautiful language.
Deaf.God, this is sad. All the people who are deaf, Im so sorry for you. I cannot imagine a life, where I cant hear a thing. Sounds, voices, music. You guys have my respect. You really have. I love all of you.
My grandpa can’t hear out of his left ear
because it got blown out in combat,
fighting for our freedom.
So when I wish him “Merry Christmas”
and tell him “I love you and I appreciate you”
he usually doesn’t hear it at all.
But, I guess, at least I am free
and can tell him these things,
even if he does not hear them.
I’m not sure if it was worth it.
i turn a deaf ear, subconsciously, to people whose wavelengths don’t match mine. No matter how hard i try to listen, their words just flow out of my ears, without understanding them. is this called selective listening?
She stared at him as he spoke, his lips moving into words that she wished she understood. He stopped talking and actually took a moment to look at her.
My aunt louise was deaf, and I remember most the disctinct way in which she used to try to pronounce words. she was a wonderful little old lady with a zest for life. i am so blessed to have had her presence in my life. she died on christmas eve many years ago.
He had the world’s largest ears, and people took great joy in pouring all information, music, chatter and every other imaginable chaos of noise into them. Sometimes, he would nod in silent approval, the slightest sign of that weighted head tilted forward bringing a wave of excitement. Other times, he might incline his head slightly away, and a tremor of fear or disappointment would settle upon them. Each time, though, they waited with tingling anticipation for some kind of response, craning their gaze skywards, or inclining it down to their innermost depths, or wherever it was they sense those massive ears were. Gradually, they realised they needed to shout louder, play more vibrantly, call more energetically to be sure they would get some kind of response. And then one quiet night, when for a brief moment, when all the chatter had stopped and everyone in the village took a moment to remember what it was they were waiting for a response to, it occurred to one boy tapping away on his keyboard that perhaps they hadn’t been looking hard enough for the response.
My best friend is deaf and she does sign language which my he mom taught me how to do. She went deaf when we both were six. And i was confused why my friend couldn’t hear me. she was listening to loud blasting music and the music blasted her ear drums. I’m just happy she is my best friend.
kazuko stood, her blood glistening in the moonlight. she couldn’t hear anything, it was if she was deaf. She screamed as a wave of pain hit her. she dropped to her knees once again and passed out. when she woke up she was on a cot and her eyes were covered with a bandage, although she had a feeling she couldn’t see anyways. She sat up, and as a wave of dizziness hit her she decided to lie down again. then Ichiro, who claimed to be a medic came to her. he stood over her and said a few words that sounded like gibberish to Kazuko’s ears. then she felt an immense burning pain in her eyes. The bandages burned away. she clutched her hands over her face as “the storm” took over. she felt a wave of knowledge flow through her and she passed out once again.
I seem to have this power, ability
born with it I suppose
not something you can learn or be taught
you have it or you don’t –
I can drown out a voice
even god’s commands become mutterings
I don’t suffer any nagging, ragging
or slagging off
Keep at it with your wood and rock
Words will never be heard my me
How hard it would be to be deaf – not to be able to listen to music or the sound of the ocean or hear children’s voices. I never think of the value of hearing except when I can’t – and then I get frustrated with not being able to distinguish what is being said.
the ringing in my ears will last until the next afternoon, and everything will sound cloudy. But I don’t really care, not with the ecstasy and joy pounding through me and my screams lifting me up, sobbing for my hero and all my dreams coming true. I can give up a bit of my hearing for that.
I shook my head, did I really just have a conversation with a deaf person? I choked back a laugh, yes, I did. Yeah, she was smart and cute and had an awesome haircut, but Lillian Argento was deaf beyond a doubt.
The old man was deaf to madness. He was deaf to sorrow. He was deaf to rage. It was a very selective type of hearing, a type of hearing that one might usually think was more detrimental than helpful. But for the old man, the ability to tune out the hate and despair was something he could use for good. He always smiled. Always laughed. Always kissed his grandchildren beside the dried out Christmas tree, draped in tinsel while remembering the love coloring the ornaments dangling from the frosted boughs.
he was deaf to all sounds that she had made. her desperate attempts for him to understand, for him to hear her failed. she was voiceless, the words wouldn’t, couldn’t and probably shouldn’t come out. powerless was all she was. she had nothing.
left heartbroken after all this time. she was to picky to move on, to scared to move on. here hopes were up that he’d come back, but he had moved on and it was clear. he was deaf to everything to do with her.
Deaf to the world, blind to the soul, dumb to humanity. Deaf and blind and dumb. Who would listen to her? There was nothing for her to say that was not already mentioned elsewhere. What was the point of her? She was just another face, another body taking up space. There was nothing for her to see nothing for her to hear, nothing for her to say.
“Im sorry”, I said.
Nothing.
“Im sorry!”, I yelled, I cried. “I dont know what you want me to do. What do you want me to do?”
The words were lifted from my tongue with a heavy breath, and fell softly on deaf ears.
I took a deep breath and dived. I was soaring through the air, and pierced the water, slicing through it, as if I was a knife. All the noise and bustle of the busy pool, was gone. The underwater was deliciously silent to my ears. The clear turquoise water was all mine. I swam through it easily, gliding through it as though a fish, or even a mermaid. The only thing I could hear was the silence of the world. I was in my OWN world. A beautiful, blue, shiny, warm world. After a few minutes however, I knew it was time to leave my secret silent hide out. I closed my eyes, and my head broke the surface, and all the noises came flooding back. It was as if it had never happened…
Unfortunate bunch who have lost their hearing. However, they are, apparently, gifted in other fields of senses, such as touch or sight. idkkkkk, really.
The beautiful silence. Waking up and feeling for once like I could survive the day. No need for distractions, to run. To look for an escape everywhere, anywhere. No voices, no thoughts, no sounds. The unbelievable silence of a peaceful mind. I couldn’t remember the last time I felt so at ease, so quietened. So contented in myself. The beauty of silence, it cemented in my mind exactly how much I struggled and suffered with my own voices; conscious, subconscious and external.
Verzeihung, können Sie mich hören. Ja sie. Verstehen sie mich. Ich würde sie gerne etwas fragen. Verzeihung, hören sie mich überhaupt. Ja sie. Ich möchte sie kurz etwas fragen. Eine FRAGE!
handicapped person who cannot hear. Or non handicapped people who just tune other people out because they don’t give a shit about what that person is saying. My dog is going deaf I think.
Ears aren’t the key to creativity.
Let the mind invite the creations, allow the hands to bring that creation alive.
Being deaf, doesn’t mean that you’re imagination is dead.
I turn the music up high and let the vibrations fill the room. I bob my head back and forth with my eyes closed. I can feel the stares of others on me as I walk through the mall with my ear buds in, but I don’t care. If someone gives me a look, I either ignore them or simply say “I can feel the music”.
too many people think that being deaf is a curse. in reality, it can be a blessing. perhaps never having to know what the sound of screams of terror is better.
ok
I was deaf but now i see, i was blind but now i hear. fead eadf dfea afed 60 sec is gone
The Christmas tree is shining bright little stars of color all around the room. the angel on top looks down on us; her face is serene. all my family sits around me, smiles, laughter, crinkled eyes. everyone is talking but for a moment, i am deaf, i am speechless. i just drink it all in. the first christmas ive ever had surrounded by love. and probably the last.
Reminds me of my dead dog, Bear-Bear. He died about 5 or 6 years ago, when I was 11, and when he died he had becoe quite the old man (for doggies, that is) and had inhereted many old man qualities, such as blindness and deafness. It was sad, but he’s in a better place now.
I can hear what you say. I don’t want to hear what my mom says. Everybody yells at me to listen better. I yell back ”What”!
“Did you not here me? Are you deaf?”
John had learned to recognize the word ‘deaf’ on any pair of lips, in even the darkest of rooms. What prevented him from gurgling out his typical confident explanation of his condition was not his lack of hearing. This girl was gorgeous!
numb. to noise. to speech. to breathing. to music. to static. to sound.
self-contained in an immaculate world.
She stood, deaf to the world, as he strode towards her. Tall, dark-haired, and blue-eyed. Isabella felt herself shifting slightly forwards onto her toes as his eyes met hers.
“Hey, Bella,” Oliver said with a soft smile. Isabella sighed contentedly.
“Hello, Oliver.”
Do deaf people appreciate the things they see more? If they can’t hear outside noises, can they hear the thoughts they are having? Do they have a voice? What kind of language do the deaf speak? Are we born with a natural language?
Ludwig van Beethoven sat grumpily at the piano, unable to concentrate. Inside his fine mind, and behind those silent ears, a melody – perhaps the most captivating he would ever write – was aching for escape onto paper, sealing its glory for all time. But it could not get out. Those hands simply would not bring themselves to pick up the quill, and write the notes down.
Perhaps there was something wrong with it – some infirmity in its structure that would force him to improve the melody’s education before he would allow it to be released into the world.
For a full two hours he struggled, now standing up and storming round the room swiping the air in irritation; then sitting down, on the brink of playing, but his fingers refusing to touch the keys of the pianoforte.
As the clock chimed three hours later, he resigned himself. The tune must be written. It wasn’t perfect. In fact, the more he had wrestled with it, the more it had seemed like a momentary lapse of judgement to get so carried away with the idea that it was anything more than mediocre. But after spending so long thinking about it, it would seem more of a waste of time not to write it down.
After which, he could always seal it up, and hide it in a drawer somewhere, never to be found again. He might always be wrong, and if he forgot the tune, then it would be entirely lost.
So he sat down and calmly applied quill to paper, and filled the staves with black dots of a simple tune that, unknowingly to him, continue to influence generations beyond. It was catchy. Irritatingly so. A tune like this wuld be best written and destroyed, if anything to give it life before its certain death.
He gave it a title, folded the manuscript, and sealed it with wax, locked it in his ‘for later’ drawer of his study cabinet, and went to lunch, and promptly forgot about his intentions to destroy the manuscript. It remained hidden at the bottom of sheaves of other manuscripts that piled up on top of it, over the following months.
One hundred and sixty years later, in 1972, this manuscript found a new owner. An assistant at Sotheby’s, London, was attempting to fix a faulty drawer, in an antique cabinet from Germany. In his enthusiasm, he prised the door of the cabinet too violently, ejecting a manuscript (which had been holding the door shut through its position) was flung into the air. It hit the assistant’s chest, and dropped heavily to the floor, breaking the thick wax seal.
Staring at this assistant, was a tune which he could read, despite its aged appearance, and in spite of comments written in German along the margins, suffixed by plenty of exclamation marks and heavy underlinings. Reading the tune, he could sense why – it was catchy, but mildly irritating.
He had no suspicions as t the origin of the paper, and since no one knew of it, he pocketed it and went home.
The manuscript sent the assistant mad. Round and round it went, in his head, leaving him sleepless, and unable to work. The tune had to be written down again, released into the new world it had found itself in. He quit his job, and spent a month in the isolation of his bedsit, surrounded by sheaves of new manuscript paper, trying to deal with this tune that played so much violence on his mind.
It was a year after its discovery, in December, of 1973, that the tune found its way back into the world. Having sent its reader mad, it intended to do the same to the population as a whole. Through him, and his new band, it would unite minds, and then terrify them, as familiarity with it preyed on their sanity.
The ghost of Beethoven would surely have screamed from his grave as he saw the rising popularity of that tune through the hit single ‘I Wish It Could Be Christmas’ and damned the day he ever decided to write it down for posterity.
It didn’t matter what they knew, or didn’t knew. They wouldn’t be a part of my life anymore. It’d be as though they never existed in mine, so what they retained of me was a moot point. I had no more reason to bother with them.
She felt the floor shiver beneath her bare feet with the roar of sound and her lips trembled where they brushed the mesh of stereo speakers.
What a coincidence. We brother is deaf. He’s also captain of football baseball and basketball teams and homecoming king. Next year he is going to Harvard university. All of this is good but what I love about my brother the most is that through his hearing loss he has found hope and never ever, no matter what, has he ever doubted himself or his beliefs or where he has come from.
Deaf
I had a deaf friend who used to wear a “I’m not deaf, I’m ignoring you” button :)
I took one or two years of American Sign Language in college and taught myself from books before that. I’m ok on paper but not as good in practice. As with most people and learned languages, I speak it better than I understand it. And I don’t speak it that well.
I wouldn’t mind taking more ASL classes someday, but I think what I’d really need is to go someplace like Gallaudet, and I don’t think I’m interested enough to be *that* immersed in it. If a family member were deaf, I absolutely would. I’ve always loved ASL. I think it’s a beautiful language.
Deaf.God, this is sad. All the people who are deaf, Im so sorry for you. I cannot imagine a life, where I cant hear a thing. Sounds, voices, music. You guys have my respect. You really have. I love all of you.
My grandpa can’t hear out of his left ear
because it got blown out in combat,
fighting for our freedom.
So when I wish him “Merry Christmas”
and tell him “I love you and I appreciate you”
he usually doesn’t hear it at all.
But, I guess, at least I am free
and can tell him these things,
even if he does not hear them.
I’m not sure if it was worth it.
i turn a deaf ear, subconsciously, to people whose wavelengths don’t match mine. No matter how hard i try to listen, their words just flow out of my ears, without understanding them. is this called selective listening?
She stared at him as he spoke, his lips moving into words that she wished she understood. He stopped talking and actually took a moment to look at her.
“Are you okay?”
She grinned.
“Of course.”
My aunt louise was deaf, and I remember most the disctinct way in which she used to try to pronounce words. she was a wonderful little old lady with a zest for life. i am so blessed to have had her presence in my life. she died on christmas eve many years ago.
He had the world’s largest ears, and people took great joy in pouring all information, music, chatter and every other imaginable chaos of noise into them. Sometimes, he would nod in silent approval, the slightest sign of that weighted head tilted forward bringing a wave of excitement. Other times, he might incline his head slightly away, and a tremor of fear or disappointment would settle upon them. Each time, though, they waited with tingling anticipation for some kind of response, craning their gaze skywards, or inclining it down to their innermost depths, or wherever it was they sense those massive ears were. Gradually, they realised they needed to shout louder, play more vibrantly, call more energetically to be sure they would get some kind of response. And then one quiet night, when for a brief moment, when all the chatter had stopped and everyone in the village took a moment to remember what it was they were waiting for a response to, it occurred to one boy tapping away on his keyboard that perhaps they hadn’t been looking hard enough for the response.
My best friend is deaf and she does sign language which my he mom taught me how to do. She went deaf when we both were six. And i was confused why my friend couldn’t hear me. she was listening to loud blasting music and the music blasted her ear drums. I’m just happy she is my best friend.
kazuko stood, her blood glistening in the moonlight. she couldn’t hear anything, it was if she was deaf. She screamed as a wave of pain hit her. she dropped to her knees once again and passed out. when she woke up she was on a cot and her eyes were covered with a bandage, although she had a feeling she couldn’t see anyways. She sat up, and as a wave of dizziness hit her she decided to lie down again. then Ichiro, who claimed to be a medic came to her. he stood over her and said a few words that sounded like gibberish to Kazuko’s ears. then she felt an immense burning pain in her eyes. The bandages burned away. she clutched her hands over her face as “the storm” took over. she felt a wave of knowledge flow through her and she passed out once again.
I seem to have this power, ability
born with it I suppose
not something you can learn or be taught
you have it or you don’t –
I can drown out a voice
even god’s commands become mutterings
I don’t suffer any nagging, ragging
or slagging off
Keep at it with your wood and rock
Words will never be heard my me
How hard it would be to be deaf – not to be able to listen to music or the sound of the ocean or hear children’s voices. I never think of the value of hearing except when I can’t – and then I get frustrated with not being able to distinguish what is being said.
the ringing in my ears will last until the next afternoon, and everything will sound cloudy. But I don’t really care, not with the ecstasy and joy pounding through me and my screams lifting me up, sobbing for my hero and all my dreams coming true. I can give up a bit of my hearing for that.
“HI THERE!”
“I can read lips you idiot.”
“Oh. Kay. Caaann. You. Get. This?”
*head slap*
I shook my head, did I really just have a conversation with a deaf person? I choked back a laugh, yes, I did. Yeah, she was smart and cute and had an awesome haircut, but Lillian Argento was deaf beyond a doubt.
The old man was deaf to madness. He was deaf to sorrow. He was deaf to rage. It was a very selective type of hearing, a type of hearing that one might usually think was more detrimental than helpful. But for the old man, the ability to tune out the hate and despair was something he could use for good. He always smiled. Always laughed. Always kissed his grandchildren beside the dried out Christmas tree, draped in tinsel while remembering the love coloring the ornaments dangling from the frosted boughs.
Beethoven composed many beautiful works of art while deaf. I admire him for that.
he was deaf to all sounds that she had made. her desperate attempts for him to understand, for him to hear her failed. she was voiceless, the words wouldn’t, couldn’t and probably shouldn’t come out. powerless was all she was. she had nothing.
left heartbroken after all this time. she was to picky to move on, to scared to move on. here hopes were up that he’d come back, but he had moved on and it was clear. he was deaf to everything to do with her.