| Art. Wine. My grandparents. |
|
|
| 10:04pm 30/10/2008 |
| |
Between the twelfth and the twenty-first days of this November, on River Road in the main gallery of their newly-opened complex, the Lamar Dodd School of Art shall present seven abstract erotic nightmares, received and lovingly recorded by the author of this announcement. On the fourteenth between the hours of seven and nine post meridian, we shall enjoy a reception during which the finest boxes of wine shall be tapped and served.
Please, please come and celebrate! |
|
| |
|
|
| |
| |
|
|
| 07:38am 14/12/2007 |
| |
The Ottoman sultan Selim III's signature, 1789 CE. |
|
| |
|
|
| |
| |
|
|
| 03:32pm 30/11/2007 |
| |
I agreed to help set up this show, and so far they haven’t shown up. But I haven’t been on the internet in a month. It’s nice to know it’s still there.
This month’s highlights:
I wrote a compendium of my thoughts on art tentatively titled “The Alizarin Paper.” My professor called it “epic” and gave it to his friends.
Heather Greenway helped me set up a month long one-man show at Transmet. I’m not terrified yet, but once I go look in my studio I will be. February. But I can have the space for longer if this other person they’re working with continues to be a flake. So if you’re in the area --
I’m very tired. But good tired. |
|
| |
|
|
| |
| |
|
|
| 04:42pm 15/10/2007 |
| |
The mammalian pseudo-penis appears to be simply for display, although the hyena is an exception: erection of the penis (which is voluntary in both sexes) is certainly a display of submission in both male and female spotted hyena, but the female hyena additionally uses her pseudo-penis for urination, copulation, and childbirth. In addition, this make it difficult for males to mate without the full cooperation of females, which helps the female dominated society of spotted hyenas to eliminate forced sex. [3]
The female Spotted Hyena's urogenital system is unique among mammals: the clitoris is elongated to form a fully erectile phallus, the vaginal opening is at the tip of this phallus. - only the shape of the glans at the tip of the phallus makes it possible to differentiate the sexes. The female urinates, mates and gives birth through this pseudo-penis. Since it is impossible to penetrate without the female's cooperation, female hyena have full control over whom they choose to mate with. The male hyena's penis lacks a baculum, a bone found in the genitals of most mammals.
Birth is very difficult: the internal birth canal extends almost to the subcaudal location of the vulva (which in Crocuta is fused to form a scrotum containing fatty pseudo-testes) before turning abruptly towards the clitoris, and the clitoris itself is narrow (although it ruptures with the first parturition, making subsequent births easier). In captivity, many cubs of primiparous mothers are stillborn because of the long labour times involved, and in the wild, it is estimated that 10% of first time mothers die during labour.[8] These factors suggests that at some point there must have been powerful selective pressures driving the evolution of masculinisation.
Researchers originally thought that one of the things that causes this characteristic of the genitals is androgens that are expressed to the fetus very early on in its development. However, it was discovered that when the androgens are held back from the fetus, the development of the female genitalia was not altered. Other hyena species lack this adaptation, making it a fairly recent one in the hyena line. Masculinised female genitalia also appears in some lemurs, spider monkeys, and the Binturong but the fused vulva is unique to the hyena.
Hyenas are born with their eyes open and teeth already fully developed after a 4 month gestation period. At birth, the cubs weigh 2.2 to 3.6 lb (1-1.6 kg), and are among the few mammals to commit neonatal siblicide. A same sexed litter will result in vicious fighting between the cubs, often resulting in death. This siblicide is estimated to contribute to 25% of hyena cub mortality[9]. Since a single cub will receive more food and mature faster, this behavior is probably adaptive. Spotted hyena milk is very rich, having the highest protein content (14.9%) of any terrestrial carnivore, and the fat content (14.1%) is second only to the polar bear, so unlike lions and wild dogs, they can leave their cubs for about a week without feeding them. [10] Two to six weeks after whelping, young are transported to the communal den. Young depend entirely on milk for about 8 months and are not weaned until 12 to 16 months old. Maturation is at three years, females later than males. Female offspring remain in their natal clan while males leave at around two years.
Subordinate members of the clan lick the pseudo-penis of a higher ranked female as a sign of submission. The matriarch's pseudo-penis is licked by all members of the clan, while male's penises are rarely licked because the highest ranked male is subordinate to the lowest ranked female.[14]
Females tend to mate with males from other clans, thereby preventing inbreeding. Female hyenas very rarely mate with highly aggressive males. Instead, calmer and more docile males are selected. [15] Patience is especially important since courtship can last as long as a year. For this reason, dominant and impatient males have difficulty finding mates. Despite the complicated courtship, the female raises her pups without the male. Infanticide is common. "Prior to the mother's return, another adult female (a full sister to the new mother) arrived and methodically killed both newborns with crushing bites to the head" (Paula A. White)
The Greek philosopher Aristotle was noted to have first challenged the condemnations directed toward the hyena's supposed hermaphroditism.
Early in the Christian era and continuing through the middle ages, two charges against hyenas emerged: that they could swap gender, which was a morally unacceptable practice, and that they feasted upon human corpses, digging up graves. The former was symbolically linked to the Jews and reflected the anti-semitism of this extended period, while the latter was threatening to many human traditions and persists to the present day. Sir Walter Raleigh, in his History of the World believed that hyenas were not present in Noah's Ark, considering he believed them to be mixed animals like mules, and thus could easily be recreated.
African attitudes toward spotted hyenas are little better than those held in the Western world. The Kaguru of Tanzania and the Kujamaat of Southern Senegal view hyenas as inedible and greedy hermaphrodites. A mythical African tribe called the Bouda is reputed to house members able to transform into hyenas.[24] Belief in "Werehyenas" is so entrenched within the traditional lore of the Bornu people of north-eastern Nigeria, that their language even contains a special word bultungin which translates as "I change myself into a hyena". [25]
Early naturalists thought hyenas were hermaphrodites or commonly practiced homosexuality, largely due to the female spotted hyena's unique urogenital system. According to early writings such as Ovid's Metamorphoses and the Physiologus, the hyena continually changed its sex and nature from male to female and back again. In Paedagogus, Clement of Alexandria noted that the hyena (along with the hare) was "quite obsessed with sexual intercourse." Many Europeans associated the hyena with sexual deformity, prostitution, and deviant sexual behavior.
This unique genitalia and aggressive behavior in the female hyena has led to the understanding that more aggressive females are better able to compete for resources including food and mating partners.[37][35] Research has shown that "elevated levels of testosterone in utero"[38] contributes to extra aggressiveness from their mother and both males and females mount members of the same sex,[39][38] who in turn are possibly acting more submissive because of lower levels of testosterone from their mothers.[36] |
|
| |
|
|
| |
| |
|
|
| 01:01pm 02/10/2007 |
| |
In a recurring dream I am part of a procession of men who are carrying a large polychromed wooden statue of a woman through a shallow sea. We're wearing funeral vestments, and someone's playing the trumpet, but I can't hear him over the rising waves. |
|
| |
|
|
| |
| |
|
|
| 12:48pm 27/09/2007 |
| |
I got here by following a link on Crossroads' website. (There are no pictures of Crossroads -- the actual complex itself -- on the website. Which I find rather creepy.)
Well, the espresso machine's been need of repair for a while, and has been overheating its pressurized reservoir. And Saturday it backwashed all of a sudden and hosed me down with pressurized boiling water, and unluckily I was wearing long sleeves, and I got two burns bad enough they bled. I've had my arms padded with gauze all week, and have been immensely worried, but they're finally on the mend, but still ache, and I probably need to go to the doctor.
So I kind of know everything about eviction now. Long story short, Moe got me in a fine spot of trouble; or rather, I got myself in a fine spot of trouble regarding Moe. I staged my response to my notice to quit, and got found out. But, as I've found many times before, most any grievance may be righted by placing a month's rent in one's leasing agent's hand and laying on my vintage straight-tooth-grinning boyish charm. Let's hear it for crooked folks.
Corey and I have an interview to try to get some gallery space. I'd think we're solid, but we're both sick as dogs, and I'm vaguely worried we're not going to be better by next week when we have to talk to this woman. |
|
| |
|
|
| |
| I've turned my body into kitsch. |
|
|
| 10:50am 20/09/2007 |
| |
So I'm going to be published in the first UK edition of Diane Edison's Full-Range Color Painting for Beginners. I signed the release Tuesday.
Prof. Morrison stopped me on the street this morning to say she'd seen my new work and that I'm "on to something."
A second toothbrush has taken up residence by my sink. Perhaps more on that phenomenon later. |
|
| |
|
|
| |
| |
|
|
| 01:03pm 11/09/2007 |
| |
This is the happiest I've been in my entire life. |
|
| |
|
|
| |
| Mi povus esti membro de la katopia registaro. |
|
|
| 09:23am 30/05/2007 |
| |
“I consider myself a soldier of Esperanto. It is not important that you have small numbers, your idea will succeed. It will succeed because it is just. Each nation has its language, humanity should have its own, Esperanto.”
-- Fidel Castro, 1990 |
|
| |
|
|
| |
| |
|
|
| 03:42pm 24/04/2007 |
| |
I dreamt last night I had been in a car accident, and when I regained consciousness I was told the accident had killed my entire family and triggered in me a dormant but quite malignant degenerative mental condition marked by extreme paranoia. I would have to receive daily injections to keep my condition from worsening. My doctor was quite friendly, even camp-counselor-ish, and at first I was quite happy that I was in such capable hands. My roommates substantiated what I had been told, were quite obviously paranoid. One believed he had been put in this facility so his family could be assassinated without his intervention. The other believed his mother was also in this facility but that they had both received extensive plastic surgery so they wouldn’t be able to recognize each other. After some time there though, I came to believe the horrible sounds I heard at night were the doctor-wardens raping the female inmates, and though my cellmates rejected this as my delusion, they agreed it was odd that all three of us had lost our entire families in car accidents, and though there was no doubt there was something wrong with us, we decided it was the injections that were making us paranoid. We planned to escape with the other inmates by leaping from an open window on the top storey. If we lived we lived, if we died we died. But before we had made it to the top storey, a terrible fire broke out in the staircase and the stairs began to collapse. I helped a few of the inmates down the stairs with me, and as a reward for my bravery, I was awarded a large private suite. Anyway, my cellmates had died in the fire. But my rooms didn’t have windows, were at the top of the facility, and the door only opened from the outside -- and only opened when I was to be given my injections. And so I planned somehow (and this part doesn’t really make sense since I couldn’t leave my room, but it was written in dream logic) to have another inmate open my door from the outside in the middle of the night when we were all locked in our cells, and the doors leading outside were open so the doctor-wardens could come and go as they pleased. Before she ever arrived though, I realized that there’d be no way she could help me unless she was a double agent, and when she did finally open my door, I threw her inside, closed her in, and ran. I exited through what I thought was the front door, but instead led to a series of basements and subbasements, colossal rooms divided internally by ad hoc cinderblock and plywood constructions. These were populated by people I knew from the real world -- Marcus, my friend Candler, and my father were there, but none of them recognized me, and my father was working on a tablesaw and, I suspected, making a new staircase. The final subbasement consisted of nothing but double doors, industrial types -- sheet steel with pushbars -- but these had all been bolted shut. I became more and more frantic, trying each of the doors and realizing I was stuck, until I finally worked up the courage to climb down an evil-looking pipe set in the floor. I found myself standing in a completely flat and immensely broad snow-covered field. And my mother was there with her minivan. She told me I was gravely sick and needed to go back to the facility for the sake of the family. I allowed her to lead me back to her car, but once inside I struggled, and she lost control of the vehicle in the snow and flipped it. And when I regained consciousness I was told the accident had killed my entire family and triggered in me a dormant but quite malignant degenerative mental condition marked by extreme paranoia. I would have to receive daily injections to keep my condition from worsening... The dream continued from there exactly as it had begun, but this time around I was aware that I was dreaming, but I thought that when I awoke I’d be in the facility, and that this “dream” I was having, this dream-within-a-dream, was quasi-prophetic, was instructing me how not to escape. When the dream’s series of events then differed from the original iteration, and I took that to mean I had woken up. I had received a call from the Philomafia. They wanted to see me. For security reasons, I had my cellmate impersonate me on the phone, while I listened in on another line. Listening to him speak, however, made me believe he was actually Will, who had undergone plastic surgery vis-à-vis my cellmate’s delusion from the first iteration of the dream, and since I knew I hadn’t undergone any physical alteration and Will hadn’t clued me into his real identity, he of course was working for the other side. And they were using him to lure my friends into the facility, and I had played into their hands. Wracked by guilt, I climbed the staircase planning to leap out of the open top storey window to my death. But before I had made it to the top storey, a terrible fire broke out in the staircase and the stairs began to collapse. The dream then synced back up with its original chronology until my alarm woke me up. |
|
| |
|
|
| |
| |
|
|
| 03:28pm 22/04/2007 |
| |
 |
|
| |
|
|
| |
| |
|
|
| 06:59pm 19/04/2007 |
| |
I was accepted to Ringling. My life just complexified by an order of magnitude. I just don’t know what I’m going to do. I need to call my grandfather. |
|
| |
|
|
| |
| Fair warning: I'm rather upset. |
|
|
| 10:16pm 16/04/2007 |
| |
Does anybody know how to handle the massacre? Is that why nobody’s said anything yet, we’re all still trying to figure out how it makes us feel? I don’t even know what to do with something like this. It’s just got me so -- angry -- that something so terrible is physically possible. And I’ll tell you what, the media’s really beginning to piss me off. “The College Columbine”? Please keep your quaint alliteration, copyrightable taglines, and superficial analogies out of our national tragedy, CNN, you’re supposed to be on our side. I’m really not looking forward to the conservatives running their mouths off about this. It’s always “rock music” and violent video games that’re at fault. (Although the latter probably in part are -- at least they’re not helping. IF you want entertainment, learn to play an instrument or take up hiking. If you want catharsis, read fucking Hamlet. Or volunteer at a crisis hotline. Do something worthwhile. Just think about how the military talks about training tankmen who’re good with video games, and it starts to seem a little sick, huh?) I wouldn’t be at all surprised if the military was somehow to blame. Directly. That incident in Texas in ’66? A marine. I remember them talking about that back in ’99. Maybe apprenticing young men -- boys -- to kill other people like it was some sort of goddamn craft isn’t such a good idea. Look at fucking Jason Borja. Perhaps, just perhaps, there’s a correlation between senseless killings abroad and senseless killings at home. Or perhaps between graduates not being to get jobs in this economy, not being able to become “men” just like we’re expected to, and killings on a college campus. Perhaps I’m being absurd -- it might just be “rock music” after all. -- But maybe something good’ll come of this. I mean, if anything’s going to stir up resentment for our current firearms legislation, it’s the largest mass murder in our history, right? (I’m not sure I could stomach the NRA’s “coincidental” conference in Blacksburg next month. I’m not sure I could stomach crying fathers carrying pictures of their murdered children across the street from the “Civics Center” where Charlton Heston drinks champagne and gets his cock sucked by a room full of lunatics.) How is it even possible for one man to kill thirty-three people? Physically, financially, legally -- how does one acquire the means to do something like that? It’s insane that it’s legal for anyone to purchase a tool expressly designed to kill his neighbors. Rifles, yes, okay, shotguns, uh-huh, if you’re a subsistence hunter like my Uncle Ken was when he was newlywed and dirt broke, then I understand the necessity. But you don’t really use an AK-47 to hunt quail. (And shouldn’t we be asking ourselves why working men are still having to go into the woods with dangerous weapons to kill their families’ dinner while our wealthy’s children get more and more obese?) And self-defense? Please. Who’re we defending ourselves from? The neighbor-kid? Injuns? The guy who stole my bike? The fifty-to-two-hundred-or-so serial killers the FBI tells us are at large in our neighborhoods right now just waiting for some idiot not to turn his home into an arsenal? Honestly. -- And how does a college student, and I’m assuming he’s a college student because he had access to the dorms, fund something like this? Did he use his student loans? Oh, yeah, I’m forgetting weapons are filthy cheap. Not that I thinking raising prices is a good idea. I really don’t want a couple of rich white men to hold all our wealth and all our firepower. I’d rather no one be armed. Who seriously thinks gun ownership is a good idea? If you have so fetishized your castration anxiety that you need to surround yourself with morbid phallocratic idols, I wouldn’t trust you with a sharpened pencil. Grow up. And I’m serious. If you think owning a gun is a good idea, and you’re older than seven, there is something gravely wrong with you.
Oh. And filing taxes really sucks. Maybe some of my cash could go to keeping guns out of schools. There’s a thought.
Finally, a lighter note: These are a few sculptors I think you should see:
Zbigniew Chojnacki
http://www.zcstudios.com/
Javier Marín
http://www.javiermarin.com.mx/
http://artscenecal.com/ArticlesFile/Archive/Articles2001/Articles0601/JaMarinA.html
http://www.abstractfigurativesculpture.com/html/javiermarin.html
http://www.temorivera.com/galeria/fotografia/2004/septiembre/javiermarin/javier2.html
Medardo Rosso
http://www.medardorosso.org/
http://hirshhorn.si.edu/collection/search.asp?Artist=Rosso&hasImage=1
http://www.thais.it/scultura/rossmeda.htm
Marino Marini
http://www.fondazionemarinomarini.it/
http://www.museomarinomarini.it/
http://www.thais.it/scultura/marini.htm |
|
| |
|
|
| |
| The Cathedral of Erotic Misery |
|
|
| 09:04pm 22/03/2007 |
| |
The three-stories tall photographs of aborted fetuses and associated religious literature were back today. I decided on a whim to skip class, ask around, and meet the gentleman behind the operation. And then, when I did, I tried my damnedest to get him to fight me. Specifically, to punch me first. There’s no way in hell this charade could keep going on year after year if the maniac responsible attacked a student. No matter what I tried, though, he refused to budge. Even when I told he was Nazism, he was the Talaban. Even when he called me son (“You are not my father.”), when he referred me to the woman taking petition signatures, and I called him an inhuman misogynist (and I might have also said “cocksucker,” but “inhuman misogynist” is the one I’m proud of --) and told him to be a man and look me in the eye. Even when he demanded my name, and I told him I thought he ought to rape his mother and that I hoped the offspring was viable. (That was pure improvisation, too!) He made some high pitched quasi-words at this point, threatened to call the police, and disappeared into his tremendous tent of gore -- ostensibly to inform the authorities I was harassing him, and his departure made for some scattered applause in small little knot I had attracted around me. With luck the Red & Black will say something. They’ll print that most of date rape occurs because the girlie done drunk herself horny, they’ll print some nineteenyearold’s thoughts and reflections on high fashion, but they somehow fail to mention the lunatic who preaches outside the library being escorted off campus for making terroristic threats to the student body. -- I was really worked up by the time he left and actually considered hopping the security fence he’d erected around his little sideshow and going after the crusty old bastard, but instead I signed the petition, and pretty quickly hopped a bus for a work. After all, he probably did call the police. And, though this may be hard to imagine, I do find it difficult to blend into a crowd.
And then I got the shakes real bad. The old honky sitting behind me had an impenetrably thick southern accent and was trying to tell the busdriver he was too hot, but we thought (at least the busdriver and I, who exchanged words about this, but probably everybody else shooting him terrified looks, too) he was trying to express that he was too high. The old man spent the rest of the time he had on the bus asking everyone if they were hot. I think most of everyone thought he was saying “high.” I couldn’t get my hands to stop shaking.
Yeah, so, the damn good-for-nothing bastard didn’t hit me. But I think I ruined his day. Good. With luck, his week. -- I am so fucking sick and tired of being bullied around this pathetic excuse for a university. I kept asking myself all day, What gives the old codger the right? But then this struck me: Good God, what if he’s faculty? Never learned his name. His lackey (they had matching uniforms) pointed me in his direction. The uniforms were red and black.
The exhibit’s down tonight. |
|
| |
|
|
| |
| Wikipedia |
|
|
| 12:06am 28/02/2007 |
| |
Their language is called Quinqui. Kinky.
And then, in its exploration of the language’s name’s etymology, one can follow a link to a concise but illuminating description of both historical and contemorary professional ironmongery.
(Time plus thirty-five minutes -- Edit:)
Petromyzontidae are the lampreys. A lamprey (sometimes also called lamprey eel) is a jawless fish with a toothed, funnel-like sucking mouth, with which most species bore into the flesh of other fish to suck their blood. In zoology...
(Time plus sixty minutes -- Edit:)
Many published figures show the articular as making an appearance at the very tip of the retroarticular process, and, surely, the articular is also the surface of the lower jaw in direct contact with the quadrate. OK. Then what is the superficial bone separating the two exposures of the articular? |
|
| |
|
|
| |
| |
|
|
| 10:27am 21/02/2007 |
| |
The emblem formed from four interlocking arms on the front of Memorial Hall, which houses the “Office of Multicultural Services,” whatever that is, looks immensely like a swastika. |
|
| |
|
|
| |
| I've been talking with this man about our invented languages for a little over a third of my life. |
|
|
| 09:53am 23/01/2007 |
| |
Possible Ghmachle Vowel Schemes
The current Ghmachle vowel scheme
looks something like this:
|
ii üü öö
|
uu
|
|
i
ü
|
|
u
|
|
e ö
|
-e
|
o oo
|
|
ee
äö
|
|
a ao
|
|
|
aa
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
That is,
|
iˑ yˑ
|
uˑ
|
|
ɪ ʏ
|
|
ʊ
|
|
e ø
|
ə
|
o oˑ
|
|
ɛˑ œˑ
|
|
ʌ ɔˑ
|
|
|
ɐˑ
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
I have e: and ø: merging with i:
and y:, respectively, but [y:] from etymological ø: is
still represented by /öö/. This is simply so I don’t have a stem-change
in my inflections. sg. broor
pl. brööres is a lot more attractive (and sensical) to my mind than broor brüüres.
At the end of the day, it’s pretty straight-forward. And not too interesting. Historically accurate,
possibly, but boring. Since we’ve
been talking so much about vowels recently, I’ve been contemplating doing
something a little less formulaic. I’m
not sure which way I’m moving, but these are two alternate possibilities:
|
i
|
e
|
i:
|
e:
|
u
|
u:
|
o:
|
a
|
a:
|
|
i
|
i:
|
e:
|
u
|
u:
|
o:
|
a
|
a:
|
|
i
e+nasal
|
i:
|
u o+nasal
|
u:
|
a
|
a:
|
Very much the same, but a little more streamlined. I don’t know why, but recently I’ve been
attracted to triangulated vowel systems (or otherwise simple schemes) in
language families which usually yield complex systems.
And there’s this weird, whiskey-inspired, only-quasi-triangulated
system in which the tense vowels sort of dance counter-clockwise around the
tongue:
|
i
|
e
|
i:
|
e:
|
u
|
u:
|
o:
|
a
|
a:
|
|
i
|
i:
|
e:
|
u
|
u:
|
o:
|
a
|
a:
|
|
i-tense
|
i+tense
|
u-t
|
u+t
|
a-t
|
a+t
|
|
i
|
e
|
u
|
i >
i
|
a
|
o
|
This one would could do some really
strange things. Especially
if I keep j-and-w-umlaut, ã-to-õ, and fracture. But I’m not even sure if this sort of thing
happens in the real world.
Re: Possible Ghmachle Vowel
Schemes
Hi Zeke, &al., I'm still looking at the Ghmachle vowels. The current scheme i understand and like - especially the combination "äö". It makes me think of finnish. I also like öö = y, and totally agree with keeping it for etymological reasons. I also like the triangulation on scheme number one. I've been working on something fairly similar in lhaxu, but I haven't really come up with anything concrete yet that won't get rid of half my beautiful beautiful cases! The second (whiskey-inspired) quasi-triangulated system I'm still working on deciphering. So speaking of vowel schemes, i have my own vowel shifting issue to figure out in thydish. And no, I promise this time it's NOT about the schwa! Anyway, the current scheme seems to be that back vowels are raised and front vowels are lowered (or re-lowered), particularly PGmc e/i>e where it normally raises to i (it, six, which - het, secs, hwelh). Recently I've been re-lowering other i's that have heretofore gone neglected. Unfortunately, this ruins the lovely paradigm in a lot of my strong verbs, such as bagenan and drengcan. The paradigm used to be: drinc- (inf, pres, gerund, subj) - dranc- (past) - drenc- (past subj) - gadruncan (participal). Now i have a conflict between my present and my past subjunctive. The solution i propose for this is a little out of the norm, but not without precedent (at least in german). What do yall think of the following paradigm to replace it? drenc (inf, pres, gerund, subj) - drinc (pres 2&3, just because i like it) - dranc (past) - drœnc (past subj) - gadruncan (participle)... This small shift from -e- to -œ- in the past subjunctive goes on in archaic german conjugations for the exact same reason - so that the umlaut of the past tense verb doesn't end up sounding the same as the infinitive; i.e. empfehlen - emfiehlst - empfahl - empföhle - empfohlen. Today, empfähle exists alongside empföhle. It doesn't quite follow my rule (and german's rule) of "past subjunctive = umlaut of back vowels", but it's close and only off by a rounding. I haven't really worked through my lexicon to see just how much this is going to change, so i'm hesitant; so far at least 18 verbs will be affected by this. (baginn', bindn', drincn', finðn', hringn', singn', etc...) And then there's a bit of verschärfung that raised its ugly head in singn' (sengwan?) and sincn' (sencwan?) that i'm not sure quite what to do about yet, but that's another post. Any thoughts? Drake
|
|
| |
|
|
| |
| |
|
|
| 10:10am 05/01/2007 |
| |
I actually had a crisis this morning, very nearly decided just to go back to bed and call in sick to work, because I decided using w in the Ghmachle orthography violated its design principles, and I had to give up all my beautiful wC- words: wlonke proud, self-important, stuff-shirted, wlitsze banality, triviality, unimportant minutia, ghwrezed torn, broken, ripped to shreds.
I’m trying to create a group of words and a set of relationships between them that could actually be productive in my life. tuesuffixongesch is the state of finding unpleasant two words with the same suffix in the title of a work. (Invitation to a Decapitation -- Yikes!)
I’ve decided
- community is the highest priority and even castration is preferable to living life alone, and
- there’s a certain type of person who likes Borges and a certain type who likes Nabokov and I’m trying to be both, and
- painting my dreams is actually productive and less criminal than what Nerdrum does because I’m a Freudian and if he’s wrong there’s just nothing nothing, and
- I really need to stop hunting for father figures and be a man and that relates to the above in profound ways, and, finally,
- school starts Monday and I really, really, really can’t wait.
As soon as I take proactive steps to improve the quality of my life and then tell someone I important to me what I’m doing, I suddenly no longer feel the need to take proactive steps to improve the quality of my life. I’m writing this as an exorcism. I’m going to go grocery shopping today and buy something besides beer. I will, I will, I will, I will. |
|
| |
|
|
| |
| |
|
|
| 12:44pm 08/12/2006 |
| |
Okay, well. Just got off the phone with Mom. Turns out Cynnie wasn’t exaggerating. The house really did burn down. Seems to have started either in or around the twenty-five-year-old drier my parents dragged with them across the country. (À propos the stack of clothes that has been sitting in between the washer and drier since the mid-nineties, my guess is around.) Everything that wasn’t scorched is under two feet of water.
The dog breathed in some smoke, but got out. Still looking for the cat.
Dad’s in the hospital being treated for asphyxia and burns. He tried to put it out and burned his head, arms, and hands. He’s bald, but his head luckily got the least of it. Mom said he may need skin grafts on his hands, but she’s a worst-case scenario type of person.
My grandparents have of course offered to let my family stay with them, but Mom’s arranging to be put up in an extended stay motel until insurance comes through.
I got out of my final today, but haven’t managed to get work covered. I can’t decide if I even ought to try to get it covered. |
|
| |
|
|
| |
|
|
|
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
stasio_bent's journal