nvm we arent eating shit its so over

Side order music analysis (spoilers)

Don't think I've seen anyone mention this before. But there is one specific Octo Expansion song that lives rent free in my head because it sounds like something out of my childhood and I have not been able to place- but it is also why I recognised it immediately.

Side order borrows SO many motifs from the octo expansion soundtrack and remixes them- which makes sense. It is a game about memories after all- especially trials and tribulations the octoling's go through, right. So octo expansion jingles are LITTERED inside the Side Order OST if you just listen close enough.

But this one song caught my eye as especially gripping.

#12 Awake

This is a very specific Deadf1sh piece. And from what we know now that they've been forced to write music for the tests in the metro, it sort of became their 'theme song'. It almost feels like running in circles with no hope of getting out of the cycle. But it carries this nostalgia no other song... can replicate.

In Side Order. This song is straight up yoinked and integrated. It is. God. Their theme MELTS into the lobby music in the opening sequence as soon as Acht introduces themselves. It is there in the background. It is THEM. Their introduction. The no longer sanitised deadf1sh. Titled?

#12.2 Awakened

This remix is slowed down. It's no longer running for your life and for your freedom. It's more mellow. It has more happy notes. It has the tone of "I am here and everything will be okay, smile for me." It is such a perfect song to introduce Acht to us and I could just die listening to it. It's such a chill song to relax to now. The song that makes you sit in the elevator and rest your head against their shoulder between floors

Just beat side order n while i did have fun it kinda just confirms one thing to me: splatoon has just been trying to make octo expansion 2 again and again. It was clear with return of the mammalians, and it was clear here- especially the finale. I definitely liked it but i did wish there was a bit more plotwise yknow- having a sanitized octoling as a character was sick as hell but i wish we got to know more about sanitization from them and more about acht and marinas pasts- i admit I'm still hunting for the dev diaries so if any of these things are answered there i will gladly take it.

Also this is just me being cringe but they should've gone all out with the color theme and have eight get rainbow ink for the final boss

Your first point is VERY TRUE honestly they REALLY HAVE just been trying to recreate octo expansion ever since octo expansion came out lol. (Spoilers for Side Order under cut)

I'm not "done" with the story yet, I hesitate to call the first full run-through of the tower "the story" despite the final boss being there. Arguably when you beat the final boss, that's basically the prologue for the ACTUAL story to start, because prior to that you have like... maybe 20% of all the lore the thing has to offer. I feel like it is a weird decision from them to put so much of the story (well, not even really story, just unlockable lore) behind you already having beaten the final boss and rolling credits, given most people that get through the final boss will treat that as the mark that they've "beat" the game even though in Side Order's case, "beating the game" is really just STARTING the game. (And this makes most of the story technically postgame, which is something a lot of people don't enjoy.)

I believe the ACTUAL story will further unravel as you do repeat playthroughs of the tower, as the story is less "get to the top of the tower and defeat Order" and actually more "reconfigure all the palettes to save all the people whose souls have been pulled into the Memverse (name pending)". I won't be giving any bigger consensus on how the story is or if it's good until I've *actually* gotten to the very end of it, because the way it's been unraveling I am interested in if there's some other developments later on - I'm thinking there's about a 50/50 chance of there really not being anything more than extra lore, but the other 50 chance of there actually BEING some kind of story progression later on still.

They definitely SHOULD'VE done rainbow ink for the Order fight... I can agree with people on one thing and it's that the final boss was very underwhelming. I got to the final boss on my FIRST TRY (then died because i got knocked off the stage lol) and just... having the final boss be about one and a half hours of gameplay after STARTING the game is not great lol. But even with the final boss battle itself, it felt extremely underwhelming with no buildup and a short boss battle, and you could argue that the whole story IS buildup to the boss - this is true! But if it's JUST buildup to the boss, then... my point is Side Order's first full run kind of feels like the escape phase in Octo Expansion with much worse payoff. It's a pretty good buildup for a pretty underwhelming final boss, but it's just that - JUST the buildup, really. I think Octo Expansion's escape phase might even be longer than my average run of the tower, and the tower is the main game.

I dunno where I'm going here really. I do hope they start doing more ACTUAL LIVING STORY in Splatoon rather than putting the characters in a box and giving you all the information as a text box - but that's something i expect from Splatoon stories as per default, honestly, so i wasn't let down. As for the story itself, I'm pretty happy with it and it's delivered above my expectations so far (which were low, so that isn't saying much). I'm just really happy they're finally doing continuity and going back to elaborate on Octo Expansion - you know, something that a lot of people love and. something I have been complaining about for like 6 years straight now because im a hater. Though I also think the decision to make the story indirectly - AND directly - about octo expansion is a really weird choice given there's got to be a lot of players who never played it, and those players have no idea what's really going on and probably won't care as a result. Thanks for the ask!

Side Order Observations about Eight

Just a sort of nonspecific collection of thoughts about Eight (and some of Acht) in Side Order.

So, for starters, I feel that a lot of people are not fully taking advantage of the angst-fuel given to us here. A lot of people write it as though Eight is Suffering throughout the majority of this adventure, but that's not entirely accurate, I feel, to how Eight is characterized.

Going off of Eight's memcakes from Octo Expansion, Eight is someone who finds a lot of comfort in feeling powerful. She cites the usual casual play of turf war as something desirable, she finds comfort in using a charger. If anything, I feel that one of the reasons Eight was chosen by Marina to test this software was because of her affinity for combat- Marina assumes that the tower would even be too easy for her.

That being said, Eight surely felt a lot more anxious in particular about the present dangers early in the run- in particular, terrified of something bad happening to Marina. I sort of see Marina as a sort of maternal figure to Eight- I'd always pictured Marina and Pearl just sort of taking Eight home with them, I'm sure their mansion is big enough, and the fact that they take Eight along with them on the world tour kind of supports this idea. Probably the worst thing to threaten Eight with is threatening to hurt Marina. Or Pearl, of course, but especially Marina, given her nature.

I can imagine, of course, that Order is also an upsettingly familiar threat, but it likely wasn't as upsetting (until the Greyscaling) as seeing Marina in actual danger was.

But the piece of the story that I feel most people aren't acknowledging is the fact that Eight's palette- her soul- is so blatantly different, in function and in appearance, than everyone else's. That it calls back memories of the deepsea metro. Can you imagine what she must feel that says about her? How much more difficult her soul is to work with than anyone else's, even Octavio's.

There's a lot to work with, I feel, with Eight's palette. Feelings of inadequacy. Eight struggling a lot more with her palette than anyone else's; the fear that she might never be able to complete it? The trauma of being brought back mentally to deepsea metro. The whole locker situation there.

Worse yet, what about when she does complete it? Sure, one can assume Eight did get her memories back and she just doesn't say anything because she's Eight, and there's plenty to work with there- But what if it just doesn't do anything? Feeling guilt that it's her fault, because of her fucked up soul- and either way, not wanting to tell Marina this, because you've all worked so hard for this, and after everything, Eight just wants Marina to relax and be happy, but she can't deny the frustration of not knowing. Or the fear. Why doesn't this work for her? Why is she broken?

Or to tie the previous theory of Eight being a clone of Acht into this, why does Eight's palette unlock notes from Acht? Eight already struggles to know who she is- is she Acht? Somehow? Why doesn't she have her own memories? What does Acht know? What if she were to ask Acht, but they didn't know either?

Or to turn things around to Acht's perspective, imagine the fact that your palette is unaccounted for, you find Eight's, and Eight's starts unlocking your memories? All of the fuzzy spots in your memory start to be concerning. They can't help but compare themselves to Eight, what a disappointment to end up being chained onto you of all people when she's such an incredible person. Maybe you're the reason their soul is broken, somehow.

Also, I didn't mention this in my other post- I've headcanoned for some time that Eight deeply prefers being called Eight, and not 'Agent 8'; discomfort in being referred to as one in a series of numbers, discomfort with the association with the squidbeak splatoon, and so forth- it means the world to me that that's somehow canonical. It was an unreal moment to discover that. It makes me very happy that Eight properly uses Eight as her name.

side order thoughts spoilers belowwww. so dont wead it<3!

OFF THE FUCKKING HOOK AGGHH im the off the hook + their friend 8 guy and this dlc literally just being Off The Hook Jamboree made me sob and throw up. it's a story about MARINA first and foremost she's one of the most precious characters to me in the world so it makes me very very happy to see her at the forefront of the story.

i like that she is gay yes but i also really love that in this world of her own making, something she designed to help heal sanitized octarians (WHICH IS ALSO HUGE TO ME. FORRR THE RECORD!!!!) the main antagonist and who jeopardizes her vision is a pretty on the nose manifestation of her own like Signature Character Flaw, that being that she's terrified of change. i am VERY happy they did not do "heel turn evil marina". i am happy there was no twist villain. it was a story about marina's growth as a person and how she's learned to embrace chaos and that there are parts of living she can't control. that unpredictability and impulse and change can end poorly sure but it can also take her to places she'd never dreamed of seeing before.

acht is funny because i made the fucking dumb fuck mistake of assuming dedf1sh wouldnt ever be canonically relevant beyond their role in octo expansion so id workshopped a number of headcanons about them and how they speak and behave but they're literally at the forefront here as an entirely different character from what i'd been envisioning in my head

WHEN THEY FIRST START INTERACTING WITH PEARL AND MARINA THEY LEGIT GIVE ME THE VIBE OF LIKE. MARINA'S EX WHO CLEARLY THINKS PEARL IS KIND OF ANNOYING BUT PEARL IS OBLIVIOUS TO THE UNDERLYING RESENTMENT. it was really funny to me. i do think acht came around to her by the end of the dlc they can tell marina is much happier with where her life is after leaving octo valley

acht is important in the general Marina Narrative as well as they're like. there to remind marina of what she can still treasure from her past. and pearl is there to continue walking forward with her into a brighter future. it's kind of beautiful i think.

AND BIIITCH I PREDICTED THE SQUARE BECOMING AN UNLOCKABLE HUB AND THAT MEANSI GET TO HEAR COLOR PULSE AT SPLATFESTS AGAIN AND CRY!

anyway im also glad its not as scary as a lot of people predicted; not because i could not handle that but because after eight escaped kamabo co i dont think she needs any more horror on the level of "we are grinding exceptional members of your kind in to sludge and using that sludge to turn yet more of your kind who DARED to try living a better life into barely-alive shambling bodies."

like dont get me wrong she certainly still takes it personally that something would try to impede marina's attempt to heal sanitized octarians (especially since that thing is a Visible Manifestation Of An Abstract Fear That Is Literally Eating Her Alive At The Start Of The Game) but frankly the events of the main game (i mean its like kamabo co two here we're kidnapping your kind and turning them into something unrecognizable) would be significantly more distressing for her than "i'm helping marina fix her computer and pearl and dedf1sh are here"

i love that she was on tour with off the hook too... they really love her she really loves them...

ok think i got it out of my system i need lunch now

EOAHHHHH A GIG??? ENCORE??? ACHT FEAR OFF THE HOOK REAL! I find it funny how splatoon characters in a time of need just start playing music. I mean they’re in a virtual world now so it makes sense how they can just pull dj stuff out of the air. And it’s pearls scream again! Like what we saw in Octo expansion if this really is Tartar again that’s very ironic. Personally I don’t think they’re gonna reveal it but it’s so heavily implied that it’s basically enough.

it’s funny how they basically made order start dancing bc they were too busy jamming out. Reminds me of how Octavio was in splatoon 1 and 2’s final fights. Order kinda looks like a fucked up version of Octavio somewhat even though they’re unrelated. But the line “happiness is stasis. Unchanging. Forever.” Which is a really interesting thing to think about, I was actually watching a video yesterday which kinda talked about this philosophy I’ll see if I can find it again.

and it seems like the top of the spire burst out and the overcast grey clouds replaced with a more blue sky does this mean the hub will change.

also this music absolutely slaps. And order’s very mediocre quote “my limbs are self animating. Why.” Is way funnier than it deserves to me but is hilariously in character.

and me going on a rant about the background again it’s a beautiful yellow white with the crumbling terrain floating in the background, kinda reminds me of the end to danganronpa 2.

and here we go the final fight (for real)! Don’t get cooked- stay off the hook!

(also four when are you going to appear or are you a secret boss)

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stop me if you’re bored of Star Trek AUs (like you can stop me) AKA RQG vs Star Trek

I did Magnus so... RQG/ST AU is a little happier - eventually it winds up a complicated medical drama, due to the high concentration of paladins I have to turn into Medical Officers, but it probably goes a little something like; Spoilers for up-to-now Rusty Quill Gaming!

Zolf Smith, Human (or Tellarite, if you want Scifi Dwarves all up in this AU, which you Should.) Captain of the (London) Ranger, reluctantly torn between his loyalty to the Meritocracy Starfleet and to his faith and his background. Thought himself the sole survivor of a ship that was lost a few years back, when he was still a medical officer; not entirely comfortable with the knowledge that some of the senior officers also survived. Turns out his family were in the Maquis! Eventually he leaves Starfleet entirely, to go reckon with his crisis of identity, but not before; Hamid Saleh Haroun al-Tahan. Ferengi, with some ???* blood (sorry Bryn but your family are bankers and also short. It’s Ferengi.) Probably more an embarrassment to his family because of ‘that time he went to university and spent a year abroad on Vulcan at the Vulcan Science Academy, that’s no way to acquire capital,’ than because of the explosion he eventually caused. Late recruit to the Ranger - Science Officer that somehow becomes Zolf’s chief confidant among the senior staff and ends up replacing him when he goes. He’s about as happy about this as you are, which is to say not at all. Lots of mournful pining in what used to be Zolf’s office, if that’s what you’re into. *Please don't ask me what Star Trek dragons are like, all the answers are Bad, like; the Whales! the Crystalline Entity! Any species big enough to fly through space without a ship! Let's accept that Dragons and Magic are still A Thing. Space Dragons can breathe in space though, that's just Science.) Sasha Racket - Human, Operations. Not as dumb and replaceable as Security, not as Hands-on as Engineering. Probably acquired by rescue from Unsavoury Sorts - definitely has family in both the Orion Syndicate and the Maquis. Grew up on some planet that’s all underbelly, with the rich watching from their lush garden moon, or some such extravagance. Still has to deal with her only friend having been turned into a computer, but probably with less Literal Brains this time. Gets a weird space disease that causes The Captain to come out of retirement to do Medicine again, until his own personal crises take him elsewhere. Eventually she gets better and then she’s fine until that horrible transporter accident. Sir Bertrand ‘Bertie’ MacGuffingham. Security Officer. Doing those boys in red/gold proud. Has a famous ancestor who was an Admiral. Also has a targ he’s training to be human. Also has a magic talking phaser. Somehow, in this post-money society, he's in debt to some gnomes. That's the aristocracy for you. Grizzop drik acht Amsterdam - Tricky species-wise, because the only Trek Species I remember with mortality angst was Kes's, the Ocampa, and they're not particularly goblin-y. So, to be contrary; Unjoined Trill. He's got Lifetime Angst, but he's measuring against his species' normal, which is 1000s of years via the symbiont.  Medical Officer, but the Bones Kind. Send him on an away mission and he'll fire his phaser more than he looks at his tricorder, but that's just Preventative Medicine. Will come up to the Bridge to loudly disagree with Captain Hamid's moral choices. Gets left behind on a planet and connects with the Universe's Most Incompetent Maquis. Winds up hitching a lift with Sasha's Not-Mum, whose spaceship is definitely less climate controlled than the Federation's ships. Then they all get stuck in a time bubble and there's a transporter malfunction getting them out. He and Sasha wind up at the Fall of the Ionians, which goes about as well as you'd expect. Azu - Medical Officer, the Dr Crusher Kind. Hugs on prescription! Eventually suggests the doctor that can cure Sasha. Universe's least stereotypical Klingon. Still a mean hand with a bat'leth. (Einstein still exists in this AU, as basically JJ!Scotty with his magic transporting - they send him to Qo'noS and he loves hanging out with Azu's House.) If Helen would only tell us Azu's full name or why she doesn't use it, there would 100% be more Klingon family drama in this AU Cel - Vulcan Chief Engineer and boy was that a mistake! (only sort of) Makes many questionable modifications to the ship, like electrifying the outer hull! Very much Not your standard vulcan, almost certainly got kicked out of the VSA for an even bigger explosion than Hamid made. But again; mysterious backstory. Even Shoin is such a mysterious villain that I'm not sure who/what to cast them as or how to define their relationship. Wilde - he's gotta be an admiral, though given the state of the meritocracy and the fall of the Federation early season 4 I wonder if he's secretly got Section 31 connections and recruited Zolf to either them or a Special Admiral's Team after Zolf left the Ranger (no, Captain Hamid would not be allowed to rename the ship LOLOMG in this AU. Good name for a mercenary group, bad name for a starship.) Zolf 2.0; he comes back as a special mission liaison once the Ranger pops out of the time bubble with only Hamid and Azu left from the senior staff. This leads to a little bit of who's-in-charge-of-the-away-mission tension but not much. Best pilot they have, so steers them through a bunch of atmospheric interference on their way to confront Shoin. Definitely took levels in mysterious badass while he was off the show. And now they're off investigating Shoin and trying not to die and Hamid might be about to let the Authority of Command go to his head but it's fine! I mean “Zolf's fine,” and that's what really matters. (:

Linguistic excursions (3): Manx / Y Ghaelg

After my recent 'excursions’ to Scotland and Wales, I'm doubling back and heading north to the Isle of Man to have a brief look at Manx.

A curious little language, once extinct and now in the process of being revived. I was a bit sceptical about reports showing about 1000 or so speakers (presumably using a broad interpretation of what it means to be a speaker) but if, like me, you are happy to be convinced otherwise, you have to watch this beautiful 10 minute video about the children and staff at the Bunscoill Ghaelgagh.

Anyway, the exercise below is taken from Bunneydys - a course in spoken Manx, published by Yn Cheshaght Ghailckagh (the Manx Gaelic Society). 

It's a pretty slim tome, with basic conversations and vocabulary set out over 60 lessons. There is no grammar explanation or verb tables, etc. There is a very brief guide to spelling and pronunciation at the front, which is not as illuminating as one might prefer. (For example, for the pronunciation of 'gh', it makes a comparison with Scottish 'loch', but also says "if you can, get a Manx speaker to demonstrate this sound." Ironically this edition of the book was published in the auspicious year of 1974, so I guess it was still possible up to 24 December.... The wikipedia page also has a good guide to the oddities of Manx pronunciation as well as a certain amount of grammar information.

Anyway, a transcript of lesson 58 is set out below. One of the main points of interest for me is how similar Manx is to Irish and Scots Gaelic, while at the same time this similarity is hidden by its rather strange orthography, and so I’ve set out in the vocabulary list below the text all of the cognate forms as I see them. In many places, each of the languages are still cognate, but in some cases Manx is closer to Scots Gaelic, and in others closer to Irish, and in some cases Manx has diverged from both of them. In a couple of cases I’ve not been able to establish a cognate form in Irish and Scots Gaelic, so it’s either been lost from both of them or come from a different source, which is quite possible.

Manx has been separated from Irish/Scots Gaelic since about the 5th century (Russell (1995)), and appears to have been a spoken language only. At any rate, there does not appear to be any evidence of it ever having had a 'Celtic' script like Irish or Scots Gaelic. At some point around the 16th century, a script was devised which was based on the English of that time, based on the use of 'gh' for guttural /χ/, but clearly with some influence from Welsh, in the use of 'y' for /ə/ and possibly other languages having an influence as well. 

An obvious downside to the script is that it loses a lot of the more obvious connections between words as they go through their various Celtic mutations such as lenition, eclipsis/nasal mutation and palatalisation, although arguably this is also a feature of the Welsh script to some extent. The upside is that the pronunciation is (somewhat) more transparent - at least to native English speakers - and also to those lovely kids in the Bunscoill!

Conversation

Moirrey: Naik oo mee hene as Juan heose er yn villey 'sy gharey, vummig?

Ealish: Honnick mee shiu, dy-jarroo. Ta treisht aym nagh vaik jishag shiu!

Moirrey: Cre'n fa, vummig?

Ealish: Er y fa nagh mie lesh paitçhyn beggey y gholl seose er yn villey shen.

Moirrey: Cha nel mee smooinaghtyn dy naik eh shin, aghterbee.

Ealish: S'mie shen. Agh cha mie lhiam shiu y gholl seose er yn villey, edyr.

Moirrey: Ta jishag çheet nish. Nagh insh da.

Vocabulary

Moirrey - girl’s name, equivalent of Moira Ealish - mother’s name, equivalent of Eilis, Elizabeth naik oo - did you (sg) see? Irish (Ir) an fhaca, Scots Gaelic (ScG) am faca mee - I, me. The subject and object form of the pronoun is the same; the position determines the meaning. Here it is the object, following VSO verb order, as in the other Celtic languages. Ir mé, ScG mi hene - self.  Ir féin, ScG fhèin /he:n/ as - and. Ir, ScG agus, is Juan - John. heose up (location), seose upwards (motion). Ir suas (both meanings) ScG shuas /huəs/ up, suas upwards er on (here perhaps to be translated as in). Ir ar, ScG air yn, y the. Ir an, ScG an, am, a' billey (f) tree. Here lenited as villey, as it is a feminine noun after the article, the same mutation as in Irish and Scots Gaelic. Note different forms for tree are Ir crann and ScG craobh, however Dwelly (1901-1911) lists one meaning of bile as 'cluster of trees' (alongside lip), so this may be an archaic cognate form. 'sy in the from ayns yn. Ir sa ScG 'sa', derived from anns an garey (f) garden, here lenited as gharey. Ir. gardín, garrai ScG gàradh honnick mee I saw. Ir chonaic mé. ScG chunnaic mi shiu you (pl). Ir, ScG sibh dy-jarroo indeed. Ir go dearfa, ScG gu dearbh. Note the regular sound change from ScG -bh /v/ to -u/-oo /u/ in Manx, but also note the Manx divergence from Ir/ScG g- to d- in the adverbial particle. ta is. Ir tá, ScG tha treisht hope. Ir dóchas, dúil ScG dòchas. I haven’t been able to find a cognate form for treisht. aym at me. Ir/ScG agam. Ta treisht aym lit “there is hope at me” = I have hope = I hope (that) nagh - (that) not. Relative negative conjunction. Ir nach, ScG nach nagh vaik - did not see. The v- in the Manx form perhaps reflects eclipsis like in Ir nach bhfaca ScG nach fhaca jishag - daddy. Note unrelated forms: Ir daidi ScG dadaidh. I haven’t been able to find a cognate form for jishag. cre'n fa - why. Ir cén fáth? (lit. “what-the reason”). Note different form in ScG carson (lit “what-for-cause”) mummig mummy. In its lenited form here vummig reflecting the vocative form, as in Irish/Scots Gaelic. Ir mamaí, a mhamaí, ScG mamaidh, a mhamaidh er y fa because, lit "for the reason [that]". Ir mar, óir, ScG o chionn ’s (lit. from the reason that), oir mie good. Ir maith, ScG math. lesh with him. nagh mie lesh (it is) not good with him = he does not like. Ir  is maith leis, ScG is toigh/toil leis (lit. is pleasing with him) paitçhyn children, singular paitçhey. Ir leanbh, páiste. ScG leanabh, pàiste, but Ir/ScG plural usu. clann beg small here in plural form beggey. Ir, ScG beag, beaga goll, y gholl go(ing) (verbal noun). Ir dul, do/a dhul, ScG dol, a dhol. It is interesting to note that in Irish and Scots Gaelic, initial broad gh- and dh- share the /ɤ/ sound, and so perhaps the Manx infinitive to go gholl also shared this sound. Was the original verbal noun doll, but given the identity of the two sounds, did it then back-form goll? Just a thought. shen that. Ir / ScG sin cha nel mee I am not. Similar to ScG chan eil mi. Standard Ir has “lost” the cha, giving a different negative form níl mé smooinaghtyn think(ing) (verbal noun). Ir smaoineabh, ScG smaoineachadh dy naik eh that he saw. Ir go bhfaca e   ScG gum faca e shin we. Ir, ScG sinn aghterbee anyway. Different forms seen in Ir ar aon chaoi and ScG co-dhiù. But Ir also uses the similar wording ar bith any in other “any” phrases such as duine ar bith anyone. Is Manx aght perhaps the same as Ir acht condition? s'mie shen that’s good, fine, literally 'is good that'. Ir ‘s maith sin ScG 's math sin. Has been said to be the source of colloquial British English, 'smashing!'. agh but. Ir / ScG ach cha mie lhiam I don't like ('not (is) good with me'). Ir ní maith liom ScG cha toigh leam edyr at all. Ir ar chor ar bith ScG idir. (NB Ir idir means ‘between’ and cognate with ScG eadar) çheet come/coming (verbal noun). Ir teacht ScG tighinn nish now. Ir anois, ScG a-nis insh tell (here in root form = 2s imperative). Ir inis ScG innis da to him. Ir dó, ScG da,dha

Translation

Moirrey: Naik oo mee hene as Juan heose er yn villey 'sy gharey, vummig?

Did you see me and John up in the tree in the garden, Mummy?

Ealish: Honnick mee shiu, dy-jarroo. Ta treisht aym nagh vaik jishag shiu!

I saw you, indeed. I hope that Daddy didn’t see you!

Moirrey: Cre'n fa, vummig?

Why, Mummy?

Ealish: Er y fa nagh mie lesh paitçhyn beggey y gholl seose er yn villey shen.

Because he doesn’t like little children going up into that tree.

Moirrey: Cha nel mee smooinaghtyn dy naik eh shin, aghterbee.

I don’t think he saw us, anyway.

Ealish: S'mie shen. Agh cha mie lhiam shiu y gholl seose er yn villey, edyr.

Good. But I don’t like you going up in that tree, at all.

Moirrey: Ta jishag çheet nish. Nagh insh da.

Daddy’s coming now. Don’t tell him.

----

As ever, if I’ve made any mistakes, please let me know. Or otherwise if you’ve enjoyed it, also let me know!

Thinking about my next ‘excursion’ now! Happy to take any suggestions.

(Named) References

Russell (1995), An Introduction to the Celtic Languages)

Dwelly (1901-1911), Illustrated Gaelic-English Dictionary 

Gr8 Texting Slang In Six Different Languages

On December 3rd, 1992, a test engineer named Neil Papworth sent the world’s first text message, and it may come as a surprise to find out it was a fairly eloquent phrase — well okay, at least it wasn’t “LOL.” The first text ever sent was a simple “Merry Christmas.” And since that merry moment, textspeak has evolved alongside our technology.

When flip phones became popular — for you youngsters, those were phones without full keyboards! — letters were jettisoned in order to save time, which means that over a decade later, Papworth’s “Merry Christmas” had become a “Merry Xmas.”

Although today’s smartphones make texting full phrases a lot easier, it’s safe to say that textspeak, with all its nuance, is here to stay. Consider how you laugh online. Even though LOL, LMAO, ROFL, and haha mean generally the same thing, they’re certainly not interchangeable, and each one takes on its own meaning depending on the context and the person.

English isn’t the only language that has adopted textspeak. New technology has influenced how people all around the globe communicate. Here are some of our favorite examples of textspeak from six different languages.

Textspeak Around The World

1. Thai

You might recognize the phrase 555 as the beginning of a fictitious phone number from a movie or television show. But in Thailand, it’s used to denote laughter. In Thai, the pronunciation of the number five sounds like “ha,” so typing a series of 5’s is akin to typing “hahaha” or “LOL.”

There are other elements of Thai textspeak that involve keyboard shortcuts (or happy accidents?). In Thai, the word จังเลย (jang looei) is used after adjectives to intensify the meaning. However, young people have taken to expressing it as จุงเบย (jung booei) via text. The swapped characters are next to each other on the keyboard, so this probably arose as a typo initially, but now teens do it on purpose because they think it sounds cute.

There are also informal ways to say “I” and “you” that you’ll most often hear among younger people speaking amongst their friends. กู (goo) is a casual, gender-neutral way to say “I,” and มึง (meung) is how you would say “you” in that context.

2. Portuguese

Use this Portuguese expression when you’re just not in the mood: SQN stands for só que não, which translates to “just no.” An equivalent expression in the United States would be sarcastically adding “not!” to the end of a phrase.

Another one of our Portuguese favorites is BBB, which stands for Bom, Bonito, Barato, and means “Good, pretty, cheap.” There’s no precise equivalent in English, although a “good deal” comes close. We think Bom, Bonito, Barato sounds better, though.

To keep the good mood going, you only need to text mara (short for maravilhoso, or “wonderful”).

3. German

If your German friend cracks a joke over text, you can reply with g, which stands in for Grinsen, meaning “grinning.” Or, if it’s a really funny joke, you can throw in a few more g’s. The phrase ggg stands for ganz großes Grinsen, meaning “a very big grin.”

German textspeak also makes liberal use of abbreviations, particularly by replacing letters with numbers. For example: meins (1: eins) = m1 (“mine”), or Nacht (8: acht) = N8 (“night”). You can also shorten common phrases like Wie geht’s? (“What’s up?”) into a sleek and simple Wg?.

Texting frees you from a lot of formal grammatical rules, and you can do casual, lazy things with your language, like saying I bims instead of Ich bin’s (“It’s me”).

Oh, and if someone texts you that something is porno, don’t clutch your pearls right away. They probably just mean that it’s “cool” or “interesting.”

4. French

French texting slang is almost the opposite of its formal written form, which is to say, efficient and mostly devoid of accent marks unless absolutely necessary.

If you see the number 1, it could be referring to the sounds un, ain or ien. So in effect, b1 translates to bien. You also don’t need to bother with c’est, sait or s’est when a simple c will do.

To start a conversation, you don’t need much more than a BJR (bonjour) or sa va (ça va, or “how are you?”).

We’d be remiss if we didn’t tell you how to text je t’aime, which gets shortened to JTM.

And if you see the letters MDR, it means mort de rire, which translates to “dying of laughter.”

Hopefully that isn’t the response you get right after professing your love, but if it is, then, well, DSL (which is textspeak for désolé, meaning “sorry”).

5. Arabic

Over the years, new tools and technologies have made it easier to type in many different languages, including ones that don’t use the Latin alphabet like Arabic. That hasn’t always been the case. Historically, the Latin alphabet was the most accessible option for many people to write a text message or chat online. But as the saying goes, necessity is the mother of invention. The Arabic Chat Alphabet, also known as Arabizi, Arabish or Franco-Arabic, was born from these technological limitations.

Arabizi makes it possible to use a combination of Arabic numerals and the Latin alphabet to write Arabic words and phrases. For example, Arabizi uses the numeral 9 to represent the Arabic letter qāf, which is equivalent to the Q in the Latin alphabet. In Arabizi, the Arabic word for heart, qalb, becomes 9alb.

Using this system, you can text someone Kul 3am wa ente bi5ayr (or كل عام وأنتي بخير) to wish them a happy holiday, or Meshta2alek kteer (مشتقلك كتير) to tell them you miss them a lot.

6. Spanish

Warning: you may be confused by the following text expressions when you first see them, but stick with us, they’re actually brilliant.

XQ means both por qué (“why”), and porque (“because”). XA is para (“for”), and XO is pero (“but”). XFA is por favor (“please”).

So, what’s up with all the X’s? They’re actually multiplication signs. When you’re multiplying numbers, por is the equivalent of the English word ‘‘times.” Told you it was brilliant!

Generally speaking, your typical Spanish textspeak is going to vary depending on the locale, but it’s also not uncommon to see certain English slang terms pop up with a Spanish twist: likear, lolazo, trol, selfi, friki.

This is a lot to think about, but try not to overanalyze it. If someone texts you NTR, they just mean no te rayes (“don’t overthink it”).

The post Gr8 Texting Slang In Six Different Languages appeared first on Babbel.

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[:en]6:30 a.m. In semi-darkness I see a headlamp scurrying across the clearing. I am still lying cuddled up in my quilt, still unwilling to get up. I can’t and don’t want to keep up with the boys’ schedule anyway, as they want to leave at 7.30 a.m. already to take the cool morning hours with them. Because the bubble is pressing, I still feel myself outside ten minutes later and am happy about an enchanting sunrise over the Floridian prairie. Dense wafts of mist give the grass landscape between palm trees and bushes a mystical atmosphere.

  Together with Warren and Jason I enjoy the first and also last coffee of the day on the clammy wooden bench and hope that the tent will be dried by the sunrays. Because of the immensely high humidity everything is wet. While I am still wet in my pyjamas the boys pack their things. It is already far after half past seven when I notice “Oops, they’re probably waiting for me.” In no time at all I stuff the damp tent into the packsack, my household goods into the rucksack, disappear behind the next palm tree to get changed and am ready to leave within ten minutes. If only it were that easy in everyday life.

Our hope to still see the female alligator is unfortunately disappointed. Obviously she is a late riser. The way leads us from the campground into the open terrain, briefly into a beautiful oak forest, which, with its imposing, fern-covered oak trees, puts us directly into Avatar, and soon onto the next road. Even today the amount of asphalt is not insignificant and it gets hotter than yesterday. We take it with composure, because we can’t change it. Warren tries to make the alternative route to the original trail tasty for us with a small bistro. Alternative means: even more road instead of swamps. I wave my thanks and Jason also prefers to get wet feet rather than continuing to melt on the asphalt.

  Our high spirits are of course rewarded with mud wading. Ankle-deep we all sink into the brown mud and are happy about small ponds to wash off the dirt – only to sink back into the mud after five minutes. I somehow enjoy it, because it is my first swamp experience on the Florida Trail. The two men, however, have already done several miles and days in the black water.

  With muddy calves and shoes we arrive at our campground in the late afternoon. There is already a tent there and a caked hiker comes to greet us together with his happy dog. Scrarecrow and Oreo – his black and white dog – are real dropouts and have a ten-year plan to cover almost all trails in the USA. First he hands us a brownie and nobody says no. Except Warren, who is on low carb.

The four of us share the rickety camping bench, because the rust has probably gotten to the second one a long time ago. After I tested my dehydrated pumpkin soup yesterday, today the homemade ratatouille is on the table. The men look a little envious into my bowl, but in the end everyone is full and satisfied. At 7 p.m. it’s reading time again and we have also agreed for the next day: we will continue hiking together.

  Lemon and Orange Paradise

After an extensive breakfast with instant coffee and lemon cake, we say goodbye to Scarecrow and Oreo, because they take things very slowly and do just short milage a day. Why rush it, they have ten years time.

Not even five minutes on the trail I stomp through ankle-deep water in a dense palm forest. The shoes and socks from yesterday were not quite dry anyway.

  My schedule for the next few days is this: today about 14 miles, tomorrow 20, to get to the reserved campground with hot shower. 20 miles is not a cardboard handle for me in the current condition, because since my return from sabbatical I spent much more time at my desk instead of walking. Therefore I am thinking about hiking more today in order to have less remaining distance the next day.

The plan is nice, but it is even hotter today than the days before. We enjoy every shady section through the semi-tropical forests. And they sweeten the heat in a very unexpected way. At the side of the trail and partly over the trail, wild orange and lemon trees with fruits ripe for harvest rise up. Of course I can’t resist the temptation and carry two oranges and a lemon to the next resting place. The fruits are super juicy and rich in seeds. The lemons are not nearly as sour as the ones from the supermarket, the oranges on the other hand are quite close to the lemons citric acid. Delicious. The fruit juice has spread all over my hands and I try to shake it off. This causes my Garmin watch to squeak like mad, because it means: Accident detected! No shit.

The heat has become unbearable. Now of all times the trail follows a never ending stretch of a shadowless ditch. After I feel already half baked, I wait for Jason, who walks a little bit worn out behind me. Something stings me above my socks and when I look down I see dozens of little red ants scurrying over my feet. I have placed myself in the middle of an anthill. Like a madwoman I wipe the critters off my legs, triggering another accident report with my watch. In addition to the fifty or so mosquito bites I already got on the first day, there are now about thirty ants bites. Fantastic!

The rest of the day passes relatively uneventful. We get some water from a small creek and hope for a water cache near some of the roads we cross. Unfortunately without success. The last miles lead again over asphalt. In zombie mode we bear our fate, but I have already made the decision: I won’t go one step further today than originally planned. So 20 miles tomorrow it is. The weather forecast also promises a considerable cooling off over night. A heavy storm is announced. Pretty dehydrated we arrive at the campground and thank the trail angel “Waterboy”, who has cached a lot of water gallons here.

  In a porta-potty we find a huge bottle of disinfectant lotion and take a good bath with it. We move together with our tents under a gigantic oak tree, because this seems to be the best place to survive the thunderstorms. Tornados not excluded. I do feel a bit uncomfortable…

[:de]6.30 Uhr. Im Halbdunkel sehe ich eine Stirnlampe über die Lichtung huschen. Ich liege noch in meinen Quilt eingekuschelt im Zelt und bin unwillig, aufzustehen. Mit dem Zeitplan der Jungs kann und will ich sowieso nicht mithalten, denn die beiden wollen bereits um 7.30 Uhr losziehen, um die kühlen Morgenstunden mitzunehmen. Weil die Blase drückt, wühle ich mich dann doch zehn Minuten später nach draußen und freue mich über einen zauberhaften Sonnenaufgang über der floridianischen Prärie. Dichte Nebelschwaden geben der Graslandschaft zwischen Palmen und Sträuchern in eine mystische Atmosphäre.

Gemeinsam mit Warren und Jason genieße ich den ersten und auch letzten Kaffee des Tages auf der klammen Holzbank und hoffe, dass das Zelt von den Sonnenstrahlen getrocknet wird. Durch die immens hohe Luftfeuchtigkeit ist alles nass. Während ich noch im Schlafanzug vor mich hin sumpfe, packen die Jungs ihre Siebensachen. Es ist schon weit nach halb acht als ich merke:

„Ups, die beiden warten wohl auf mich.“ In Windeseile stopfe ich das feuchte Zelt in den Packsack, meinen Hausrat in den Rucksack, verschwinde mal eben zum Umziehen hinter der nächsten Palme und bin innerhalb von zehn Minuten aufbruchbereit. Wäre es nur im Alltag auch so schön einfach.

Unsere Hoffnung, das Alligatorweibchen noch zu sehen, wird leider enttäuscht. Offensichtlich ist sie Langschläferin. Der Weg führt uns vom Zeltplatz ins offene Gelände, kurz in einen herrlichen Eichenwald, der uns mit den imposanten, farnbewachsenen Eichenbäumen direkt in Avatar versetzt und alsbald auf die nächste Straße. Auch heute ist der Anteil an Asphalt nicht unerheblich und es wird heißer als gestern. Wir tragen es mit Fassung, denn ändern können wir’s ja nicht. Warren versucht, uns die Alternativroute zum Original Trail mit einem kleinen Bistro schmackhaft zu machen. Alternativ heißt: noch mehr Straße statt Sümpfe. Ich winke dankend ab und auch Jason kriegt lieber nasse Füße als weiterhin auf dem Asphalt zu schmelzen.

  Unser Übermut wird natürlich mit Schlammwaten belohnt. Knöcheltief versinken wir alle im braunen Modder und freuen uns über kleine Tümpel, um den Dreck abzuwaschen – nur um dann nach fünf Minuten wieder im Schlamm zu versinken. Mir macht das ja irgendwie Spaß, denn es ist mein erstes Sumpferlebnis auf dem Florida Trail. Die beiden Männer allerdings haben schon etliche Kilometer und Tage im schwarzen Wasser hinter sich.

Mit verschlammten Waden und Schuhen kommen wir am späten Nachmittag an unserem Campground an. Da steht bereits ein Zelt und ein schlacksiger Hiker kommt uns zusammen mit seinem fröhlichen Hund begrüßen. Scrarecrow und Oreo – sein schwarzweißer Hund – sind richtige Aussteiger und haben einen Zehnjahresplan, um quasi alle Trails der USA abzuklappern. Er reicht uns erstmal einen Brownie rüber und da sagt keiner von uns nein. Außer Warren, der auf Low Carb unterwegs ist.

Zu viert teilen wir uns die klapprige Campingbank, denn die zweite hat der Rost wohl schon vor langer Zeit hingerafft. Nachdem ich gestern meine selbst dehydrierte Kürbissuppe getestet hatte, kommt heute das selbstgemachte Ratatouille auf den Tisch. Die Männer gucken schon etwas neidisch in meine Schüssel, aber jeder ist am Ende satt und zufrieden. Um 19 Uhr ist wieder Lesestunde und wir haben uns für den nächsten Tag verständigt: wir wandern weiter zusammen. 

  Zitronen- und Orangen-Paradies

Nach einem ausgiebigen Frühstück mit Instant-Kaffee und Zitronenkuchen verabschieden wir uns von Scarecrow und Oreo, denn die beiden lassen alles sehr langsam angehen und machen wenige Tageskilometer. Warum auch überstürzen, sie haben ja zehn Jahre Zeit.

Keine fünf Minuten auf dem Trail stapfe ich in einem dichten Palmenwald schon wieder durch knöcheltiefes Wasser. Die Schuhe und Socken waren ja von gestern eh noch nicht ganz trocken.

  Mein Zeitplan sieht für die nächsten Tage so aus: heute rund 22 Kilometer, morgen 32, um zum reservierten Campingplatz mit heißer Dusche zu kommen. 32 Kilometer sind für mich im aktuellen Zustand kein Pappenstiel, denn seit meiner Rückkehr aus dem Sabbatical habe ich weit mehr Zeit am Schreibtisch statt auf Wanderschaft verbracht. Daher überlege ich, heute mehr zu wandern, um am nächsten Tag weniger Reststrecke zu haben.

Der Plan ist schön, allerdings ist es heute noch heißer als die Tage zuvor. Wir freuen uns über jeden schattigen Abschnitt durch die semi-tropischen Wälder. Und die versüßen uns die Hitze auf ganz unerwartete Weise. Am Wegesrand und teilweise über den Trail ragen wilde Orangen- und Zitronenbäume mit erntereifen Früchten. Natürlich kann ich der Verlockung nicht widerstehen und schon schleppe ich zwei Orangen und eine Zitrone zum nächsten Pausenplatz. Super saftig sind die Früchte und reich an Kernen. Die Zitronen sind nicht annähernd so sauer wie man es aus dem Supermarkt kennt, die Orangen dagegen kommen der Zitronensäure schon recht nah. Köstlich. Der Fruchtsaft hat sich jedoch überall auf meinen Händen verteilt und ich versuche ihn abzuschütteln. Das veranlasst meine Garmin-Uhr auf einmal wie wild zu quietschen, denn sie meint: Unfall erkannt! Ach was.

Die Hitze ist inzwischen unerträglich geworden. Ausgerechnet jetzt folgt der Trail auf einem nicht enden wollenden Stück einem schattenlosen Graben. Nachdem ich mich schon halb gebacken fühle, warte ich auf Jason, der ein wenig abgeschlagen hinter mir latscht. Irgendwas piekst mich oberhalb meiner Socken und als ich nach unten schaue, sehe ich dutzende kleine, rote Ameisen über meine Füße wuseln. Ich habe mich mitten in einen Ameisenhaufen gestellt. Wie eine Irre wische ich die Viecher von meinen Beinen und löse damit erneut eine Unfallmeldung mit der Uhr aus. Zu meinen schon rund fünfzig Mückenstichen vom ersten Tag gesellen sich nun noch etwa dreißig Ameisenbisse. Fantastisch!

Relativ vorfallsfrei geht der Rest des Tages vorbei. Wir bedienen uns an einem kleinen Bach und hoffen auf einen Wassercache in der Nähe einiger Straßen, die wir kreuzen. Leider vergeblich. Die letzten Kilometer führen wieder nur über Asphalt. Im Zombiemodus ertragen wir unser Schicksal, aber ich habe schon die Entscheidung getroffen: ich gehe heute keinen Schritt weiter als ursprünglich geplant. Dann sind’s halt morgen 32 Kilometer. Der Wetterbericht verspricht zudem eine erhebliche Abkühlung über Nacht. Heftiges Unwetter ist angesagt. Ziemlich dehydriert kommen wir am Campground an und danken dem Engel „Waterboy“, der hier jede Menge Wasser deponiert hat.

  Im Dixieklo finden wir eine riesige Flasche Desinfektionslotion und nehmen erstmal ein ordentliches Bad damit. Ziemlich dicht rücken wir mit unseren Zelten unter einem gigantischen Eichenbaum zusammen, denn das scheint der beste Platz für die angesagten Gewitterstürme zu sein. Tornados nicht ausgeschlossen. Ein wenig unwohl ist mir schon…

[:] [:en]Hiking the Florida Trail Day 2 & 3 – Accidentally[:de]Auf dem Florida Trail Tag 2 & 3 – Versumpft[:] [:en]6:30 a.m. In semi-darkness I see a headlamp scurrying across the clearing. I am still lying cuddled up in my quilt, still unwilling to get up.

Moominland Chronicles achtzehn: Gran Torino

Hello, let’s just jump straight in shall we?

Oh, no wait, firstly,  have a look at Colin Self’s Siblings (which is surprising and delightful in certain places, I’m only on my first listen though so havent got to its core yet.)

https://colinself.bandcamp.com/album/siblings

And something a bit more Italian for you, Franco Battiato, who was the essence that was channeled vicariously in the naming of LA LUCE AL BUIO,

-Un’ora Con…

….Makes for very interesting listening, there's a clangers track in there, though I’m not sure if that's what Franco was going for it definitely made me smile:

This is fetus (a track off the album but it's hard to source online so might be a spotify / google play search tbh) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Cd_59SCLlZY

Well then, Turin’s right nice.

I got a plane at 6:30 in the morning, the wing of the airport I was leaving from was closed when I got there.

This time I got a seat on the bus to get to the airport. My seat was directly in front of a mentally disturbed man who was walking up and down the aisle for the entire journey. He eventually got blocked in by other passengers boarding, he had a strange distant smile, I can't say it wasn’t disconcerting, but it was also curious and strangely beautiful.

He disappeared when we arrived at Tegel, I doubt he was getting a plane, though who knows, perhaps he was some fractured billionaire burnt out from all the money he was juggling.

After customs took their seats and sent me through the barriers I sat to wait for the cafe to open, wrote my diary: which is another thing im doing now, in case you're not content with one ‘Felice’s tell all story’ - theres now a rawer instagram only version charting my journey through ‘восем acht ocho’ as well, its totally unedited bile and thoroughly embarrassing - I’m not re reading / editing it, but it’s the best way to keep track of all these publications being haphazardly launched around Central Europe.

The airline I was flying with was called Lauda, some subdivision of Ryanair, who I bought my ticket through, all the staff had Ryanair uniforms on and the plane was a Ryanair plane.

Last week I was a bit mad on death, I read Michel De Montaigne’s essay ‘To philosophize is to learn how to die’ and then put its message into practise - looking for and becoming acquainted with death wherever I went, envisioning it in the lamp light of darkened streets, the glass eyes of dolls and even under the toilet seat.

Lauda was death, a Ryanair flight would never crash, not in my mind, but a Lauda flight could….

We left Berlin in fine weather, we travelled to a sunless sky framed by thick blocks of grey. As we went along the turbulence was unbearable, I am not an easy flier, perhaps I've not done it enough, but also I’m riddled with anxiety before I even get in the sky, one small shake is ok, but a continuous rattle for 20 mins and the safety belt signs coming on whilst still mid journey does not fare well with me. I was utterly convinced at one point that it was the end of my relatively short but eventful time on earth and glad I’d written my last requests before I left, though much more scared than I wanted to be.

Breathe deep, it does work.

Just as we descended and the spectre of death rescinded I suddenly realised how incredible the view was outside my window and eagerly attended to the sight of clouds upon clouds, a dense celestial cacophony lit by the golden rays of the sun. We passed through this heavenly land, everything becoming hazy and disappearing into the fog of vapor.

When we landed the plane applauded the pilot, clearly I was not the only person on board so terrified that if I’d clenched my fists any tighter they’d have snapped off my wrists.

Our pilot deserved those claps, he flew us close to death but was strong enough to skim it rather than be sucked in.

The airport was the same as last year,

no wait no it wasn't because I flew to Milan

and then had two train rides to Torino (Turin), the second train was very pleasant, trains are nice in Italy, they have power ports under the seats and are 2 floors like double decker buses. I think some of them are like that in Germany to.

This year I was officially in Italy, joyfully attached to my window, taking in the edge of decay that skirted wonderful quaint yellow houses, one glass fronted building bursting out of another which contained hundreds of lamps in different shades and sizes. Studying the people, handsome and somehow and open, there was a vividness to their faces that arrested me.

And I was in Italy when I got off the train and walked on to the streets of Torino, it wasn’t Paris or Berlin or Helsinki or Cork, it wasn't the setting where I would be saved by a man I’d never met before.

It was captivating and full of heart.

Firstly, my ableton tote that held 3 publications needed attending to, I neatly veered towards Piazza Statuto, reputedly a potential gate to hell, this little trip would chart me walking from dark to light.

It was raining as I stood under the jagged rocks and mangled bodies of the Monument, I’d been panicking that the rain would ruin these labored over gifts , where would I leave them?? Not in toilets, especially not disgusting piss sprayed italian cafe toilets, they were worth more than that, as with much of my life I stepped back a little from this worry and just trusted that something would present itself.

A couple approached me after a short time of being stood in front of the gates of hell, they asked in Italian, then English, for me to take a photo of them, I talked myself down from chucking my parcel in their direction and then launching myself the opposite way. This turned out to be sensible, as the opportunity then presented itself, in the form of a thick tree stump, under the gaze of the tortured stone faces. It had once been a pair of trees, but now in the wet air of the afternoon, it was one tree and one monument of a tree, the remaining oak sheltering its lost compadre with thick branches still full of leaves.

They were off the beaten path, in truth I wondered if it would be found, the person that might spy it would have to be observant and sensitive: children would find it, but I don't want kids to find these books, there's some art smut not for children's eyes bound inside the covers.

The act of leaving this gift was much easier than I envisioned, it turns out you can do all sorts of things in plain sight and most people won’t even bat an eyelid, at least not in Torino that day.

I really like Italy now.

I left it, then I zipped off to a nearby cafe to have a cup of tea (coffee is to strong for my delicate disposition these days). Last year I spoke to no one for days, but after months of not being able to speak German in Germany, not being able to speak Italian in Italy wasn't quite such a big deal.

The cafes I visited remind me a bit of Amelie, who I couldn't find in Montmartre, she had somehow transferred herself to Torino.

This one was brightly lit, glass cases of cakes and thick sandwiches hugged the floor, then the bar followed round behind them, I blundered through asking for tea, was given a pot of water and a tray of teabags, i just took all the teabags unthinkingly and then considered the inadequate ratio of tea bags to water.

D’oh,

They were returned to the counter and I parked myself outside to start my diary.

When I went in to pay at the end I found out that it was the lady, on her own little island aside from the bar, nestled amid nik naks and sweets, who was the person i should give my money to. I chuckled a bit to myself for my lack of common sense, the staff had big smiles on, it was a happy place I left, it was a happy place I had entered.

Then to Piazza Castello, but via Dama art fair.

In the rain it suddenly struck me how incredibly sensible and kind all these covered footpaths were, graced by arches and gorgeous decorative embellishments, they sheltered the people of the city and provided ample space for outside seating, whatever the weather. Because, the people of Torino like to be outside even when they’re inside, lots of cafes have glass paneled structures adjacent to the main building, so you can always eat on the street.

I sidestepped the main street, a direct passage from dark to light, to go to Dama art fair, a smaller less commercial affair than Artissima, set inside a baroque palace. It announced itself calmly, no fanfare and the first room you entered was empty, aside from sound, then into a journey, maps stretched across the wall, details of the passage overhanging the main plots, drawings and observations, in monochrome.

Dama art fair was elegant, but not arrogant, against the gorgeously decadent furnishings and trimmings of the palaces rooms quiet art pieces, drawings and sculptures mainly, investigating and working with form, sat just ebbing and pulsating in the atmosphere of the surroundings they inhabited. On arrival upstairs, after dumbly staggering around a courtyard for about 15 mins with a wealthy and well dressed man and his companion, who were also very friendly.

He “Its the most secret art fair in the world”

Me “You have to work for your art”

On arrival you were greeted by ‘THE END’ : woven fabric around big wooden words hung from the ceiling between two large blue speakers.

“How do they know?” I wondered to myself - “How do they know that this is my ending, here in Torino?”

No sign of a beginning though, I guess I will find it somewhere else.

Then back out onto the street again and walking past high street shops to the Piazza Castello. On my straight line from dark to light.

I’m glad my bag is light, you don’t need much to travel.

It’s raining and overcast, but the Piazza Castello is opening up in front of me like a beacon of light, it’s not an angel that stands in its centre, which I expected to find, but a man, I feel like he's a logician, an academic, an emblem of reason and enquiry. I haven’t done my research because I like to work with impressions and weave my own kind of mysticism into what I find as I walk around, so I don’t know who he is.

The piazza is huge, on my left to horseback riders announce a big art gallery where curious visitors stand in bunches waiting to go inside, on my right are white fronted buildings, all majestic and grand, there is so much room to breath here. But where do I leave my publication? I circle the statue and then spy what looks like a plinth, a kind of chalice almost, I imagine it’s filled with the elixir of life but as I get closer I find it’s actually an ashtray, its covered though and as I take a turn about it I notice that the wise man in the centre of the square is pointed towards me.

It might be an ashtray but it’s the right place, I’m more confident this time as I prop my publication on its rim, take a photo and then walk away. I’m noticing though that I barely take in the surroundings I find when I’m doing this and then I get panicky and run away, I make a note to myself that after all this work I need to sit where I lay my gifts, I need to draw them and understand them, be able to describe them to myself for years to come. Quick photographs don’t give enough time to what I’m doing.

I then arch off and look for food, because I’m hungry. Lots of people seem to be gathering about a nearby pizza shop, like a chicken headed tourist I join the crowd, I’ve decided I’m allergic to lactose and wheat but hey, I’m on holiday, when you’re abroad your hysterias change.

I get myself a ‘Gran Torino’ and then I eat it there on the street, wrapped in paper, there’s a man sat down nearly opposite, the first homeless man I’ve seen here, we don’t interact but I pay him mind, I don’t want to make him invisible to suit my view. As I’m just stuffing the last of the delicious breaded cheese feast into my mouth I enter another cafe, pulled in by its ample outside seating and its corner position, I don’t want any more tea but they have freshly squeezed orange juice, yes please.

Whilst sat outside I am approached 3 times at my table, twice by Italians looking for somewhere to eat, who are very friendly when they find out I’m not Italian and go on their way cheerily. Once by a woman pushing a very young girl and braced little boy who very aggressively asks for money, her young son and her stand and shout at me for a few minutes whilst I refuse to give them anything then go off into the surrounding city, they shout in Italian and I think to myself that it’s probably not the best way to ask for charity, but maybe it works for them sometimes.

I’ve already experienced more interaction with people in a few short hours than I did in the 4 days I was here last, who am I this time? I’m not the same person that traipsed miserably up and down these streets 12 months ago.

Nowhere is this more profound than on my walk to my air bnb, the wet warm air and clouds hug incredible views down each street that I walk past, as I look to my left I can see the glorious green hills that surround the city, I can feel the magic that is rife here, and I notice the Italians going about their daily lives so full of energy and vitality. There’s a spring in my step every cm of the way that I walk.

My air bnb host is a superhost, I’d actually settled to stay alone but my trip was cancelled a little while before I went to Paris and her place was available, I’d taken it because I wouldn’t be alone, because even though my stay in Paris was not great I’d appreciated having someone there when I got to my accomodation and I’d wanted to repeat that more sensibly this time, with a private room rather than a sofa bed in common space.

The house is spotless, she is a compact and very handsome older woman, it feels safe, I feel like I’ve been here before. We can’t really communicate, she cant speak English and I can’t speak Italian, it’s frustrating but we manage somehow. I have my own private bathroom in this house and a little tidy bed with soft pillows that make me realise the one I have in my room at home is far to hard and unfriendly.

I have a nap, which I’ve promised myself since getting aboard the plane, I get into my pajamas and lie in bed for 3 hours, half awake. Whilst I’m spread out in my little bed I listen to the noise that surrounds me, the young family that live next door chatter and argue and laugh, the birdsong echoes outside my window, the sound of cars and the church bells fill my ears, they are resonant, like a chorus. I find my demons lurking inside me, but I just face them and then have a little stretch and turn over, we are a multitude of traumas and triumphs, not just one but several people and in order to rest we must be able to live with all these voices inside us, come to terms with them and pull them together to fight for us.

Because life isn't simple or easy all the time, no human is not inflicted at some point in their lives and it's very important when you face problems to be able to know who you are, so that you can love yourself whilst you receive the madness of the world.

I get up when it’s dark, thinking I’ll order a taxi to the AC Hotel, I shower and furnish my face with glitter, put on my blue velvet dress. I’m not excited, but it's what I must do and so I will go to the AC Hotel with my last publication stowed under my arm, to the garden where last time I had invested so much hope, though I know logically now that it's not the key to this trip, in some ways I’ve already lived what I came here for, but I must re walk these steps to release myself from the past and move forward.

I end up walking because buses and trams are to complicated and the taxi doesn’t come.

Before I get to the hotel I want to eat, the cafe I went to last time is closed but there is a gelato shop on the opposite side, with a hot pink table, totally empty. I’ve still not had any gelato in Italy and as I used to work in a gelato shop it's something I’d like to try.  

Its an old couple that own the shop, I get the most gelato I possibly can: fior di latte, amaretto, pistachio, in a great big cone, I’m treating myself because I’m not drinking and I need the energy. Though I worry it’ll make me puff up I eat it enthusiastically at the hot pink table whilst looking out at the rainy streets of Lingotto, considering the other desserts in a glass case by the window.

I’m quite a sight tonight, in blue velvet and glitter, my red tousled hair brushing my shoulders, I can tell its made an impression on the owners of the shop, who buzz about, welcome a customer that seems like a friend, go about their lives surrounded by all these delicious sweets.

Once I’m done I consider leaving my last publication there as well, but think better of it, sling it over my shoulder and continue to the AC Hotel.

Everyone’s so good looking once I get inside the hotel, a smorgasbord of chic sportswear and chiselled faces, I don’t look anyone in the eye whose not a member or staff so I manage to kid myself that people are who they are not to suit my fantasies. I go upstairs to an ‘installation room’ which is some led lights and a person fiddling on a laptop, the room is filled with people socialising, I go downstairs to try and see if I can get into the secret rooms, but the hostess, after flirting for about 15 minutes and ignoring me, gleefully tells me there are no rooms left, except lust at 21:40, its 20:00 ish, I don’t know what I would do whilst waiting for that room and actually of all the rooms lust is not whats in my heart right now, I do think about just taking it to prove a point but really I’m not petty enough to sit in this place bored for over an hour waiting to go upstairs.

Clearly the secret rooms will remain secret to me.

I don’t get a drink because I don’t drink (alcohol).

I go to the garden, there’s a lot of people gathered around the door and I push through them to find space and to consider where to leave my publication, it's still raining.

This garden is not the Garden of Eden tonight, perhaps it never was, now its a concrete courtyard with a tree and some grass in the dipped area, and rain streaked white seats on the raised platform I’m standing on. It's not the Garden of Eden, its a hotel courtyard. Where do I put my publication?

Just past the crowd, behind a shrubbery, there's a window sill thats large enough to perch on, which is sheltered from the rain, it's quite hidden but it seems like the place. I sit in the cove and have a cigarette then I get out my book and place it where I’ve been sitting, take a photo and scamper off. The last of the 3 now placed in Torino.

After this is is a kaleidoscope of moments: wandering around a shopping centre, which is called 8, going up escalators to unravel the triple 8 scrawled on a door before me and see where the seeds were sown. The venue and Aphex twin and all his lasers, scurrying from room to room through intolerably long hallways to watch a myriad of vocalists, dancing about in various places, realising that the toilets were never that bad, as long as you manage to effect a good squatting position. Finding out that question marks are not always doorways that open to fantasies being realised.

I stand and wait for a taxi for an hour behind women with artist badges around their necks.

I Get home after a 20 minute detour because my taxi was invaded by impatient people.

I Sleep.

In the morning I wake up in good time despite not getting my full 8 hours (or anywhere close to this) I wander out and make tea, I try to talk to my host but it’s very difficult, though I’ve noticed the traces of her in the flat, the handmade lemon body wash, the single malts, the honey. Eventually after starting a note to her I just use the paper in my hand to write what I am saying, my London accent is always a problem wherever I go but she understands written English. This works:

“It took me 90 minutes to get home last night.

12:30 > I’m going to shower, my aeroplane is at 3:30 (15:30)

So hopefully I have time

I like to have a lot of time

Biggest stress

Lots of people don’t understand my accent because I mumble”

Me and my host have a strange connection, she is another angel, she sees my fragility and the sadness that sits at the basin of my eyes, she offers me food and shelter, I can feel her heart wrapping around me and giving me warmth. I go to sit outside and wait for my taxi 20 minutes in advance, she comes and brings a sock I’ve left in the flat, as we embrace its tight and full of love, not like the hug of strangers, like family. Later she tells me via email that I am always welcome, that I am a friend now and friends don’t have to pay to stay with her.

I will go back to that house and those church bells, though I can’t say exactly when.

My ride home is flawless, as I sit on the mezzanine over looking TXN airport, a beautiful well proportioned space where you can look out at the snow capped mountains, I listen to a man playing drukqs by aphex twin on the piano below me and I let go of Turin, of last year and all the residual pain that I brought here when I came before.

There’s no need for me to go back to that festival again, there’s other places and new journeys I must embark on.

I enter Turin a mangled and not very good musician, I leave Torino a curious and dignified artist, that sings. I let art return to me and realise it never really left, I will always be an artist whatever I do.

That's just me.

85 publications to go….

Speech by Federal Foreign Minister Sigmar Gabriel to launch the German-Georgian year 2017

Speech by Federal Foreign Minister Sigmar Gabriel to launch the German-Georgian year 2017

My colleague Mr Janelidze, Mikheil, Ms Haratishwili, Mr Kobiashvili, Mr Voss, Colleagues from the German Bundestag, Ambassadors, Ladies and gentlemen,

A warm welcome to the Federal Foreign Office for the launch of the German-Georgian year!

Thank you very much for this musical greeting with wonderful Georgian singing! I have learned that the text of the song we just heard tells us that we should not be afraid of the future, because the future is in our hands. That made me think that the song would also be a good hymn for Europe!

And it shows the optimism with which our friends from Georgia are looking to the future – and it is also an indication of why they are so welcome in Europe.

The launch of our joint year of culture is a happy occasion, for it shows that the sceptical view of Europe held by long-time members of the European Union is not the only perspective. And if we want to know why Europe is a unique project that gives people cause for optimism, we need to look towards Georgia.

Because sometimes it is the people observing us from the outside who are better able to appreciate the value of Europe. For Georgia’s assessment of Europe is correct: there is no region in the world where people can enjoy as much peace, democracy and security as they can in the European Union.

I think that Europeans, and specifically we Germans, need to become more mindful of this unique quality.

Mikheil,

Thank you for coming here today. We have the right motto for the German‑Georgian year: “Inheriting the future”. That means something has been placed into our hands that we have not ourselves created. So we need to make sure that we handle this treasure with appropriate care.

This witty motto clearly shows that time is a relative concept. That is why we had the idea of stretching the German-Georgian year to span 1½ years! It will last from April 2017 to its culmination in October 2018, when Georgia will be the Guest of Honour at the world’s largest book fair in Frankfurt.

Nino Haratishwili, I am delighted that you are here today and that you will also be involved in the preparations for Georgia’s guest appearance in Frankfurt. For no one else in recent years, ladies and gentlemen, has brought Georgia so close to Germany as Ms Haratishwili, who lives in Hamburg. And the 100 years of Georgian family history that she shares with us in her breathless novel “Das achte Leben” (The eighth life) are also a “timeless time”.

This broad, open concept of time is a recurring theme of our German-Georgian year.

Together, we will trace the footsteps of the first German settlers in the Caucasus, Swabian pietists who established colonies 200 years ago at the invitation of Tsar Alexander I and who were subsequently to play a key role in Georgia’s cultural history.

We will remember Germany’s support for the founding of the first Georgian Republic in 1918. That is another reason why it is good that the German‑Georgian year runs until 2018.

We will commemorate Eduard Shevardnadze, who played a significant role in German reunification together with Hans‑Dietrich Genscher and others in his role as Soviet Foreign Minister.

We will honour the trustful and intensive cooperation between our two countries, particularly in difficult situations, when every minute counts. One such situation was the terrible terrorist attack on our Consulate General in Mazar-e-Sharif in Afghanistan last autumn, where Georgian soldiers were the first to come to the aid of our colleagues.

This year we are also celebrating the 25th anniversary of the commencement of our diplomatic relations. On 13 April 1992, Germany was the first country to recognise Georgia after it had regained its sovereignty, and opened the first embassy there. And I want to take this opportunity to state loud and clear that we support the undivided sovereignty and territorial integrity of Georgia.

In a nutshell, our excellent German-Georgian relations are timeless.

Foreign Minister, ladies and gentlemen,

We want to build on our relations and our rich shared cultural heritage, and focus on developing them for the future. A future in which we will be able to offer Georgians even more productive exchange with the European Union – also thanks to the association and free trade agreement that has been in force since last year.

In our bilateral relations we are focusing on an area in which the “time” dimension often plays a crucial role – the area of education and training.

In Georgia, education does indeed seem to be a timeless resource, for even in Soviet times, Georgia was the country with the highest number of doctoral theses per capita.

In our cooperation we are building on the outstanding German skills of many Georgians, often acquired at the legendary School No. 6 in Tbilisi – and these days also at the German School in Tbilisi, the Goethe-Institut and our 13 partner schools.  

At the same time, we want to use grants from the German Academic Exchange Service to extend our cooperation in the sphere of education to encompass Georgia’s breakaway regions Abkhazia and South Ossetia, so that more and more young people on both sides of this administrative boundary line, which is causing so much suffering, realise that only through reconciliation will they be able to experience further development and international mobility.

Ladies and gentlemen,

Since Einstein we know that not only time but also space is relative.

That is why I am pleased that we also feel that we are moving closer together geographically now that Georgians can enjoy visa-free travel to Germany and all Schengen countries – this arrangement finally came into force a few weeks ago.

At the same time, we are constantly engaged in measuring the area and defining where it starts and finishes.

Where are Europe’s borders? Which countries belong to Europe? And who belongs to the so‑called “West”?

My response to that isn’t geographical but political. Europe is where there is a common history and where people and states stand up for shared European values, human rights, freedom, democracy. The historian Heinrich August Winkler speaks of the “normative project of the West”: the West is where the separation of powers, inviolable human rights, the rule of law and representative democracy reign.

And Georgia is moving along this normative path towards the West more than perhaps any other country in the European Union’s neighbourhood. And not merely as a technocratic government project, but with the consistent support of more than 80 percent of the population. That is despite the fact that it is neither a short nor an easy path. That is what is remarkable.

That is why Germany has been accompanying this transformation course very intensively for two decades now. Ambassador Chanturia, who is also a German professor of law and thus another example of the effectiveness of German-Georgian cooperation in the field of education, worked for a long time as a successful advisor to the Deutsche Gesellschaft für Internationale Zusammenarbeit in the area of judicial reform in his homeland, and later himself became Georgia’s Justice Minister. He has first‑hand experience of this joint engagement. We want to continue to support Georgia’s remarkable reform efforts within the government and society, and will do so.

Yet Georgia is not only taking determined steps towards the West. It is also very successfully rediscovering its Asian side, its role as a bridge-builder between the Black Sea and the Caspian Sea – politically, economically and in the realm of energy policy. That just shows that the idea of the West is not a geographical, but a political one. Georgia is also building on its centuries-old relations with Iran and on the asset that Russian language skills still represent for the wider cultural and economic region.

Georgia’s future also lies in this bridge‑building function between the East and the West. We in Germany have a strong political interest in the restoration of the Black Sea region and the Caucasus as a region of interaction, stability and economic upswing – and we are delighted that Georgia in particular is doing its part to help achieve this.

Ladies and gentlemen,

We are “inheriting” an extremely vibrant Georgian-German future!

Here today we have been able to enjoy a little sample of just how vibrant this future – and indeed our shared present – is, given the optimism of the Georgian flash mob we just heard.

And that was only the beginning! The beginning of 130 projects and events which will take place not only in Tbilisi and Berlin, but also throughout Georgia and Germany. Events which reflect the diversity of our relations: music, literature, film, language, economic cooperation and, last but not least, wine!

And if I had a glass of Georgian wine, I would raise a toast to the German-Georgian year in accordance with old Georgian tradition: Gaumarjos!

Thank you very much!

from UK & Germany http://www.auswaertiges-amt.de/EN/Infoservice/Presse/Reden/2017/170426_BM_GEO.html?nn=479796

Gr8 Texting Slang In Six Different Languages

On December 3rd, 1992, a test engineer named Neil Papworth sent the world’s first text message, and it may come as a surprise to find out it was a fairly eloquent phrase — well okay, at least it wasn’t “LOL.” The first text ever sent was a simple “Merry Christmas.” And since that merry moment, textspeak has evolved alongside our technology.

When flip phones became popular — for you youngsters, those were phones without full keyboards! — letters were jettisoned in order to save time, which means that over a decade later, Papworth’s “Merry Christmas” had become a “Merry Xmas.”

Although today’s smartphones make texting full phrases a lot easier, it’s safe to say that textspeak, with all its nuance, is here to stay. Consider how you laugh online. Even though LOL, LMAO, ROFL, and haha mean generally the same thing, they’re certainly not interchangeable, and each one takes on its own meaning depending on the context and the person.

English isn’t the only language that has adopted textspeak. New technology has influenced how people all around the globe communicate. Here are some of our favorite examples of textspeak from six different languages.

Textspeak Around The World

1. Thai

You might recognize the phrase 555 as the beginning of a fictitious phone number from a movie or television show. But in Thailand, it’s used to denote laughter. In Thai, the pronunciation of the number five sounds like “ha,” so typing a series of 5’s is akin to typing “hahaha” or “LOL.”

There are other elements of Thai textspeak that involve keyboard shortcuts (or happy accidents?). In Thai, the word จังเลย (jang looei) is used after adjectives to intensify the meaning. However, young people have taken to expressing it as จุงเบย (jung booei) via text. The swapped characters are next to each other on the keyboard, so this probably arose as a typo initially, but now teens do it on purpose because they think it sounds cute.

There are also informal ways to say “I” and “you” that you’ll most often hear among younger people speaking amongst their friends. กู (goo) is a casual, gender-neutral way to say “I,” and มึง (meung) is how you would say “you” in that context.

2. Portuguese

Use this Portuguese expression when you’re just not in the mood: SQN stands for só que não, which translates to “just no.” An equivalent expression in the United States would be sarcastically adding “not!” to the end of a phrase.

Another one of our Portuguese favorites is BBB, which stands for Bom, Bonito, Barato, and means “Good, pretty, cheap.” There’s no precise equivalent in English, although a “good deal” comes close. We think Bom, Bonito, Barato sounds better, though.

To keep the good mood going, you only need to text mara (short for maravilhoso, or “wonderful”).

3. German

If your German friend cracks a joke over text, you can reply with g, which stands in for Grinsen, meaning “grinning.” Or, if it’s a really funny joke, you can throw in a few more g’s. The phrase ggg stands for ganz großes Grinsen, meaning “a very big grin.”

German textspeak also makes liberal use of abbreviations, particularly by replacing letters with numbers. For example: meins (1: eins) = m1 (“mine”), or Nacht (8: acht) = N8 (“night”). You can also shorten common phrases like Wie geht’s? (“What’s up?”) into a sleek and simple Wg?.

Texting frees you from a lot of formal grammatical rules, and you can do casual, lazy things with your language, like saying I bims instead of Ich bin’s (“It’s me”).

Oh, and if someone texts you that something is porno, don’t clutch your pearls right away. They probably just mean that it’s “cool” or “interesting.”

4. French

French texting slang is almost the opposite of its formal written form, which is to say, efficient and mostly devoid of accent marks unless absolutely necessary.

If you see the number 1, it could be referring to the sounds un, ain or ien. So in effect, b1 translates to bien. You also don’t need to bother with c’est, sait or s’est when a simple c will do.

To start a conversation, you don’t need much more than a BJR (bonjour) or sa va (ça va, or “how are you?”).

We’d be remiss if we didn’t tell you how to text je t’aime, which gets shortened to JTM.

And if you see the letters MDR, it means mort de rire, which translates to “dying of laughter.”

Hopefully that isn’t the response you get right after professing your love, but if it is, then, well, DSL (which is textspeak for désolé, meaning “sorry”).

5. Arabic

Over the years, new tools and technologies have made it easier to type in many different languages, including ones that don’t use the Latin alphabet like Arabic. That hasn’t always been the case. Historically, the Latin alphabet was the most accessible option for many people to write a text message or chat online. But as the saying goes, necessity is the mother of invention. The Arabic Chat Alphabet, also known as Arabizi, Arabish or Franco-Arabic, was born from these technological limitations.

Arabizi makes it possible to use a combination of Arabic numerals and the Latin alphabet to write Arabic words and phrases. For example, Arabizi uses the numeral 9 to represent the Arabic letter qāf, which is equivalent to the Q in the Latin alphabet. In Arabizi, the Arabic word for heart, qalb, becomes 9alb.

Using this system, you can text someone Kul 3am wa ente bi5ayr (or كل عام وأنتي بخير) to wish them a happy holiday, or Meshta2alek kteer (مشتقلك كتير) to tell them you miss them a lot.

6. Spanish

Warning: you may be confused by the following text expressions when you first see them, but stick with us, they’re actually brilliant.

XQ means both por qué (“why”), and porque (“because”). XA is para (“for”), and XO is pero (“but”). XFA is por favor (“please”).

So, what’s up with all the X’s? They’re actually multiplication signs. When you’re multiplying numbers, por is the equivalent of the English word ‘‘times.” Told you it was brilliant!

Generally speaking, your typical Spanish textspeak is going to vary depending on the locale, but it’s also not uncommon to see certain English slang terms pop up with a Spanish twist: likear, lolazo, trol, selfi, friki.

This is a lot to think about, but try not to overanalyze it. If someone texts you NTR, they just mean no te rayes (“don’t overthink it”).

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