#then this poem only used half the alphabet

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Virginia Woolf: On Words

Listen to the only surviving recording of Virginia Woolf’s voice.

A transcript of Woolf’s broadcast, ‘On Craftsmanship’, BBC, 29 April 1937.

Words, English words, are full of echoes, of memories, of associations.

They have been out and about, on people’s lips, in their houses, in the streets, in the fields, for so many centuries.

And that is one of the chief difficulties in writing them today — that they are stored with meanings, with memories, that they have contracted so many famous marriages in the past.

The splendid word ‘incarnadine’, for example — who can use it without remembering also ‘multitudinous seas’?

In the old days, of course, when English was a new language, writers could invent new words and use them.

Nowadays it is easy enough to invent new words — they spring to the lips whenever we see a new sight or feel a new sensation — but we cannot use them because the English language is old.

You cannot use a brand new word in an old language because of the very obvious yet always mysterious fact that a word is not a single and separate entity, but is part of other words.

Indeed it is not a word until it is part of a sentence.

Words belong to each other, although, of course, only a great poet knows that the word ‘incarnadine’ belongs to ‘multitudinous seas’.

To combine new words with old words is fatal to the constitution of the sentence. In order to use new words properly you would have to invent a whole new language; and that, though no doubt we shall come to it, is not at the moment our business.

Our business is to see what we can do with the old English language as it is.

How can we combine the old words in new orders so that they survive, so that they create beauty, so that they tell the truth?

That is the question.

And the person who could answer that question would deserve whatever crown of glory the world has to offer.

Think what it would mean if you could teach, or if you could learn, the art of writing.

Why, every book, every newspaper would tell the truth, or would create beauty.

But there is, it would appear, some obstacle in the way, some hindrance to the teaching of words.

For though at this moment at least a hundred professors are lecturing the literature of the past, at least a thousand critics are reviewing the literature of the present, and hundreds upon hundreds of young men and women are passing examinations in English literature with the utmost credit, still — do we write better, do we read better than we read and wrote four hundred years ago when we were unlectured, uncriticised, untaught?

Is our modern Georgian literature a patch on the Elizabethan?

Well, where are we to lay the blame?

Not on our professors; not on our reviewers; not on our writers; but on words.

It is words that are to blame. They are the wildest, freest, most irresponsible, most unteachable of all things.

Of course, you can catch them and sort them and place them in alphabetical order in dictionaries.

But words do not live in dictionaries; they live in the mind.

If you want proof of this, consider how often in moments of emotion when we most need words we find none.

Yet there is the dictionary; there at our disposal are some half-a-million words all in alphabetical order.

But can we use them? No, because words do not live in dictionaries, they live in the mind.

Look once more at the dictionary.

There beyond a doubt lie plays more splendid than Antony and Cleopatra; poems more lovely than the Ode to a Nightingale; novels beside which Pride and Prejudice or David Copperfield are the crude bunglings of amateurs.

It is only a question of finding the right words and putting them in the right order.

But we cannot do it because they do not live in dictionaries; they live in the mind. And how do they live in the mind?

Variously and strangely, much as human beings live, by ranging hither and thither, falling in love, and mating together.

It is true that they are much less bound by ceremony and convention than we are.

Royal words mate with commoners. English words marry French words, German words, Indian words, Negro words, if they have a fancy.

Indeed, the less we enquire into the past of our dear Mother English the better it will be for that lady’s reputation. For she has gone a-roving, a-roving fair maid.

Thus to lay down any laws for such irreclaimable vagabonds is worse than useless. A few trifling rules of grammar and spelling are all the constraint we can put on [words].

All we can say about them, as we peer at them over the edge of that deep, dark and only fitfully illuminated cavern in which they live — the mind — all we can say about them is that [words] seem to like people to think before they use them, and to feel before they use them, but to think and to feel not about them, but about something different.

They are highly sensitive, easily made self-conscious.

They do not like to have their purity or their impurity discussed.

If you start a Society for Pure English, they will show their resentment by starting another for Impure English — hence the unnatural violence of much modern speech; it is a protest against the puritans.

They are highly democratic, too; they believe that one word is as good as another; uneducated words are as good as educated words, uncultivated words as cultivated words, there are no ranks or titles in their society.

Nor do they like being lifted out on the point of a pen and examined separately.

They hang together, in sentences, in paragraphs, sometimes for whole pages at a time.

They hate being useful; they hate making money; they hate being lectured about in public.

In short, they hate anything that stamps them with one meaning or confines them to one attitude, for it is their nature to change.

Perhaps that is their most striking peculiarity — their need of change.

It is because the truth [words] try to catch is many-sided, and they convey it by being themselves many-sided, flashing first this way, then that. Thus they mean one thing to one person, another thing to another person; they are unintelligible to one generation, plain as a pikestaff to the next. And it is because of this complexity that they survive.

Perhaps then one reason why we have no great poet, novelist or critic writing to-day is that we refuse words their liberty.

We pin them down to one meaning, their useful meaning, the meaning which makes us catch the train, the meaning which makes us pass the examination.

And when words are pinned down they fold their wings and die.

Finally, and most emphatically, words, like ourselves, in order to live at their ease, need privacy.

Undoubtedly they like us to think, and they like us to feel, before we use them; but they also like us to pause; to become unconscious.

Our unconsciousness is their privacy; our darkness is their light...

That pause was made, that veil of darkness was dropped, to tempt words to come together in one of those swift marriages which are perfect images and create everlasting beauty.

But no — nothing of that sort is going to happen to-night.

The little wretches are out of temper; disobliging; disobedient; dumb. What is it that they are muttering? ‘Time’s up! Silence!’'

Source Virginia Woolf: The Censorship of Books

[scifikimmi]

Time is not stone, not the rocks. It is not the sands on the shore, not the rot.

It is not the nation that stands. It is not man. It is not the tick tick tick nor the tock.

It is not tracked in sections or stations or nodes. It is not seen, nor is it heard. Time does not erode.

Time does not seek nor does it need. It neither cares nor heeds. It is not them, not her, not him, not me.

It is not the marks made or harm done. It is not the cracks in ones skin. It is not condemnation. It is not sin.

Time does not cease, is not an end.

-

e, t, a, i, o, n, s, h, r, m,c, d, k

[mbohjeezart]

To the tenth, to ten more.

(A little explanation about this work under the cut.)

I have had this piece at this state for about one and a half months. I had quite a bit of it rendered, even. But I lost all of this progress due to a mistake I made while saving it.

To say that I didn't have the heart to continue it was an understatement. I was heartbroken, but I wanted to post it anyway. So I made the border, wrote the poem that I wanted to convey my feelings with, translated it into the galactic alphabet and handdrew it in. But I only used the first stanza of the poem, so here's the poem in it's full glory, so you don't have to translate it by hand.

This work is a parody of a work I made for Season 7, when I drew all of the hermits I was watching in a single file line. This is why not *all* hermits are depicted.

[donutsupremacy]

Genshin men reacting to F!S/O accidentally burning her hands

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Summary:

"HCs of Genshin men reacting to their Pyro wielding!F!S/O burning her hands on accident while cooking"

Warnings / Spoilers:

Written during 4.2

Playable characters only

Reader has a Pyro vision, but the weapon choice is irrelevant

Reader is not traveller

Reader is their [S/O]

Female reader (I used as less pronouns as I could and still refer to as [S/O])

Short HCs

Sorted by region and in alphabetical order

Includes all currently playable male characters as of 4.2

Sweet petnames uwu

Ahhh so fluffy uwu

100% SFW because n o.

100% Ooc

Reader is aware of the archon's true identities

A/N: This is a requested fic— Not much specifics mentioned, so I decided to let loose a little.

Most of these HCs are rather generic and calm, I hope you don't mind, [Requester]. I see most of the genshin men we've encountered are actually mostly calm and polite gentlemen in game— yes, even Itto, but he's still Itto lol

I'll do Mondstadt, Liyue and half of Inazuma first, the rest will be done in a seperate post

P.S. yes i know there's a lot of spelling mistakes. and yes my poems, pick-up lines and jokes are utter shit, i am not a Kazuha/Venti kin :>

[Part 2 | Inazuma, Sumeru and Fontaine men]

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A hiss erupts from your throat as you quickly withdrew your hand from the fire.

Your singed hands trembled, examining the dark spots that had littered across your palms and even your knuckles and fingers. You clicked your tongue, regretting the decisions to cook without your gloves. If only they weren't torn from that expedition two days ago... you should really get new ones.

You hear the door open... "[Name]?"

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Mondstadt

Albedo

Immediately notices your hands getting burnt, nothing escapes the alchemist's observation skills. Plus, he knows how people react when accidentally burnt themseleves. His team works with chemical substances that require boiling and heating, after all. (And it's always Timaeus getting hurt while he's busy daydreaming about Ying'er while on the job lol)

"Here, allow me to have a look." Albedo murmured calmly, his gloved hand taking hold of yours, careful to not touch any areas that may have been made sensitive from the fire.

"It isn't favorable using your Pyro vision without your glove." He sighed, telling you to stay put as he wastes no time to treat the burn on your hand.

Albedo gently wiped your burned hand dry with a damp cloth, giving you a reassuring kiss on your forehead whenever he accidentally pressed too hard on a sensitive area.

Later, he applies a type of natural ointment that would supposedly heal your burn and hands you some medicine to take that would soothe the pain whenever it stings randomly.

He has you sitting on top of the counter, helping you finish cooking whatever you were trying to make while following your instructions— totally not a reason to spend more time for you. Nope. Haha. Totally not at all :>

"There we go... is this what you were trying to create perviously? *Chuckles* My dear crystalfly, next time... you can just simply ask for my help, you know I would always set my duties aside to aid you— no matter the situation."

Bennett

As expected; The first thing this poor boi does is blame his luck :(

He was practically on his knees, apologising frantically— he would rather get struck by a bolt of thunder from the Shogun herself than to accidentally inflict pain on his [S/O] who had stayed by his side despite his misfortune.

He's too afraid of possibly harming you more, even by a tiny little sting. Of course, he'll get you anything you asked for; A damp cloth, bandages, anything.

So he stands as far from you as he could, but still kept you in his eyesight, watching you patch yourself up as you calmly reassure him while he continued apologising. Poor boi.

At first, he was planning to go on an random expedition, so that you wouldn't end up getting hurt again because you were both under the same roof. But when you told him he can stay, wanting him to accompany you even risking your safety, he melted.

"You... Y-You do?... Ah, [S/O] are you... sure?... I-I really don't want to... Wha— H-Hey! Was that flour you just threw at my face?... Hahahaha! Oh, is that how you wanna play? It is on!"

Diluc

Prolly too busy in his office doing his work, but when Adelinde came in to his office, saying u got burnt, he dropped his work and ran straight to u.

The first thing he did was sigh in relief when he saw the burn mark was less severe than he thought

At first, Adelinde insisted to treat your wounds, but Diluc was just as insistent to take care of your wounds himself, only brushing her off and requesting for her to just bring some medical equipment before leaving the two of you alone.

Once she was gone, he lightly reprimands you for not using your glove. When you explained that you had accidentally torn it, he immediately took out both of his gloves and slipped it onto your hands, regardless of size he refuses to let you take them off if you wanted to cook.

He stays in the kitchen, watching over you and accompanying you as you cooked. If he sees you still struggling to cook because of the gloves size, he'll leave the easier tasks to you, while he takes over the more difficult tasks you couldn't. Not that he thinks you're incompetent— it's because he doesn't want to see you getting hurt again. Because seeing you in any form of pain hurts him more than it hurts you.

"Hm? No, there's no need to get the maids involved— we can finish this, quickly and smoothly. My work can wait. No more excuses, i'm finishing this recipe with you— I don't take 'no's or 'but's. Now, pass me the lid, love."

Kaeya

He'd probably chuckle at the sound of ur hiss first and at the pouty look on ur face, it's cute lol. But he'll help u soon after.

"Cooking using your Pyro vision without your glove isn't an ideal situation you would want to find yourself in, princess." Kaeya purred as he wraps your hand in a damp towel, carressing your cheek to soothe you with his free hand.

He decides that you should take a quick break— an excuse to cuddle you as he wraps his arms around your waist from behind and forces you to sit on his lap as he rests on the couch.

Kaeya peppers you with butterfly kisses all over your face as he keeps one arm wrapped around your waist while holding your hand that you burnt.

He uses a small amount of his Cryo abilites, lightly cooling down your injury— Even placing a kiss on your knuckle, which caused your skin to tingle and numb the pain greatly. Did this sneaky bastard use his Cryo vision to enhance that kiss?

"*Chuckles*, I know that face, princess... are you suspecting me of being up to something again? I'm just as pure and innocent... Although— mayhaps I am a little guilty for abusing my vision slightly. I'm not justifying my reasons, but to be fair; I only abuse it for you. What can I say? I love making you melt~"

Mika

Mika has experience treating burn injuries for his peers while going on that long expedition with Grand Master Varka, so the first thing he does when he sees u hurt is...; p a n i k.

You're the one calming him down as he tries to treat your burn— smooth and effecient, as expected for someone like Mika.

Save for the little frantic 'sorry's he squeaks out when he accidentally tightens the gauze a little too hard or brushes his fingers against a more sensitive area.

Once he was done, he offers to take over the cooking, wanting you to take a break. He's persistent when it comes to pampering you, Mika doesn't want to risk you getting burned— again. (Doormat Mika is persistent to u only when it's for ur own good uwu)

Even when he's done, he doesn't make you lift a finger— he even feeds you. You always baby him, now it's his turn to baby you. Blowing on the food if it's too hot, pouring a drink for you, wiping away the crumbs or stains on the corner of your lips. Everything.

"A-Ah! No, no— let me get that for you... There's no need to worry, I really don't mind. Here, let me pour your another cup... Would you like it cold? Or hot? Ah— w-wait, don't use your vision to light up the stove again!... Please just let me use a match instead... I want you to relax..."

Razor

I think he'd try to lick ur burn or kiss it immediately lol

Probably doesn't actually know how to treat a burn properly, so he'll likely just gently kiss around the burnt area, making sure to avoid the sensitive patches

He gives you cuddles— lot of kisses, even has his Lupicals allow you to pet their soft fur. Anything to cheer you up.

He'd likely get you some meat to eat instead. But if you're a vegan/vegeterian, he'll go straight out to hunting your favorite berries in Mondstadt and bring back a whole potato sack of it

While you're resting, he sneaks off to see purple teacher lady and requests that she teaches him basic first aid training. It's just in case, but it hurts him that he doesn't know how to take care of your pain— so may Barbatos bless his soul because he's determined to learn anything complicated to ensure your safety <3

"Wait... no— n-no touch... it's too sharp. I don't want you to... risk hurting yourself. Again... Hm? No worry? But... seeing [S/O] almost hurt herself... not happy. Promise to me... you won't accidentally... hurt yourself again? You... mean too much to me...

Venti

I feel like he would drink those alcohol bottles that are specifically meant for numbing and disinfecting wounds. Yeah he def would. Canon.

He uses Anemo to lightly blow and cool down your burn, numbing the pain for you enough that a light kiss wouldn't sting. But he forbids you to continue cooking until your hand fully recovers.

After treating you to lunch (You paid), he sets you down on your couch, making you lay your head on his lap as he holds your burnt hand while carressing your head with his free hand.

If it still hurts or numb, he'll get a damp cloth and gently wrap your hand in it. To distract you from the uncomfortable feeling, he sings you various romantic and cute songs, even making short poetry (That he thought of immediately while staring at your pretty face)

"A cry of pain, shrieks of agony— Voices that conquer even the rumbles of thunder, and it's stories of tragedy— Flames that burn, brighter than light— But also inflicts harm that causes fright— Save your tears, my lucky windblume... Let your one and only make that sweet smile of yours bloom~"

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Liyue

Baizhu

Infinite/10 treatment. Get a doctor as ur [S/O] ladies

After Changsheng chides you for your carelessness— Baizhu shushes the snake and comes over to examine your wound, he doesn't take long to reassure you that it's not too severe.

Health comes first as he always says— so he carefully treats your burn, chooses the most effective medicine that wouldn't risk a single side effect.

He's got it all for you; Ointment that soothes burns, herbs that relieves pain and even butterfly kisses all over your face that never fails to put a smile on your face— kissing away any tears if the pain stung you gravely.

Once he's done with treating your wound, he has you sitting down and takes over your cooking— even making a remedy that can help alleviate numbness. He even spoon-fed you your own meal.

"Ah, you have a bit of a something at the corner of your lips. Let me get that for you, dear. *Smooch*... Hm? Your face is red! Have you been affected by a fever? Let's see... warm, bright red cheeks, eyes avoiding mine and the corner of your luscious lips trembling... I see now... *Chuckles* Maybe it was my kiss that got you like this~

Chongyun

Poor bby got overwhelmed with panik when he heard ur yelp and ran over to see u near f i r e

Luckily for you, he has that popsicle stash of his to cool and numb your burn, even giving you one to munch on. It was to cheer you up... but it doesn't really have flavour.

Once your wound has numbed, he tries to finish your for you— but the need to make it a perfect dish for you overwhelms him and he almost burns himself as well.

Still determined to cheer you up, he'll later treat you to lunch, bringing you to Wanmin restaurant and let you order your favorites. He'll treat it as a date.

You'll meet Xiangling there, cooing when she saw the two of you on a date. Luckily for Chongyun, he still has his popsicle before Xiangling's cooing could overwhelm him.

If you ordered something hot and spicy, he obviously can't share with you. But is willing to take a small tiny bite or sip for you, he'll even feed you if you'd like. If it's something cold, he'll definitely enjoy sharing the dish with you, letting you eat more of it if it's your favorite.

"Are you satisfied with today's date?... I hope I didn't look forced or nervous like last time. It's not that I don't enjoy our dates, my love... Oh, y-you seem to have caught on. Was I bad at hiding it?... I don't need to make everything perfect for you?... Ah, th-that's a little hard to adapt to, you can't blame me for always wanting everything to be flawless when you're quite perfect yourself, no?... *Shy chuckle*"

Xiao

U don't even need to call him— he hears u yelp, he goes "You called?" "AAAAA—"

Immediately reprimands you for thinking this was a good idea, even adding that it was pointless to cook when all mortal food tastes flavourless. But to make you feel a little better, he (quietly) compliments that your cooking at least has some flavour in them compared to the dishes other chefs made.

He's insistent on making you rest, claiming that you'll only burn yourself again, or worse, set your house into flames. You didn't even sucessfully light up the stove!

While you're busy treating your wounds, he vanishes without another word— secretly, he visited Yanxiao in Wangshu Inn, who agreed to make the dish you were making, only because he didn't want to upset the Adeptus and that he knew how much you meant to the Vigilant Yaksha.

It didn't take long for him to return, and if he caught you trying to light up the stove again without your gloves, he'll drag you away from your kitchen— Locking the door to it if he has to and quite literally carrying you over his shoulder like a potato sack, not a single peep of complain regarding your weight. He's strong for a reason.

He places you down on your couch and then offers you the dish, but was caught off guard when you said you wanted to share it with him. At first, he wanted to decline, saying that it won't have any taste... but that resilience of his crumbles immediately at a single 'please?' from you.

So there he sat with you, only taking a few small bites just to please you... and to see that cheeky little smile on your face. He doesn't peep a complain, only enjoying your quiet company and vice versa. Although he secretly cringes at the bland taste of the food, he finds it tolerable around you. He hopes you didn't catch his cheeks tinted a bright shade of red.

"...Another bite? If you insist... Hm? No, I don't have any comments or suggestions to this dish— it doesn't concern me... I-I'm not upset at you, it's just... I don't have a reason to eat mortal food, let alone enjoy it. This was honestly a waste of time... Oddly enough, I do find eating anything with you... quite sweet. Stop looking at me like that, i'm making this an exception just once... Can you feed me another bite...?"

Xingqiu

*Proceeds to splash the fire out with his vision*

You feel a pair of arms wrap firmly around you before you hear the voice of your boyfriend whispering sweet nothings into your ear, soothing you as he plants gentle butterfly kisses on your cheek.

He treats your injury like normal, having you rant about what happened to your glove while he quietly and patiently listens, just letting you speak to take your mind off the burn injury that he was healing.

Once he's done, he'll just have you rest your head on his lap, saying he'll ask Xiangling to cook for you later. As he does this, he'll read your favorite story, whether it be a fairytale, a history novel or even one of my oneshots. He uses a more gentle and calm voice, carressing your head every now and then.

However, as soon as he sees you fall asleep half way through thanks to his lullaby-esque voice, he sneakily plants a kiss on your lips... and proceeds to write a short story about you the next day; Of a young warrior who got defeated by a stove and was later cared for by their partner who happens to be their enemy. He loves writing private short stories for just the two of you, mostly made to tease you.

"How do you find the story, my liege?... Hm? Why does the main sound exactly like you? Haha~... What a curious question you have there in that pretty little head of yours. Riddle me this; How do you think the main character's love interest treated them? It's quite romantic, no? I'd say i've improved my writing with this story!... Well, maybe I exaggerated with the part where you fought a stove and lost~"

Zhongli

*Sends meteor towards the stove*

Does the same thing as the other; treat your injury with love and care, wrapping you around his arms as he carresses your back with gentle strokes, just overall enjoying eachother's presence.

At first, he suggests going to Xinyue Kiosk... until he was reminded that Childe was still healing in Fontaine after receiving a letter from him saying he got thrown into jail and fought a whale. Plus, Hu Tao is off to who knows where? Doing Archons knows what? He sure doesn't know.

Instead, he brings you to one of the Adepti's abode. Though, it's incredibly tedious as the journey itself is long (You're travelling up a mountain, duh). Halfway through, regardless of whether or not you're tired, he has you wrapping around your arms loosely around his neck, chest pressed against his back with his arms hooked beneath your legs— giving you a piggy back ride. Doesn't complain at all, he loves being this close to you.

There, he meets Cloud Retainer, who welcomes you to her abode (And chides you for your small injury like the mother she is), allowing Zhongli to use her 'Supreme Cuisine Machine' to make Bamboo shoot soup for you and it thankfully doesn't take long.

Cloud Retainer allows the two of you to have your little date on Mt. Aocang in peace, secretly watching over the two of you as Zhongli feeds you, with a fond smile and eyes that held affection towards you, the both of you enjoying eachother's company and the view on top of Mt. Aocang.

"Careful, it's hot... How does it taste? It is no trouble at all, [S/O]— this view is worth the journey, if it means I get to share it with someone I hold dear to my heart. Be it minutes or centuries, I cerish each moment with you, this one especially. Now, would you like another spoon?"

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Inazuma

Arataki Itto

*Proceeds to use sand on your injury* "...They said sand can put out fire! And that's what hurt you, didn't it???????"

Definitely doesn't know how to treat your wounds, but he does get Shinobu to help tend to your burn injury. Meanwhile, she not only lightly reprimands you for your recklessness... she full-on scolds Itto for not looking after you.

He pouts and whines, saying he was busy collecting lavender melons for you to cook with— although, he does feel really terrible for not being able to help. Who knows what would've happened if he had left for a little while longer?; You might've accidentally chopped a limb off, maybe even unintentionally cause a wildfire, or worse; accidentally putting his beetles in the soup!

To make it up to you, he... tries to sing for you. At least, he tries to 'up his game'. He gathers up his gang and Shinobu, makes them pamper you (Shinobu just has a nice conversation with you while the other three does Archons knows what), and that was when he does a very dramatic grand entrance as he starts to bellow out in the worst voice you've ever heard.

After shattering your eardrums, he shoos away the rest as he just wants some cuddling with you now. Singing takes a toll on him surprisingly enough. So now, there you sat on your couch, Itto's beefy arms wrapped around you as he tells you a story about a group of 'bandits' he encountered while collecting lavender melons for you.

"So there I was; Arataki 'The Unstoppable Force' Itto, surrounded by a group of bandits wanting to steal my hard earned stash of lavender melons! The nerve of these newbies, trying to steal my stuff meant for my 'One and Oni' señorita— I stood there, my weapon in hand and ready to make them wish they should've chose to play TCG with me instead of an all-out brawl!... Eh? What? You're saying those were just kids with mask because of their height and voices that I described?... You're not telling this to Shinobu, riiiiiight?"

Gorou

Very calmly puts out the fire... while sending barrages of 'ARE YOU OKAY?' towards u

He's a general, he knows the basics of treating small injuries like this... but his hands are noticably shaky, afraid of inflicting even the smallest sting on you by accident.

Whenever you winced just the slightest bit, the way your nose scrunched up at the most uncomfortable touch, your brows furrowed and eyes narrowing a little, he stammers out apologies after apologies.

Once he finishes treating your wound, his ears flattened against the back of his skull, tail curled up as his shoulders drooped, mumbling that he should've taken more of those first aid training so he could ensure your safety. He's already lost too much on the battlefield, he doesn't want you to get hurt... even if it's just a small burn.

Ironic; You're supposed to be the one needing comfort, but you're the one comforting him instead, letting him lay on your [lap/chest] as you ran your fingers through his soft brown lockes, effectively calming him down by scratching the back of his ears and massaging his scalp with your fingers. Though, petting his soft and perfectly-groomed tail was enough to soothe your worries.

The two of you just simple laid there on your couch, his tail lightly wagging side to side as he curled up into you— he can feel vulnerable around you.

"Yes, my love... it feels so... so much better like this. Don't worry— i'm on break at the moment... Although, I might have to return to my post soon for my duties... Uhm... b-but i'm sure my peers can cover for me a little longer... I really need this..."

Kamisato Ayato

Boba

First thing he does is wrap his arms arouns your waist, pulling you into a gentle hug, you face resting against his chest as his gloved hands carressed the back of your head, cooing and lightly teasing you for being impulsive while cooking.

Has Thoma patch you up since he's more qualified and careful for that. Ayato has you sitting on his lap, cuddling you with that calm puppy-like smile of his while Thoma is the one scolding you for burning yourself on accident.

But after that, he brings you out on yet another date; Strolling around Inazuma City and by the beach, then bringing you Uyuu restaurant for lunch— letting you order your favorites. He even buys a drink and asks for 2 straws, wanting to share it with you (and so see your flushed cheeks when the two of you were drinking, noses nearly touching)

This is for those who like reading any type of books; After filling your bellies, he takes you (a little begrudgingly, but he loves you) to Yae Publishing House and lets you buy another book for your collection. And when he finds you reading a romance novel, he rests his chin on your shoulder, arms wrapped around your waist as he teases your flustered reaction— saying there's no better love story than your story with him.

"Were you satisfied with today's date? Ah, perfect... I see my method with making you forget that little injury of yours worked. A win-win for the both of us; you get to forget about your embarrassing moment and get to have your favorites— and I... deserve this for all my hard work; *Smooch*~"

[timebegins-onopeningday]

Time Begins On Opening Day 2024: Round Up Post #1

Happy Friday everyone and welcome to Round-Up Post #1! This post includes links to all works posted in the first half of the season + details about First Half Commentfest which begins today and goes through the weekend.

Soft Deadline #1 offers us 20 (20!!) fanworks for five teams and 104 prompts across several teams as well as some broad and open-ended prompts! For a small fandom and only halfway through the season, that's pretty cool. If you're just finding this prompt meme now, or if you didn't finish something you were working on before the deadline, never fear - this prompt runs the entire length of the 2024 season! There is still plenty of time create.

Enjoy the works, slam that kudos button, leave a comment, and enjoy the second half of the MLB season!

Soft Deadline #2 is September 29, the end of the regular season.

🌞 First Half Commentfest 🌞

First Half Commentfest runs this weekend, from Friday July 19 to Sunday July 21. As we catch up with all these amazing works (fic! art! poetry! y’all are amazing!!) my challenge as a mod for us is to get every single one of these works at least five independent comments from five independent readers by the end of the weekend. (So we’re not including creator responses in that comment count!)

Why? Because it’s very easy to feel isolated as a creator – particularly in a small fandom like baseball rpf. We all know how easy it is to hit the kudos button and move on, but in a challenge designed to inspire creators for a very small, very spread out of fandom, a little encouragement can go a long way.

justleaveacommentfest has a list of resources for helping write comments on fic here and hxphaestion wrote some notes on what kind of comments resonate with artists (scroll for reblog) if you’re not sure where to start.

Let’s get all these works some comments!

🌞 Fanworks from the first half of the season 🌞

That we got as many fics as we did in the first half makes your mod SO happy, because we’re already past what we had last year!! This was a pain in the ass to put together because there were so many links and that delighted me. Shout out to you all, you’re all amazing.

I organized these by fanwork type, then grouped works by team and sorted alphabetically by the creator’s name + title (with the exception of one set of works, which are grouped in order of the series). Enjoy the works, bang that kudos button and COMMENT 🥳🥳

Art

Baltimore Orioles

[collage] heat waves by sapplyandherfriend

a celebration of dingers and slug edit: WOOOOOO TONY IS AN ALL STAR

Toronto Blue Jays

[collage] cheer on your team! by idlt

a toronto blue jays collage made on a 6x4 index card with a bunch of junk from the recycling bin

[collage] love song (show elation) by idlt

a vladdy and bo collage made on half of a page of cardstock with a bunch of junk from the recycling bin and a pile of old magazines that I got from someone in my neighbourhood who was going to throw them out, plus a few star stickers and a picture of vlad and bo pasted on top digitally

Poetry

Toronto Blue Jays

come home (the way they need you to) by idlt

A short poem about Vladdy and home and being seen.

Fic

Baltimore Orioles

one warm summer night (fireworks outside) by Settsplitt

Technically, they’re kind of hidden, standing a few steps down the tunnel, with their teammates all turned towards the fluorescent night sky, eyes fixed on the show. But still, Kyle thinks, as Adley tucks his hand under the hem of his pants, slipping his fingers beneath his belt and digging until he finds bare skin, this can’t be a good idea.

Milwaukee Brewers

In Stadium Light & Shadow by TheGlobeLifeBarn 

A thin satellite in orbit of nothing.

Philadelphia Phillies

Pressure Point by caltrain

Bryce fucked up his hammy and he’s being an enormous baby about it.

you think it’s different but it’s always the same by palimpsestic

Florida’s always so fucking humid, even in February—the air is sticky with unshed rain, hangs heavy with anticipation.

Who’s on First by powerblu (bluspirits)

A lot may have changed since Rhys first got called up to the Phillies: the size of the crowds, their record, the fact that they're playing in the World Series. But one thing is exactly the same: Bryce Harper is still there on the other team, annoying the hell out of him.

put some moves on you, babe (i know you need it) by pronoe

Bryson reminds himself to be careful where he sucks his marks on Alec’s skin, with the way he keeps his jerseys half-unbuttoned.

Seattle Mariners

Broken Foot and Cuddles by Anonymous

turns out that record-breaking pitch had actually been “breaking” in more ways than one. Poor Ty, with the foot fracture.

Toronto Blue Jays

Fiber arts for first inning starts by caltrain

There’s a hot guy no one has ever seen before at the softball clinic. He crushes three balls out of the park off of Kevin and pisses Kevin off so bad that Yusei slings an arm around his neck and kisses his cheek. “Can we get him?” he says happily.

5 Times The Blue Jays were Blue Gays: Number 1 Will Shock You! by idlt

George Springer is writing for the first edition of the new Blue Jays newsletter, organized and edited by Davis Schneider. George's first assignment? Clickbait the fuck out of everyone with the most unbelievable listicle ever (except somehow it is actually that gay)! Here's what he wrote, plus what Davis had to say about it.

he said i have bisexual swag! by idlt

An ode to Jordan Romano's short-lived yet glorious septum piercing (in the format of 2 idiots texting)

the grip of artificial chaos by idlt

Davis and Ernie sneak a moment in the dugout as the fireworks go off.

Out of Left Field by OneWhoSitsWithTurtles

Danny Jansen and Daulton Varsho were rivals playing on opposing baseball teams in high school. Now, ten years later, they are playing on the same team for the Toronto Blue Jays. As they weather the ups and downs of the baseball season, Danny and Daulton find an unexpected companionship in one another. But there is a lot on the line and neither knows if it is safe to indulge these feelings or if they are better left buried in the past.

Cover Your Bases by OneWhoSitsWithTurtles

Ten years after being high school rivals, Danny Jansen and Daulton Varsho started playing baseball on the same team for the Toronto Blue Jays. Their months together brought them closer as teammates, friends, and then something more. Now they need to decide what risks they’re willing to take if they want to make their relationship official.

Swing for the Fences by OneWhoSitsWithTurtles

Danny Jansen and Daulton Varsho are officially dating. Unfortunately, being public figures in a major league sport makes that anything but simple. They’ve agreed to keep things private until the end of the baseball season but that means Danny and Daulton must balance their blooming relationship and their work while navigating the ever-present media attention.

The Longest Road by OneWhoSitsWithTurtles

After their nightly game of Settlers of Catan, Davis has a heart-to-heart with Spencer about his growing feelings for their mutual friend Ernie. Spencer offers some valuable advice and reassurance, which gives Davis the courage to accept when Ernie asks him to forgo the living room couch and share a bed for the night.

Therapy with Daulto Varsho by OneWhoSitsWithTurtles

Daulton has always been a listener rather than a talker. Whether it’s good news or bad news, he’s there to hear out his teammates. Sometimes, this leads to unexpected revelations.

[gloriousmonsters]

what is the new book concept?? (if you don’t mind sharing — but if you do mind it’s ok not to reply)

also what is that font you used btw? is there a full alphabet somewhere and if so would you mind sharing the link? i like that it’s a very understated gothic-looking serif. or very calligraphic looking i guess

sure thing!! with the understanding it's a lot more half-baked than most of the ideas I've been talking about, so i'm going to briefly walk you through the few ideas that went into it before explaining (also briefly) what it is so far, lol. Also, the font is Fondamento - it was one of the fonts available in Photopea (free online photoshop-like) which I used to make the cover, but it looks like it's also on Google Fonts. If you want to know how I did the bronze metallic-ink-ish look for the text I can expound on that as well, btw, or you can just enjoy the font :)

So I've been having a resurgence of my Tempest emotions

(for those who are unfamiliar. i would summarize it, but it would take a long time. just. find a summary and read it with a MASSIVE grain of salt that's labeled 'prospero is an asshole and nobody understands Caliban but tumblr user gloriousmonsters and the poet Robert Browning')

and this time reading it was especially having fun with the parallels between Caliban and Miranda's characters and also thinking about how EXTREMELY weird and screwed up their relationship would have been growing up.

Despite interpretations/stories based on it sometimes having it otherwise, in canon neither of them seem to have ever seen or spoken to Ariel (at least in capacity as A Person You Can Talk to; Caliban is more aware of the spirits Prospero commands in abstract, at least). Aside from Prospero, who is notoriously not good at being present for what he's supposed to be looking after, they are the only human being the other one knows. It's serving twisted Eden vibes. It's serving tmg's 'the last man on earth'. it's serving 'not that Prospero would have encouraged it, but to an extent they must have seen each other as family, right? especially in Miranda's case, considering she grew up her entire life with him. the psuedoincest is off the charts'. Then shit goes bad (in whatever way you want to interpret) and now suddenly they're in a place of seeing each other daily, because Caliban does literally everything around the place, but having an uncrossable rift of mutual hurt and betrayal between them* that has little choice but to curdle and get worse because neither of them can do anything to change their situation. Depending on how lines are assigned, they never speak to each other in the play. And they have nobody else to talk to save for cursing out Prospero (Caliban) or trying to get in two words between Prospero's monologues (Miranda). And then the play events happen and they just part ways because Prospero has decided it, after probably expecting they'd be stuck in this forever. And then the next-to-only person you've ever known is on a different landmass and you're probably never going to see them again. it's So fucked.

Anyway I was revolving all of that with quiet awe in my head, and going 'man, I want to write a fucked up Caliban/Miranda book, but I don't have a non-play plot and I don't want to just write a prequel'

Then I encountered Caliban upon Setebos for the first time, and despite the fact i could still nitpick some things it slaps insanely. Only good Tempest fanfiction. It's a long poem consisting of Caliban theorizing about Setebos--a god his mother supposedly got her witch powers from, but that Caliban knows very little about. He theorizes that Setebos is either indifferent or malignant or both--impossible to predict, driven by whim. The only other divine force is 'the Quiet', an even more inhuman and incomprehensible force that doesn't do anything at all; cosmology is cruel, the world a sandbox under the eye of a god with as many arms as a cuttlefish, capricious and sadistic, whom we can only hope will someday grow decrepit and sleep, which is the closest to it being dead we can pray for--

It was about this point I realized Caliban/Browning was inventing the Lovecraft mythos 50ish years ahead of schedule, and got hit by the lightning bolt of 'PUT ELDRITCH BEINGS IN IT' and, five seconds later 'CALIBAN DESERVES TO BE A MAGICIAN' and five seconds after that 'miranda deserves to break out of being her father's Perfect child, let's set it in the future and kill Prospero off'

So Bitter Heart (taken from a line in the poem, 'Caliban/a bitter heart that bides its time') is conceptually a dual perspective novella/short novel focused on how about nine years after the conclusion of The Tempest, Miranda (unmarried, I'll handwave it; Ferdinand bores me so much sorry dude) finds her father dead and surrounded by rambling half-incomprehensible notes, remnants of a type of magic that's far different from his old ways, and a creeping sense of Wrongness that begins to slowly manifest in distortion, mutation and decay of elements of reality. People search for solutions while Miranda tries to find the source of the bizarre power in her father's notes and what hidden books she can unearth from his study, but she hasn't made it very far before a man comes to Milan at the behest of someone who's decided we should throw magic at the magic problem--a man she's heard rumors of as the hot new 'guy you keep in your court for a bit to show him off at parties because he's learned and also Moorish or something, he has this crazy backstory that's probably fake but is a lot of fun, also he does magic probably' in other cities, but never met.

A man who, when they meet face to face, turns out to be Caliban, who after about a year of 'finally peace and quiet' realized that living completely alone on an island was going to drive him insane and also he still really wanted revenge on Prospero (and had a lot of ambiguous ideas about what he wanted from Miranda) so he scraped together what Prospero had left behind and taught himself magic for the next few years until he could figure out a way off the island. He's extremely annoyed that after that, and after spending more years building himself up and finding his footing in the outside world, Prospero had the nerve to die RIGHT before he showed up, even if he wasn't promised a reward if he can stop people's arms from turning into fishes and shit he'd find out what did it so he can give it a piece of his mind. Miranda understandably never planned for this scenario and has a really hard time knowing what to feel about it, but she and Caliban form a tentative truce in order to try and figure out wtf Prospero was doing before he croaked.

There'll be intercut flashbacks to their past and the time they spent becoming incredibly codependent and eventually tipping into confused romantic attraction and sexual experimentation, which both of them have tried very hard to convince themselves was a bad idea for one reason or another, it clearly wasn't and will never be good for them, etc; and of course in present day they both immediately resume having bitter gothic sexual tension and trying to ignore the instinct that, now they've met each other again, they're the only two real people in a world of dreams and spirits.

Also they have to find the entrance to an eldritch realm and figure out what's coming through and how to stop it, and have a lot of insanely weird and pretentious thoughts/conversations about God and sin and abuse and vengeance/hatred and so on. So that's the mess Bitter Heart is at the moment :P

*ymmv may vary on how justified on either side depending on the situation, obviously

[omarandjohnny]

Can u talk about your tattoos plz plz plz? (If you want ofc.) you can say literally anything I find the stories behind tattoos so interesting

Sure! I started getting tattooed in 2001, the very first one being a simple Celtic knot (a nod of appreciation to Jason Flemyng for his brilliant performance in Alive and Kicking), and immediately after it was finished I KNEW I needed more XD

I have a lot of different text tattoos on my right sleeve, my tattooist in the early aughts used to yell down the hallway 'here comes the walking dictionary!' LOL The majority of them are all lyrics, lines from poems, fandom references, movie quotes, etc.

(since it's the 5th anniversary of wedding 2.0, I had to include my Robron hand tattoo 'but you know?' <3)

The Depeche Mode piece took the longest in-one-sitting, with the result being 'enjoy the silence' in the violator album font, and a pair of phoenixes. The pain was 1000000000% worth it.

The two most recent additions from the past couple years are the cherries on my neck for Cherry Magic (the show that got me through the latter half of the 2020 hellscape) and the coordinates to the Winslow family farm on my upper left arm (the farm where James Dean grew up, the quote across my chest 'only the gentle are ever really strong' is one of his as well)

Feel free to ask about any of the text on my alphabet soup arm/hand!

[fishthegenderwitch]

A little child in the store was singing the ABCs song today, and it was great. W was "bubbadoo", L-M-N-O was "Ow-ah Maow".

It got me thinking a Wonder I had never before Wondered: do other languages have an Alphabet Song for teaching the childrens?

And they do!!

Latin-based language songs

Spanish

The first Spanish song that was suggested is Sopa de Letras (“Soup of Letters”) by Gaby Rivero. This song teaches all the letters by imagining a soup with a bunch of food mixed in, with each letter of the alphabet represented by the food (A for arroz, B for bombon, C for col and so on). It’s not as straightforward as the English alphabet song, but it has a fun, very ‘80s music video.

Another song, mentioned by a Babbel video producer from Cuba, is La Marcha de las Vocales (“The March of the Vowels”) by Cri-Crí. This song only teaches vowels, so it’s not quite as useful. It does have the added benefit of describing the shape of each letter, however, which is useful for small children learning to write.

Portuguese

Similar to the second Spanish song, the song that our video producer who grew up in Portugal learned only teaches the vowels. The song is AEIOU from Big Show SIC, a Portuguese children’s variety show from 1995 hosted by singer Ana Malhoa. If you thought the first Spanish song was wild, this one is truly over the top. The video has people in animal costumes running around, children in the stands and a legion of scantily clad dancers. It’s a lot to take in, but you’d probably remember your vowels after watching it.

Polish

Another song that isn’t exactly an alphabet song is Abecadło Z Pieca Spadło (“The Alphabet Dropped from the Stove”) by Julian Tuwim. Based on a nursery rhyme, the song features a lot of the letters, along with a story about how they were damaged when they fell from the stove (the H broke in half, the A dislocated its legs, etc.). It doesn’t teach children the alphabet in a straightforward way, but it’s still a fun song to familiarize kids with the letters and what they look like.

Swedish

The first comprehensive alphabet song we found that sounds nothing like the English alphabet song comes from Swedish. It’s just called the Alfabetslåten (“Alphabet Song”), and it’s from an old children’s show called Fem myror är fler än fyra elefanter (“Five Ants are More than Four Elephants”) Two elephants sing the letters to the alphabet, including the four vowels that Swedish have that English doesn’t. Most importantly, it’s pretty catchy.

German

The vast majority of alphabet songs tend to use the tune of the English alphabet song and change them to their needs. This German song is just one example, and it’s called Das ABC-Lied (“The ABC Song”).

The Non-Latin Language songs on here are

Russian

The Cyrillic alphabet is not too different from the Latin alphabet, but it is a major stumbling block for Russian-learners who are just starting out. There are a few possible versions of the song out there, but we chose one from a reliable source: Улица Сезам (you might know it better as Sesame Street). It’s pretty similar to the English alphabet song, but with a different beat and an unfamiliar Muppet.

Chinese

The Chinese languages use over 50,000 characters, which presents a whole new problem. It’s impossible to make a comprehensive song because that would take way too long to sing. The solution is using the 千字文, or the Thousand Character Classic, which is a poem over 2,500 years old that is exactly 1,000 characters long, each used once and collected in rhyming stanzas (so it can, in theory, be sung). While it’s only a fraction of the full written system, the poem provides a useful introduction to written Chinese. The video below shows an excerpt of the poem being painted by calligrapher Cai Xingyi.

Japanese

Japanese only has 46 characters, so there is a song that can capture all of them. Japanese doesn’t have an alphabet, however; they use a mixture of two syllabaries and Chinese kanji (thousands of characters that were taken from Chinese into Japanese). The main 46-syllable hiragana is the best place to start, however, and the song is simple to learn.

Hebrew

Hebrew went from being widely spoken to nearly extinct, and then back to widely spoken again. The language was kept alive for religious reasons, and most people outside Israel likely encounter it during the bar/bat mitzvah process. Having a helpful alphabet song to teach legions of children and pre-teens how to read the language, then, is useful. Fortunately, Jewish singer Debbie Friedman created The Alef-Bet specifically for Hebrew school students.

I must go listen to the Swedish one now.

Please add more if you have them!

[mariacallous]

Interview by Anna Smirnova. English-language version by Sam Breazeale.

In early October, an 86-year-old man named Gennady Yakovlev died in the village of Nikolskoye on Russia’s Bering Island. Subsequent news reports referred to him as the last native speaker of the Aleut language — and many proclaimed that the language had died along with him. Meduza spoke to Evgeny Golovko, the director of the Russian Academy of Sciences' Institute for Linguistic Studies, about the history of the Aleut language, why languages disappear, and whether the Aleut language really died along with Yakovlev.

For the greater part of the 20th century, the language spoken by Russia's indigenous Aleut people had two dialects: Bering Aleut and Medny Aleut. The dialects' names came from the islands where they were spoken.

While Bering Aleut was effectively identical to the Aleut language spoken on Alaska’s Atka Island in the U.S., “Medny Aleut was characterized by its mixedness,” linguist Evgeny Golovko told Meduza. “[...] Medny Aleut is a combination of both one of the old dialects of the Aleut language that disappeared shortly after the Second World War and Russian.”

In 1968, the Soviet government forcibly resettled the Aleut people on Medny Island to Bering Island. “For Medny residents, that was a tragedy: their homes were boarded up and they were told to move,” Golovko said. “The last half-century has seen the gradual disappearance of both of the language's dialects.” In 2021, Vera Timoshenko, the last native speaker of the Bering dialect, died at 93.

Earlier this month, it was widely reported that the last native speaker of Aleut’s Medny dialect — and thus the last native Aleut speaker in Russia — died as well. The man’s name was Gennady Yakovlev. According to Golovko, who first met Yakovlev on Bering Island in 1982, Yakovlev didn’t just speak the Aleut language; for decades, he served as an ambassador for the Aleutian language and culture throughout the country.

“He recorded phrases, wrote poems in Aleut, and performed with a folk ensemble that traveled all throughout the Soviet Union. He tried to maintain Aleut traditions, and he recorded the things that only the old people remembered: how and what the Aleuts hunted, how they sewed clothes, and what names they had for various plants,” said Golovko. “[...] He wasn’t just a native speaker of Aleut — he was the center of Aleut cultural life in Russia. That’s why the news of his death received so much attention.”

Historically, the Aleut language didn’t have an alphabet. And while spoken-only languages are no less complex than languages with writing systems, the lack of historical documents has hindered linguists’ ability to study Aleut's origins. But despite not graduating from high school, Yakovlev didn’t let the lack of a writing system get in the way of his mission to preserve his native tongue.

“[He came up] with an Aleut alphabet himself,” said Golovko. “Creating an alphabet is a huge intellectual achievement. How do you indicate that a sound is a voiceless sonorant, which doesn’t exist in Russian? Yakovlev created a way: he used the Russia letters as a base and added special signs, tails, and rods — so-called diacritics.”

Golovko told Meduza that while Gennady Yakovlev’s death is a huge blow to the Aleut people and the linguistic community, it doesn’t necessarily mean the death of the language. For one thing, there’s actually one more native Aleut speaker left: 82-year-old Lidia Fedoseyeva. And because she’s a woman and gender roles are a significant part of Aleut culture, her experience of life on Bering Island has been markedly different from Yakovlev’s.

“[Yakovlev] was a hunter. He spent a lot of time roaming around the island; he knew what every rock was called, where every wind blew, and where which type of moss grew. Lidia, [on the other hand,] spends a lot of time at home; she knows how to cook everything, what different kinds of food are called. Unfortunately, she’s the last person who can tell us about all of these things in the Aleut language.”

The next generation

According to Evgeny Golovko, language disappearance is a natural process — and one that’s occurring in countries throughout the world. One of the main reasons an indigenous language can disappear is that the language’s speakers don’t have their own state. “A state language is the language of official paperwork, TV and radio, and schools and universities,” said Golovko. “[Historically,] education in indigenous languages has rarely been welcomed not only in the Soviet Union but also throughout the world. When that happens, minority languages are gradually supplanted [by the state language]; after all, every new generation is forced to lead a larger part of their lives in spaces dominated by the state language.”

Another factor that can greatly accelerate a language's disappearance rate is the resettlement of indigenous people by a colonial power, Golovko told Meduza: “Like when the Medny Aleuts were resettled to Bering Island.”

In the early Soviet period, the government did make some gestures towards supporting ethnic minorities, but the measures didn’t go very far. “The Soviet authorities nominally supported cultural diversity, and textbooks [for a number of indigenous languages] were made,” said Golovko. “But the Aleut textbook wasn’t published, just like [...] books in several other languages, because the authorities decided those groups were too small.”

In the early 1980s, according to Golovko, some schools started offering the Aleut language as an elective. While some students managed to learn the basics, the initiative wasn’t met with enthusiasm overall. “[People thought,] ‘I don’t need my kids to study Aleut — it won’t help them get a good job or education, it will only interfere with their Russian!’ People treated their own culture rather coldly — both in the USSR and in the 1990s," he said.

The situation in the U.S. was similar, Golovko said. “For example, the language of American Aleuts, who live in Alaska, is also on the verge of disappearing completely. Although the process is much slower there, because there are a lot more Aleuts in America [than in Russia].”

Still, since the late 1980s, according to the linguist, many indigenous people in Russia have become more interested in their own cultures and languages — and have stopped relying on the state to take the lead. “People want to study their own language,” he said. “And rather than waiting for instructions or special guides [from the government], activists are starting to teach it on the ground.”

One school, for example, offers Aleut classes for both adults and children. The teachers aren’t native speakers, but they have gained proficiency and belong to the Aleut International Association.

Aleut people in Russia have begun trying to incorporate the language into other aspects of life as well. “During my last expedition to Nikolskoye in 2017, it turned out that local residents wanted all of the signs under the artifacts in the local history museum to be in Aleut as well as in Russian and English. I ended up spending part of my time there translating all of those museum exhibit signs,” Golovko said.

Perhaps paradoxically, Golovko attributes Aleut people’s growing desire to learn their ancestors’ language to globalization.

“The desire to learn one’s own language is a desire for self-identification. And in a globalizing world, that’s especially important,” he said. “[...] On one hand, globalization hinders the preservation of indigenous languages, because we all need a single, unified language for communication. But on the other hand, it’s this kind of situation that gives people a desire to find themselves in this big world — to understand where they came from, and to remember and preserve the story of their ancestors.”

But as Golovko sees it, language preservation doesn’t only benefit people whose ancestors spoke the languages being saved; on the contrary, he said, language diversity is valuable for humanity as a whole.

“Language is an eminently important part of culture — the lens through which we look at the world. The more languages there are, the more lenses we have — and the better we can understand the world around us.”

Russia’s languages

Russia has 35 official languages and over 100 minority languages. While the situation overall is trending towards homogeneity, many of these languages are still actively used and will be for the foreseeable future.

“The Nenets language, [for example,] is doing a bit better [than Aleut]: there are more Nenets people than Aleuts, and while not all Nenets families use their native language, there are still plenty of native speakers,” Golovko said. “The Chukchi, Koryak, and Evenki languages, meanwhile, which were still considered ‘solid’ languages quite recently, are losing ground before our very eyes — though there are still a lot more people in those groups than there are Aleuts.”

If you go further south, to the Caucasus, you’ll find even more linguistic diversity, according to Golovko. “Dagestan [...] is a typologically rare region; there aren’t many places in the world where so many different languages arose. In Dagestan, it happened because people in the mountains lived isolated lives; village inhabitants rarely encountered people from other areas. Ultimately, every village developed its own language. But now, the linguistic diversity is far from what it used to be, and members of the younger generation practically don’t know their ancestors’ languages at all.”

While it’s not impossible for a language that's no longer used in daily life to be “completely resurrected,” Golovko told Meduza, it is difficult. In fact, he said, there’s really only ever been one example: Hebrew.

“It used to only be used in liturgical settings, then it spread into all [...] spheres: official paperwork, education, domestic life, pronouncements of love, poetry,” he said. “That happened because the language was given every opportunity; the state of Israel appeared, and [Hebrew] was ‘designated’ the state language. [It’s as if] it were just ‘thrown out’ and told, ‘Now live!’”

While other language revival initiatives have been “relatively successful," such as the ones in Hawaii and Ireland, said Golovko, the languages in those places haven’t made the full return to all parts of daily life that Hebrew has in Israel. That suggests that Aleut revivalists have an uphill battle ahead.

“But I can assure you if [...] an Aleut state were ‘organized’ tomorrow, Aleut language would immediately come back to life,” said Golovko. “Any language can be revived, but you have to have the right conditions for it.”

[konmarkimageswords]

How to Go To the Tao Temple K. Satchidanandan Translated from Malayalam by the poet

Don’t lock the door. Go lightly like the leaf in the breeze along the dawn’s valley. If you are too fair, cover yourself with ash. If too clever, go half-asleep. That which is fast will tire fast: be slow, slow as stillness. Be formless like water. Lie low, don’t even try to go up. Don’t go round the deity: nothingness has no directions, no front nor back. Don’t call it by name, its name has no name. No offerings: empty pots are easier to carry than full ones. No prayers too: desires have no place here. Speak silently, if speak you must: like the rock speaking to the trees and leaves to flowers. Silence is the sweetest of voices and Nothingness has the fairest of colours. Let none see you coming and none, going. Cross the threshold shrunken like one crossing a river in winter. You have only a moment here like the melting snow. No pride: you are not even formed. No anger: not even dust is at your command. No sorrow: it doesn’t alter anything. Renounce greatness: there is no other way to be great. Don’t ever use your hands: They are contemplating not love, but violence. Let the fish lie in its water and the fruit, on its bough. The soft one shall survive the hard, like the tongue that survives teeth. Only the one who does nothing can do everything. Go, the unmade idol awaits you.

How to go to the Tao Temple Πώς να πας στον ναό του Τάο K. Satchidanandan Μετάφραση από Μαλαγιάλαμ από τον ποιητή

Mην κλειδώσεις την πόρτα. Kινήσου ελαφρά σαν φύλλο στην αύρα πέρα στην κοιλάδα της αυγής. Αν είσαι πολύ όμορφος, καλύψου με στάχτη. Αν έξυπνος πολύ, πήγαινε μισοκοιμισμένος. Αυτό που είναι γρήγορο θα κουραστεί γρήγορα: να είσαι αργός, αργός σαν τη γαλήνη.

Σαν το νερό να είσαι, χωρίς σχήμα. Μείνε χαμηλά, μην προσπαθήσεις καν να ανέβεις. Μην περικυκλώνεις τη θεότητα: το κενό δεν έχει κατευθύνσεις, μπροστά ή πίσω. Μην την καλείς με όνομα, το όνομά της δεν έχει όνομα. Καμία προσφορά: τα άδεια δοχεία πιο εύκολα τα μεταφέρεις από τα γεμάτα. Καμία προσευχή επίσης: oι επιθυμίες δεν έχουν θέση εδώ.

Μίλα σιγά, αν πρέπει να μιλήσεις: όπως η πέτρα ομιλεί στα δέντρα και τα φύλλα στα λουλούδια. Η σιωπή είναι η πιο γλυκιά φωνή και το Κενό έχει το πιο ωραίο χρώμα. Κανείς να μην σε δει να έρχεσαι κανείς να φεύγεις. Πέρνα το κατώφλι μαζεμένος όπως περνά κανείς ποτάμι τον χειμώνα. Έχεις μονάχα ένα λεπτό εδώ όπως το χιόνι που λιώνει.

Καμία υπερηφάνεια: δεν έχεις καν σχήμα. Κανένας θυμός: oύτε καν η σκόνη δεν βρίσκεται στις διαταγές σου. Καμία θλίψη: τίποτε αυτή δεν αλλάζει. Αποκήρυξε το μεγαλείο: είναι ο μόνος τρόπος να είσαι μεγάλος. Μην χρησιμοποιείς τόσο τα χέρια: Απεργάζονται όχι την αγάπη, αλλά τη βία. Άσε το ψάρι στο νερό του και τον καρπό, στο κλαδί του. Το μαλακό θα ζήσει πιο πολύ από το σκληρό όπως η γλώσσα ζει πιο πολύ απ’ τα δόντια.

Μόνον αυτός που τίποτε δεν κάνει μπορεί να κάνει τα πάντα.

Πήγαινε, το άκτιστο είδωλο σε περιμένει.

Drawing inspiration from his Asian heritage, Abhay K. has compiled an anthology of verse entitled 100 Great Indian Poems. The anthology was translated into Greek by Sarah Thilykou (100 Μεγάλα Ινδικά Ποιήματα), serving as a literary bridge between the great cultures of India and Greece.

Abhay K. is an Indian diplomat, poet, editor, translator and the author of several poetry collections including Celestial, Stray Poems, Monsoon, The Magic of Madagascar, The Alphabets of Latin America. His poem “Earth Anthem” has been translated into over 150 languages. He received the SAARC Literary Award 2013 and was invited to record his poems at the Library of Congress, Washington DC in 2018. His translation of Kalidasa’s Meghaduta and Ritusamhara from Sanskrit have received the KLF Poetry Book of the Year Award 2020-21.

Dr Sarah Thilykou, poet, translator, essayist, critic, editor and founding member of PEN Greece, was born in Thessaloniki, Greece, where she studied theology, drama, and music, with further work in Utrecht, Paris and Athens. She has published six poetic collections, including Duet of Islands. Her poems have been translated into many languages, in international anthologies and journals. She has translated, among others, Gabriel Rosenstock (The Floating Universe, Silver Birches, Angelic Flights, Stirrings of Love), Rua Breathnach (The City Next Door) and Allen Ginsberg (Buddha Died).

[tarotmander]

Alphabet Soup

A Poem By Sal Engle

All words are important,

Both consonants and vowels are the building blocks of our language.

Clear or unclear they let us express ourselves in ways even Van Gouh couldn’t.

Don’t let yourself think that words are more important than paintings,

Every and all forms of art are the most human way of expressing our emotions.

For some painting is the best way to express those feelings,

Gouache paint and crayons are oftentimes the best tools to tell a story.

However,

I am an artist and a poet.

Journals filled with poems often rival the sketchbooks filled with doodles in my case. 

Kits of art supplies cover half of my space,

Letters and words fill the other half. 

More often than not though poetry allows me to tell people the stories behind the feelings I store in my canvases. 

No art form is superior,

Only different. 

Purposefully I overlap my pieces to join the two in a story. 

Queens and kings do not rule in my stories,

Rather diction and prose.

Something I know as a artist is that a picture speaks a thousand words,

To their credit a thousand words can also paint a vivid picture. 

Unlike sports or novels,

Verse has no laws.

Wonder and imagination sew phrases together in beautiful stories. 

X-Shaped stitches bind them together like fabric.

You and I both know, dear reader, that poetry is art.

Zealous, beautiful, and always inspiring.

[anvitkumar]

The Scent of the New Book

Photo by Sincerely Media on Unsplash

The days of examinations are over, whether the results are of first class or second class, then in the next classes, it is for the time being to reach new classes from old classes.

This is a unique journey, let's start this journey afresh.

This is from the days when we were in primary classes and used to have a book full of slates and pictures with our hands, and now tasks were also started in notebooks and the period of learning alphabets etc. started, now we are slowly From words to sentence, from sentence to line and from line to story, poems started moving, in the meantime our classes also changed, we did not change until the classroom itself changed because in the first and second classes There were no examinations, it would have happened after that we had studied in classes like pre nursery nursery and those who studied in government schools, they either spent a few days in anganwadi and reached government school, although I also spent some in anganwadi and then Suddenly my parents enrolled me in a nearby private school and then I reached here, although I remember when I used to go to government school with Didi but do not remember properly because I used to go just like that, I was not enrolled. But I still remember the khichdi of government school, if yes then I can Was telling about the Thamik school which was a private school, now I had almost gone to Lkg and started appearing for the exam, till then I was reading from some new and some old books and the new books are looking good. But I still could not feel its fragrance because I was just reading this book some new and old books, our next classes books were sold by old student for half price but sometimes the book itself was changed so that the old book There was no use left, if you ask the truth, from that time the need for new books started, you must have known how expensive the books of private schools are, yet I insisted and my father used to buy those books and bring them. Used to buy books on the condition that I would read them, although I used to read them in the beginning, let's know in detail.

Now we have gone to new classes, it was good to think about new books, which books will be read, which stories will be, which will be pictures, art will be made and many more, I have also insisted on getting books, I do not remember the poem written in those books, but remember their fragrance, the pictures of new books, the stories and their divine fragrance used to fascinate our mind and we used to tease friends that your books are old and enjoy the fragrance of that book. And as long as the stories were new and the fragrance remained intact, we used to read the books by ourselves and then gradually we used to come closer to the examinations, on the same pretext we used to do self study and I know Also I did not have any special need to study separately, meanwhile I was enrolled in class 4 in a government school, before that I liked a government school but my father did not enroll in the school which I liked. used to come, then I started going to the nearby government school, some days private school and some days government school It was a suggestion from the family members that the government school is to go only for attendance, now the book journey started there. It was good too, anyway, if anything is added to the fragrance, then it is remembered for a long time in the brain and I kept doing this knowingly and unknowingly with the aroma of books, which proved to be beneficial later, even hitting in private school. Sometimes I used to know government school out of fear, our school life had changed a bit, I did not like the behavior of a government school student, talked to my father for this as well as my studies in private school are over. Enrollment was done in that government school in which I wanted to study, then I got books there too but their aroma was a bit strange like some soap, I was allergic to it as if the journey of government books went till inter and then interest in college books I thought about the college book and felt that it was there. It will not be as simple as a letter, but it was not like that, the thick books full of pictures, the glittering books were just like the books of private school because the writers' books used to run here, most of the foreign books used to be pictures. And also Indian books and I like to read such books in which the picture is colorful and clear, understanding was also good, but the new and old fragrance in these books was like the walls of the library, as if these books are saying that by reading these books, understanding I will not come by smell, but still, the fragrance of these books leaves me an indelible mark in my mind as a memento to the lines printed in those books, the fragrance of the father who used to bring books to private schools, used to be very sweet. I had worked hard and had an expectation that our children would read it, from now on I take any book etc., then the fragrance of that book gives an idea that how much pleasure it will be to read this book, this fragrance is not only of books but also of authors. hard memories of and how many more memories It is a mirror to save, it saves its real fragrance by staying between the old fragrance and the new book in the old walls. Ramayana, etc. How many poetic epics and scriptures were saved and a fragrance which lives in every book like a memento, that book tells by its fragrance whether it was printed with the help of kerosene oil or it was kept in flowers, Today the importance of books has not diminished, just there is a lack of those who give importance to it. If you have a book, enjoy it by adding it to the fragrance, I can say that the fragrance will remind you of the lines printed in your books etc.

© Anvit Kumar

[tombeane-blog]

Listen Up, Alla Y'all

December 2022

Is there a phrase more southern than "Y'all"?

Granted, you might propose a phrase you once heard from a 75 year old waitress as she limped to your table at the Mount Airy, North Carolina Biscuitville asking, "Y'all wont sum grits darlin'?"

You have to travel deep deep into Dixie if you want to hear a real authentic Y'all anymore.

But even there you won't hear it in a downtown Hyatt in Atlanta, that's for sure.

You are more likely to hear a stern French, "Va Te Faire Voir!" or someone yelling in Mandarin,"表示反感）去你的!", than you are to hear a melodious southern accent at Disney World.

"Everybody knows we invented Ya'll!" "Not so quick Vern. Actually it was used in England at least as early as 1631 in William Lisle's poem The Faire AEthiopians - "and this y'all know is true". So it looks like we brought it over with us from the old country." "H E Double Hockey Sticks and Double Darn!" "Well said Vern, but let's move on."

"What used to be considered a rock solid sign that you were talking to one of us rednecks, is now a phrase moving mainstream across the U.S."

"Well then, maybe the South Ain't Gonna Rise Again - but we are taking over the language one word at a time." "Could be we're making inroads Vern, but turns out there is a dark side." "What could be bad about us moving upscale in society and not sounding so lovable but ignorant anymore?" "Turns out the main reason for the increased cross country use of Y'alls is just wokinated, politically correct, cultural appropriating and general grammatical robbistry by the Elites, Lefties, Commies and deep cover Russian spies."

Our Y'all is being taken over by all those alphabet people and yankee lovin' pronoun paratroopers.

These days any usage of normal pronouns to describe a single human or group of humans is just leading you into a verbal minefield.

For a while there, we could use a general phrase like, You Guys, (or up North, Youse Guys) - but we can't even do that any more.

Guys is a word very very verbottenous when talking to at least half of America's alphabeteers.

There's just no good way other than Y'all to acknowledge other folks as a group without possibly offending someone and inviting stern letters from the law firm of 'Duey, Suem and Howe'.

Even back in England, they lost their way phonetically and transitioned from the totally genderless and universally acceptable Y'all to saying, You Mob or You Lot instead.

The problem with both of these is that they assume a common trait.  They say You Mob or You Lot to a policeman - meaning all policeman.  Or You Mob to an immigrant meaning all immigrants. Or You Lot if they are talking to a mathematician - and they are lumping together all the other weak, skinny nerds.

Whereas our Y'all is universal, 100% vanilla and implies nothing more than one or more humans.

So the bottom line is that it looks like we have lost Y'all and it won't be used only by us southern rednecks for much longer.

So we need to generate a new phrase all our own. Something to replace Y'all. Something us southerners and no one else would ever want to say at the risk of being thought of as ignoramuses.

But we can't just invent any old new word that sounds sorta good. Like W'all - for we all or T'all for them all.

And HeSTI'all?  (He/She/They/It' all)  Let's not even start down that path!

The only thing close is A'all meaning all-all - but if you aren't articulate enough, it sounds like an anatomical insult.

But we can't get too far away from Y'all or it just won't match our southern culture and it won't roll sweetly across our tongues like honey and bourbon.

So let's start all over again and get back to our roots, return to our origins.

Let's use an Olde English sounding word like the one that started the whole thing, something close enough to Y'all that everyone will recognize it - but firmly linked to our English/Welch/Irish/Scottish roots.

Something that sounds British and Southern at the same time.

"Ye'all."

Guaranteed to catch on in Texas.

[love-archon]

A Poem For You

Fleeting romances in the court of the Raiden Shogun, whose reign stands eternally still...

Spring - 春

"In Naniwa Bay, now the flowers are blossoming. After lying dormant all winter, now the spring has come..."

-Wani of Baekje

• The old tales warn of kitsune: yokai that take on forms of handsome men and beautiful women to play tricks on the unsuspecting humans. When they are careless, however, their disguises slip, and one can see a tail or two poking out from under their robes.

• Or, in the case of your soldiers' archery instructor, Gorou, a pair of large, fluffy ears emerging from his hair.

• There are whispers of a general in the rebel army far in the mountains, who has the features of a fox spirit and the slyness to match. Thankfully, the army lacks valuable intel to proceed, and cannot move forward without the use of spies.

• You blink and, in a shimmer like dust on sun-baked earth, the ears are gone. The gentle afternoon breeze rustles the leaves, and he nocks his arrow and lets it fly.

• Perhaps you were simply imagining things?

• Gorou, who guides his trainees with a strong, reliable hand, steady as stone,

• Gorou, who splits arrows in half as they fly, vowing to protect you always,

• Gorou, who smiles fondly at you as you walk through the gardens of your estate, holding your parasol to veil you from the sun, would never betray you or the great shogun. Would he?

• One warm spring night, where the dew still drips from the sakura flowers, he sits with you on the rooftops. His round lazuli eyes meet yours, and he tells you, truthfully, that he'll be leaving soon. Won't you join him?

• Your heart stirs to agree, but you respond that you cannot abandon your duties to your family, or to the shogun. He looks disappointed, but gets up from his seat, telling you that he accepts your decision. “If you ever change your mind,” he begins, but stops when the look in your eyes makes it clear you can’t.

• But you didn't know that "soon" meant now.

• Papers stolen from your family's most secret rooms are rolled up in his hands. His plain clothes melt away to reveal the uniform of the rebel army. The foxlike ears you thought were a dream now rest on his head, clear as day. 

• Most striking of all, however, are the nine tails shimmering behind him- the mark of a fox spirit that’s accumulated centuries of magic.

• Your eyes can’t quite catch the way he leaves, and you’re not sure exactly when you became alone in the night with the flowers.

• Or if you’d imagined the saddened way he said goodbye.

Summer - 夏

"The spring has passed, and the summer comes again;

For the white robes are spread to dry on the Mount of Kaguyama."

-Empress Jitoh

• You do not know who keeps sending these letters, despite your best efforts. Only that they must be a refined noble of high status and excellent taste.

• Each cut of paper, beautifully bound, is dyed the right color to match the season. They are appropriately adorned with fresh sprigs of plants from the sender's garden, or tied with a luxurious ribbon of patterned silk. Lavish scents drift off the pages in a perfume that's sweet and light.

• Oh, and the words.

• The appearance of these gifts pale in comparison to the contents. The mysterious admirer has learned the alphabet borrowed from Liyue, and the complex brush strokes are applied with just the right deftness that each kanji character shines.

• Your beauty is eternal, they proclaim, like unmelting snow on summer mountains, and strikes the heart like a bolt of lightning. In your luminous eyes, the ideal of your god has been met- a thousand times over...

• As dizzyingly romantic as it is, one thing gives you pause, as you lift your own brush to write your reply.

• "Your god," it says. Not mine.

• Who would know the secret etiquette of the court so intimately, to the point that other suitors' letters paled in comparison... and not worship the immaculate Raiden Shogun, much less take an interest in you?

• Then you are sent in your clan head's place to deal with the troublesome Fatui that have slipped past your nation's defenses, and you find your answer then. Their leader wears the traditional attire of a traveling nobleman, and wields his weapon with aristocratic grace.

• His underlings fall rather quickly under your hand, but he himself is annoyingly persistent. He darts out of the way of your attacks, but it takes all your power to stop his from striking true.

• You do not get his name, only his face- fair and clean and luminous, with delicate features twisted in cruel amusement. 

• It’s a shame that you must marr it with your blade, but what can be done?

• Then, he glides past you, close enough to whisper in your ear, and completes the poem no one has seen but you. 

Autumn - 秋

"Even in the age of almighty gods unheard of;

The waters of Tatsuta are dyed in crimson red."

-Lord Ariwara-no-Narihira

• It is time for the great procession- an event of fanfare and decadence, where you and your family must travel from your ancestral home to the domain of the immortal shogun to display your wealth.

• Despite the excitement surrounding the occasion, you know quite well it is nothing more than a way to maintain control over the lords of Inazuma.

• But no expense must be spared if it means preserving your reputation. If it means that no other family dares question your wealth. Not in travel, not in housing arrangements, not in entertainment, not in the hired guards to protect you on your long and arduous journey.

• And so, after you pay the Kaedehara clan the exorbitant sum they demand, they give you twenty able-bodied samurai under their command... including Kazuha, their youngest son.

• The servant girls- and some of the boys- traveling with you blush when he passes, observing his lithe form and gentle eyes and striking, pale blond hair. One streak of red is visible there, calling to mind a sole maple leaf in autumn.

• Kazuha does not join in the other samurai's revelry. While they cheerfully indulge in the food and drink provided to them on the journey, and boast of their prowess when the time comes to fight bandits hiding on the path, he remains silent and alone, his eyes only on his collection of handwritten poems.

• (And, when you aren’t looking, they shyly flit to you before looking away.)

• In the end, however, Kazuha is the only one who actually bests a bandit in combat.

• Late at night, when the others are sleeping off the wine, large shadows flit past the trees. The bandit clans in the area thrive during this time, like hunters when beasts migrate in droves. They're confident that this traveling party will be easy prey.

• But one thief approaches too rashly, too quickly, and one crimson eye opens to meet him.

• Kazuha drifts from one opponent to another like a leaf falling from its branch, carried by strong winds. And yet, none of them can touch him. One after another, each man collapses with a sharp cry, only their silhouettes visible in the darkness. 

• In the morning, the traveling party awakens to see fifty-some criminals tied up and piled up in a heap, and bursts into laughter. As the other samurai are still hung over, it’s clear who was responsible for this.

• Yes, Kaedehara-kun is a wonderful samurai. Skillful, composed, brave. And an excellent companion to have by one’s side, if one is lucky enough to have met him.

• It was quite the shock to learn that he would later flee the islands, sailing onward to the Land of Contracts aboard the ship of a pirate lord.

• But if anyone had the strength of mind to defy the gods- wouldn’t it be him?

Winter - 冬

"In winter, the early mornings. It is beautiful indeed when snow has fallen during the night, but splendid too when the ground is white with frost..."

-Sei Shonagon

• Lady Ayaka is one of your closest friends, with your families being in a partnership for centuries. You have fond memories of playing together in the snow, with cranes flying overhead in the white sky.

• You know her secrets, and she knows yours. Nothing is kept between you- this is how you survive in a court of treachery and lies.

• So when she passes by in a sunlit hallway, you hear a whisper that shocks you to the core. Smooth silver hair floats past your sight, quiet as snow, and just as fleeting. But you must collect yourself quickly, for spies may lurk behind any silken screen.

• You will be betrothed to Kamisato Ayato, your dear friend's older brother, in ten day's time.

• As close as you are to Ayaka, Ayato has always been a shadow flitting in the corner of your sight, being too busy with his duties to see you. So his visage- to you- is as featureless as a field of snow.

• After all the romance novels you've read, it's difficult to accept marrying a man you've never spoken with, but... what can be done? You can only hope that Lord Ayato is kind and treats you well.

• But... what if he isn’t?

• Lady Ayaka would never speak ill of her brother. In fact, no noblewoman would even consider such a notion, even if it were true. Good appearances, on every level, are more important to nobles than gold. 

• But all the same, you’ve seen the ladies of the court who are trapped in loveless homes like birds in cages. How their smiles are painted on, how their laughs ring hollow and empty, how they glance longingly to the world outside, beyond the lavish court that hides them here.

• Your gaze drifts towards the harbor, where the water shimmers with light. You could run away, too. To the eastern mountains, where your former archery teacher hides with his fellow rebels- although to do that would invoke the shogun's wrath. Or, riskier still, follow Kazuha's path to the harbor, and chase him on to Liyue...

• “Young Lord Kamisato is waiting for you,” a servant says, breaking you from your thoughts, and bowing hastily before you can meet her eyes. The servant across from her does the same as the paper doors slide open, and they do not rise as you walk through.

• This room is airy and spacious, of course. Wind from opened windows seems to sigh as it passes over you and beyond, and you can smell flowers from the garden carried in from the breeze. How strange... even a garden that you played in countless times seems completely new and unfamiliar.

• Gracefully, soundlessly, Ayato emerges from behind his ornate screen. Power and elegance flows from his every movement. And at last, you dare to look at what you have never seen before.

• You look at his face, finally revealed before you, like translucent ice giving way to the land beneath the white...

• And gasp.

_______

Author's Notes

Wani of Baekje: Each opening quote is a poem by a famous Japanese author, but Wani was a scholar visiting from Ancient Korea!

Great procession: Known in Japan as sankin kotai. Powerful lords were forced to spend massive amounts of money to travel from their homes to the shogun's castle and back; in this way, the shogun was able to keep them on an efficiently tight leash.

[scarletarosa]

Odin

Norse god of wisdom, knowledge, poetry, war, victory, sovereignty, divination, and magick

One of Odin’s countless titles is “All-father” (Old Norse: Alfaðir), since he is essentially the father of all of the Norse gods and was believed to be the divine ancestor of countless families from all over northern Europe. He is simultaneously an Aesir god, a Vanir god (the Vanir god Odr is only an extension or transposition of Odin), and a jötunn (ancient giant). Odin’s mother, Bestla, was one of the first frost-giants. One Old Norse poem even identifies him with önd, the breath of life. Furthermore, Odin is also the discoverer of the Runic alphabet and is married to the mother-goddess Frigg. 

Appearance and Roles: Old Norse texts portray Odin as one-eyed and long-bearded, frequently wielding a spear named Gungnir and wearing a cloak and a broad hat. One of the most striking attributes of his appearance is his single, piercing eye. His other eye socket is empty – the eye it once held was sacrificed by himself in order to gain wisdom. Odin is often accompanied by his animal companions and familiars—the wolves Geri and Freki and the ravens Huginn and Muninn, who bring him information from all over Midgard—and rides the flying, eight-legged steed Sleipnir across the sky and into the Underworld. Odin is the son of Bestla and Borr and has two brothers, Vili and Vé. Odin is attested as having many sons, most famously the gods Thor (with Jörð) and Baldr (with Frigg), and is known by hundreds of names. In these texts he frequently seeks greater knowledge, at times in disguise (most famously by obtaining the Mead of Poetry), makes wagers with his wife Frigg over the outcome of exploits, and takes part both in the creation of the world by way of slaying the primordial being Ymir and in giving the gift of life to the first two humans, Ask and Embla. Odin has a particular association with the festival of Yule, and mankind's knowledge of both the runes and poetry is also attributed to him. 

Old Norse texts also state that female entities connected with the battlefield—the valkyries—were led by Odin, since he oversees Valhalla, where he receives half of those who die in battle, the einherjar, the honourable warriors. The other half are then claimed by the goddess Freyja for her afterlife location, Fólkvangr. Odin also is said to consult the disembodied, herb-embalmed head of the wise being Mímir for advice, and during the foretold events of Ragnarök Odin is told to lead the einherjar into battle before being consumed by the monstrous wolf Fenrir. In later folklore Odin appears as a leader of the Wild Hunt, a ghostly procession of the dead through the winter sky. He is also associated with charms and other forms of magic, particularly in Old English and Old Norse texts. 

As a god of sovereignty, Odin is paradoxically also the favourite god and helper of outlaws, those who have been banished from society for some especially heinous crime, as well. Like Odin, many such men were exceptionally strong-willed warrior-poets who were apathetic to established societal norms – Egill Skallagrímsson (Egil’s Saga) and Grettir Ásmundarson (The Saga of Grettir the Strong) are two examples. The late twelfth/early thirteenth-century Danish historian Saxo Grammaticus even relates a tale of Odin being outlawed from Asgard for ten years so that the other gods and goddesses wouldn’t be tarnished by the vile reputation he had acquired amongst many humans. Whatever their social stature, the humans favored by Odin are distinguished by their intelligence, creativity, and competence in the proverbial “war of all against all”. For Odin, any kind of limitation is something to be overcome by any means necessary, and his actions are carried out within the context of a relentless and ruthless quest for more wisdom, knowledge, and power, usually of a magical sort. 

Odin’s competitive side once drove him to challenge the wisest of the jǫtnar (giants) to a contest to see who was more knowledgeable. The reward was to be the head of the loser, and Odin won this challenge by asking his opponent something that only he himself could know. Odin then claimed his prize and returned to Asgard. Along with Freyja, he is one of the two greatest practitioners of shamanism amongst the gods. The Ynglinga Saga records that Odin often “travels to distant lands on his own errands or those of others” while he appears to others to be asleep or dead. Another instance is recorded in the Eddic poem “Baldur’s Dreams,” where Odin rode Sleipnir, an eight-legged horse, to the Underworld in order to consult a dead seeress on behalf of his son. Odin’s mastery of necromancy, the magical art of communicating with and raising the dead, is frequently noted. While there are several reasons Odin maintains this commerce with the dead, including his desire to learn what knowledge and wisdom they possess, the most significant reason is his dread-driven desire to have as many of the best warriors as possible on his side when he must face the wolf Fenrir during Ragnarok – even though he knows that he’s doomed to die in the battle. 

Myths: In myth, Odin needed to make a sacrifice of himself in order to obtain great wisdom. This myth displays the great desire for knowledge and wisdom Odin holds, as well as his unstoppable will-power. Odin All-Father was troubled deeply for the whisperings of the Yggdrasil tree had told him the prophecies of the end, of Ragnarök. He had listened and knew of how Surtr the Black would join the giants in their war against the gods, how he would arise out of the flames of Muspell and drown the earth in fire. Odin’s wisdom told him that he could not prevent this end, but he hoped that perhaps, with wisdom, something could be done to have some gods and humans to survive. Odin travelled the Bifrost to Midgard and began to search for the well of Mimir. The well lay beneath the root of Yggdrasil that grew out of Jotunheim. It was kept my Mimir, the man who drank its wisdom each morning and who kept watch over the Gjallar-horn that Heimdallr, the white watcher, will blow on the day of Ragnarök. 

After many days of travel, Odin came to the edge of the well deep in Jotunheim. Mimir approached him and took up the horn Gjallar and filled it with good water from the well and gave the horn to Odin to drink. As he drank, his eyes opened and saw visions of great and terrible sufferings that would befall both men and gods. He drank again and saw the ways that gods and men might, in great noble courage, fight and defeat the evils that would surely arise, though at great cost for he saw also his death and the death of the Aesir that lived in Asgard by his side. How mighty Thor would succumb to the venom of the great serpent, and how Loki would come against Heimdallr and would kill one another, he saw his own defeat at the jaws of Fenrir, and many more deaths and failings that would come of Ragnarök. 

After witnessing these things, Odin put his hand to his face and plucked out his right eye. The pain was great and searing, but he made no sound nor showed his great suffering. Mimir took the eye and threw it into the well where it sunk deep but glistened like glass, a sign to any who might pass of the price Odin All-Father paid for his wisdom. And Odin returned to Asgard and sat upon his throne and considered the things he had seen. 

In another myth, Odin underwent a ritual death and rebirth in order to discover the runes. At the centre of the Norse cosmos stands the great tree Yggdrasil. Yggdrasil’s upper branches cradle Asgard, the home and fortress of the Aesir gods and goddesses, of whom Odin is the chief. Yggdrasil grows out of the Well of Urd, a pool whose fathomless depths hold many of the most powerful forces and beings in the cosmos. Among these beings are the Norns, three sagacious maidens who create the fate of all beings. One of the foremost techniques they use to shape fate is carving runes into Yggdrasil’s trunk. The symbols then carry these intentions throughout the tree, affecting everything in the Nine Worlds. Since the runes’ native home is in the Well of Urd with the Norns, and since the runes do not reveal themselves to any but those who prove themselves worthy of such fearful insights and abilities, Odin hung himself from a branch of Yggdrasil, pierced himself with his spear, and peered downward into the shadowy waters below. He forbade any of the other gods to grant him the slightest aid, not even a sip of water. 

And he stared downward, downward, and called to the runes. He survived in this state, teetering on the precipice that separates the living from the dead, for no less than nine days and nights. At the end of the ninth night, he at last perceived shapes in the depths: the runes. They had accepted his sacrifice and shown themselves to him, revealing to him not only their forms, but also the secrets that lie within them. Having fixed this knowledge in his formidable memory, Odin ended his ordeal with a scream of exultation. Having been initiated into the mysteries of the runes, Odin recounted:

“Then I was fertilized and became wise; I truly grew and thrived. From a word to a word I was led to a word, From a work to a work I was led to a work.”

Equipped with the knowledge of how to wield the runes, he became one of the mightiest and most accomplished beings in the cosmos. He learned chants that enabled him to heal emotional and bodily wounds, to bind his enemies and render their weapons worthless, to free himself from constraints, to put out fires, to expose and banish practitioners of malevolent magic, to protect his friends in battle, to wake the dead, to win and keep a lover, and to perform many other feats like these.

Personality: In my personal experiences with Odin, he is withdrawn, reclusive, analytical, methodical, studious, very serious, loves riddles and numbers, is a physiomancer (can divine the future through many methods), and takes oaths very seriously, rarely forgiving anyone who breaks them. He can help with many things, including gaining wisdom and knowledge, magickal prowess, divination, shamanism, spiritual rebirths, cunning, and discovering what truly matters in life so we can move past lesser things. Odin says that he can also assist in protecting against the malicious god Loki, who tricks others into trusting him and then harms them unsuspectingly, or disguises himself as their loved ones in order to hurt them or get his way.  

Offerings: beer (all types but prefers dark/stout), meat (pork, all game animals and birds), eggs, courgettis, oak, ash wood, runes, amber, lightning bolt imagery, any form of fortune telling tools (tarot, pendulum, etc.), crow/raven skulls or feathers, black silk, aubergine, wooden bowls, white sandalwood, black peppercorns, cedar, white daisies, cosmic tree imagery, crow/raven statuettes.

[sacredbathos]

…Words, English words, are full of echoes, of memories, of associations. They have been out and about, on people’s lips, in their houses, in the streets, in the fields, for so many centuries. And that is one of the chief difficulties in writing them today – that they are stored with other meanings, with other memories, and they have contracted so many famous marriages in the past.

The splendid word "incarnadine," for example – who can use that without remembering "multitudinous seas"? In the old days, of course, when English was a new language, writers could invent new words and use them. Nowadays it is easy enough to invent new words – they spring to the lips whenever we see a new sight or feel a new sensation – but we cannot use them because the English language is old. You cannot use a brand new word in an old language because of the very obvious yet always mysterious fact that a word is not a single and separate entity, but part of other words. Indeed it is not a word until it is part of a sentence. Words belong to each other, although, of course, only a great poet knows that the word "incarnadine" belongs to "multitudinous seas." To combine new words with old words is fatal to the constitution of the sentence. In order to use new words properly you would have to invent a whole new language; and that, though no doubt we shall come to it, is not at the moment our business. Our business is to see what we can do with the old English language as it is. How can we combine the old words in new orders so that they survive, so that they create beauty, so that they tell the truth? That is the question.

And the person who could answer that question would deserve whatever crown of glory the world has to offer. Think what it would mean if you could teach, or if you could learn the art of writing. Why, every book, every newspaper you’d pick up, would tell the truth, or create beauty. But there is, it would appear, some obstacle in the way, some hindrance to the teaching of words. For though at this moment at least a hundred professors are lecturing on the literature of the past, at least a thousand critics are reviewing the literature of the present, and hundreds upon hundreds of young men and women are passing examinations in English literature with the utmost credit, still – do we write better, do we read better than we read and wrote four hundred years ago when we were unlectured, uncriticized, untaught? Is our modern Georgian literature a patch on the Elizabethan? Well, where then are we to lay the blame? Not on our professors; not on our reviewers; not on our writers; but on words. It is words that are to blame. They are the wildest, freest, most irresponsible, most unteachable of all things. Of course, you can catch them and sort them and place them in alphabetical order in dictionaries. But words do not live in dictionaries; they live in the mind. If you want proof of this, consider how often in moments of emotion when we most need words we find none. Yet there is the dictionary; there at our disposal are some half-a-million words all in alphabetical order. But can we use them? No, because words do not live in dictionaries, they live in the mind. Look once more at the dictionary. There beyond a doubt lie plays more splendid than Antony and Cleopatra; poems lovelier than the Ode to a Nightingale; novels beside which Pride and Prejudice or David Copperfield are the crude bunglings of amateurs. It is only a question of finding the right words and putting them in the right order. But we cannot do it because they do not live in dictionaries; they live in the mind. And how do they live in the mind? Variously and strangely, much as human beings live, ranging hither and thither, falling in love, and mating together. It is true that they are much less bound by ceremony and convention than we are. Royal words mate with commoners. English words marry French words, German words, Indian words, Negro words, if they have a fancy. Indeed, the less we enquire into the past of our dear Mother English the better it will be for that lady’s reputation. For she has gone a-roving, a-roving fair maid.

Thus to lay down any laws for such irreclaimable vagabonds is worse than useless. A few trifling rules of grammar and spelling is all the constraint we can put on them. All we can say about them, as we peer at them over the edge of that deep, dark and only fitfully illuminated cavern in which they live – the mind – all we can say about them is that they seem to like people to think before they use them, and to feel before they use them, but to think and feel not about them, but about something different. They are highly sensitive, easily made self-conscious. They do not like to have their purity or their impurity discussed. If you start a Society for Pure English, they will show their resentment by starting another for impure English – hence the unnatural violence of much modern speech; it is a protest against the puritans. They are highly democratic, too; they believe that one word is as good as another; uneducated words are as good as educated words, uncultivated words as good as cultivated words, there are no ranks or titles in their society. Nor do they like being lifted out on the point of a pen and examined separately. They hang together, in sentences, paragraphs, sometimes for whole pages at a time. They hate being useful; they hate making money; they hate being lectured about in public. In short, they hate anything that stamps them with one meaning or confines them to one attitude, for it is their nature to change.

Perhaps that is their most striking peculiarity – their need of change. It is because the truth they try to catch is many-sided, and they convey it by being many-sided, flashing first this way, then that. Thus they mean one thing to one person, another thing to another person; they are unintelligible to one generation, plain as a pikestaff to the next. And it is because of this complexity, this power to mean different things to different people, that they survive. Perhaps then one reason why we have no great poet, novelist or critic writing today is that we refuse to allow words their liberty. We pin them down to one meaning, their useful meaning, the meaning which makes us catch the train, the meaning which makes us pass the examination…