I don't know what to say. It's an odd thing, being me. Now, you probably don't know what that is exactly like, (unless....could I be like John Malkovich in that movie, Being John Malkovich, with some kind of portal that allows people to experience the 'thrill' of being me....I put the word 'thrill' in quotation marks to assert some level of dubiousness....I have, after all, spent at least half an hour today just staring at the ceiling...not drunk, or on drugs, or anything like that, though, maybe i should be....but this aside is getting way ahead of itself, and is also running on way too long, so I'm going to close the parentheses now) so, let me give you a close approximation by giving you some ingredients. Cliché, I know, but that is the way of things. First, take a big ol' bag of....actually, I'm not going to do that, let me tell you something, two things, as a matter of fact.
Firstly, I couldn't leave the house the other day. Secondly, it was the first time that this has been the case in a good, seven, eight years. See, physically, I'm well and capable, I have no injuries, no physical maladies, no deformities, no injuries or the like. There was no physical obstruction, either. That is, there was nothing blocking the doors or windows, no bomb, or bomb warning, in the street, no barricades to stop the flesh eating zombie hordes from busting in and devouring me and mine and spreading the plague even further. No, it was a regular sunny day, the afternoon actually, a little after half six, and I wanted to go to the shops. I wanted some Pepsi. Pepsi Max to be specific (the 'X' makes it sound cool). I couldn't leave the house. I stood there, coat-jacket in hand, and I couldn't move. I was literally petrified. Panic attacks are not new to me, they're something I've dealt with my entire life. The constriction in the chest, the hollowness in the head, the rawness of the signals coming from the eyeballs, the feeling as though the room is suddenly much smaller than it was....I read somewhere that they're actually a flaw in the fight or flight response system, that it's the brain fucking up and recognising a source of discomfort, or an event, or whatever, as being eminently more dangerous than it is, and going full hog, jacking up the adrenal glands, cutting out all extraneous information but what's directly in front and surrounding areas, and just generally, you know, preparing for a fight, or a flight. Of course, the problem is, whilst we humans are animals, we're also so cognizant, so very, very self-aware, and so that primal response designed as a emergency button has us dumb chimps looking at the flashing buttons, listening to the wailing sirens, the klaxons, and asking 'why' and not moving.
Don't worry, it only lasted ten, maybe fifteen minutes, and then I was able to move again and I got my pepsi (max), and there was much rejoicing throughout the land, huzzah! However, the panic attack is not the actually bad thing. See, those hit you over the head with their arrival. There's no subtleness to one, it's BAM! IN YOUR FUCKING FACE! The real problem is the other thing, the thing I mentioned in parentheses at the start. Staring at the ceiling. I've been doing a pretty indecent amount of that lately. Staring at the ceiling. Doing nothing, in other words. And it's not that I don't have things to do, I do. I've not yet technically finished university (I still have one assignment to go...and if I'm being honest, there's probably going to be a deferral on one module....I may go into the reasons, the whys and wherefores on that one, but it won't be here, save that for another day) and there is, of course, the issue of post-grad study/employment, and then there's other more frivolous stuff, like video games and books (and boy, oh boy, should you see my shrine to consumerism, it's fab!), let it never be said that I do not have activities to do. In fact, I would never say it. Still, I lay on my bed, and I stare at the ceiling, and I do nothing. Actually, that's a lie. I think. Of course I do. Horrible, spiteful thoughts. No, that's not quite the right word, spite is something one inflicts on others, I don't know what it is, what I do to myself. It's late as I write this, it's something I have to write though, even though I can't quite think of the right words, I need to get out something at least approximate to them. I think about people. I'm lonely. Really, really, fucking lonely. Yet, I can't do shit about it. All I can do is sit in my room, and look at the ceiling. It's a nice ceiling, off-white, not quite cream, though maybe that's just the lighting, and the cobwebs festooning the thing making it look that way. Talk to them. There's a few cracks in the paint too, where the stresses of time, or maybe water, gods, I hope it's not water, are edging their way in. Organise something, a day out maybe? Is that a spider crawling along there? I don't think it is, I think it's just a shadow or something, see, where the cobweb is moving, it's a shadow. They'll say no. Why do they call it a ceiling anyway? Like, where that word come from. I mean, France, obviously, with the way that sounds it can't be anything other than from the Romantic languages. Why didn't you ask her? I wonder why that bit of skirting is missing? It exists to demarcate the boundary between wall and ceiling, so without it, where, in that particular section does the wall begin and the ceiling end there?
Day in, day out. Punctuated by.....see, I don't know what's the interruption in my life anymore. Is it the feeling of drawn out, apathetic malaise that is the norm and the everyday activities, reading, exercising, video-games, etc. that are the interruptions, or is it vice versa. I...think I'm done for now. This isn't helping nearly as much as I thought it would, which was already a pretty low estimate, in fact, it just made me realise how bereft I am of....people....fuck it, I'm out.
Monday, 1 May 2017
Monday, 7 December 2015
In which I waffle on about language, part one: Random thoughts
はじめまして、テレンスと申します。２７さいです、リバプールに住んでいます。去年の十月から日本語を勉強しているから日本に住みたい、けど、良くならなくてはなりません。よろしくお願いします。
Heavily indebted to Jisho.org and YesJapan (website and book series) for this. I've officially been learning Japanese now for around 14 months, though in reality, it's been more like 11-12 because of one thing or another (like, I've not done any Japanese this week because of this whole crippled arm thing I've had, like a pinched nerve or a tendon strain or something, I don't know, whatever it is it's bloody painful), but I'm getting there. Slowly but surely, bit by bit, I'm clawing my way to something resembling basic proficiency. At least in written Japanese, speaking is much harder to do and not just because it requires a more instantaneous response/less thinking time, but mostly because I have very little practice at it. I don't know of any other Japanese speakers/learners (funny little sidestory, there was this one guy/acquaintance who I thought would be into learning it, he went to the same JET (this teaching English in Japan thing) seminar as me, so I went up to him after the fact and asked if he was learning/knew Japanese (my cunning plan being to use him, as a fellow student, to practice speech), but he said he wasn't planning on learning Japanese, any at all, prior to going to Japan on the JET program...was like 'whaaaa', now, he could've just been fobbing me off, which is cool, but I'm certain he was being sincere (he's a bit of a tit tbh), which just boggles my mind...anyway) but even there I'm making some headway by watching Japanese videos/dramas.
Not anime, btw, I mean, don't get me wrong, I love anime, but it's not great for learning Japanese. An example of what I watch, and f you've got the time watch this show, is http://www.dramagalaxy.tv/beautiful-rain it's bloody heartbreaking, about a single father who's diagnosed with alzheimers and it's just...all dem feelz....but also, I watch news programmes and Japanese documentaries, mostly without subtitles. I don't understand much, my vocabulary is...not great...but, and I don't know if this is just me, but foreign languages in general....have you ever paid attention to them? Actually, I think it's true of native language too, but if you aren't actively listening, words and conversations just sort of blend together? In the native language though, it's easier to unpack, we can spot the patterns, in a foreign language though, it's much harder and is initially far less defined. I think it's a universal thing (i mean, barbarians are called so because their language is just like the braying of sheep, right?....terry deary ruined history for me), but the more practised the ear becomes, the easier it is to distinguish. For me, like I say, my Japanese vocabulary isn't great, but my grammar is fairly decent, so I can use that to differentiate words and context between words...it's not foolproof, because native Japanese speakers tend to drop particles (which is perhaps the main reason anime is so bad for learning Japanese, the other reason being the language used is often terribly informal, which is something else we need to talk about later) and said particles (and conjunctions, etc.) also have multiple meanings (is that は simply marking the topic? the subject? indicating a contrast? or emphasising?), every language has this though, or something like this, especially when spoken, and that's even without getting into dialects....Anyway, yes, so, incredibly, the more you listen, the better you get at hearing. That's just...wow, I mean, who saw that coming, right? And who would write a lengthy, convoluted paragraph about it, probably some weirdo right? Pfft, imagine....
I love it though....I really wish I had started learning it sooner. When I was in school (going back about twelve years ago now), I bought this Lonely Planet Japanese phrasebook. I had a plan to learn Japanese from a phrasebook....I was a dumb kid (and now I'm a slightly less dumb, but still pretty dumb, adult, yay!) and not just because I spent like two weeks when I was fifteen or whatever, copying down phrases like 'わたしのなめえはTerenceです.' (which is sort of correct, but not really, it makes sense, but it's very touristy...iono, like going to Nice, France and calling it so it rhymes with ice, or something) and completely misunderstanding the sentence structure (what do you mean, わたしはたべてすし is wrong, everythings in there, 私は, I am, 食べて, eating, すし, sushi, I am eating sushi, it's perfectly fine!), and actually, this has all been a lie, because I didn't even use hiragana...I used romaji exclusively...I put it aside for the next ten years. I mean, literally. Every so often, I'd find that phrasebook and be like 'huh...guess I'll give this another go', last about two days at most and put it aside again. Curse you past Terence! It's said that Japanese takes six to twelve years (on average) to become truly fluent....we could've been fluent by now, you prick!
Anyway, I'm going to bring this to a close now because, originally, this was a post on facebook and was just going to be just that little introduction/basic facts thing which I did at the start, and then adding a plug for the actual blog thing which I'm going to be writing later today (or maybe now tomorrow) on languages (though it'll be more about languages in general than specifically to do with Japanese or English, how it shapes our perception of the world and such, you know, fun stuff :D)...things got out of hand pretty quickly, I just don't know what went wrong....I blame the fact I couldn't write for a week, so now, verbiage! verbiage everywhere! Good day to you!
Friday, 4 December 2015
Thinking about pain
I injured myself about a week ago. Actually, no, it was exactly a week ago, last Friday, the 27th of November, that's when it happened. That is the when, as to the how, I've no idea. That's the perplexing thing. I went to bed fine, and when I woke up my right arm felt a little dead, you know, that kind of feeling you get when you've slept on your arm? That's what it felt like. So, I thought nothing of it. I went about my day, I did normal, everyday Terence things (we are an industrious folk, us Terences, so long as that industry involves being lazy, watching cartoons, and playing video games we can go all day), all the while with that little twinge that should have had me worrying.
The next day, Saturday, it was really quite painful. The pain had bloomed during the night. I went around to a friend's house and did normal friend things, like being lazy, watching cartoons, and playing video games (for they are Terencian in those ways), and....I don't know....I never let on or complained about the pain. All day and night, I was surreptitiously moving my arm about, putting it behind my head or something (really weird thing, putting the arm up and behind the head gave some relief from the pain...I figure it must be something to do with the pressure on the muscle or something, but then, I don't know, because surely gravity would also be acting on it....or maybe angels were high fiving the pain away...I don't know! You come up with a theory then, looking at me like I'm crazy, pfft, it is not I who am crazy...it is I who am mad!), which made it okay for like a moment or two, then the pain would come back with it's bigger brother and kick my ass for chatting back.
Then, Sunday morning. Oh boy, was that fun. I couldn't get out of bed. I couldn't move. When I was a kid, I was ran over by a car. I think i've talked about that before, I nearly lost a a foot, it had to be literally sewn back on....that didn't hurt half as much as Sunday morning. Well, maybe it did, I don't know, pain is weird in that sense. Like, you can imagine pain right, someone puts the visual in your mind of being stabbed in the eye or whatever, with a needle, you go 'ah, wtf, bleugh' and shiver, right? But remembering pain? That's much harder. At least it is for me, and I assume it's a universal thing because I've not met anyone who can actually remember physical pain. Mental pain, sure, but physical? Not so much. And I talk about this a lot with people, because I'm weird like that....anyway, it was pretty bad, I couldn't move for the pain. At least for a good half hour anyway, I just kind laid there and cried. Then I remembered my ninja turtle training, rolled off my back, and got a taxi to the A&E.
Here's where I could go on a rant about the NHS. Because they didn't examine me. No scans, no poking, no prodding, nada. Just, 'you're in pain,' 'yessum,' 'is it really bad?' 'yessum,' 'cool, here's a prescription for some pain meds strong enough to kill a small elephant, go have fun.' 'aye sir!' Because....and I know that it must be awfully disheartening to be a doctor at times, especially in a shithole of a city like Liverpool, and it's hard to believe when there's a real case because of every arsehole scouser who comes into the clinic with their 'aw, but lad, i've got this like, real pain, giz us some meds like', but iono, it just seemed really unprofessional to sign off on something like that without an examination. But then, that's the NHS for you.
Since then, life's been shit. I had to actually stay off university because I couldn't get dressed (literally couldn't put my pants, shoes and socks on, because it hurt far too much, even with the meds, even with my left hand). I'd not missed any education or work thing since I was fourteen or so....at least, not for a legitimate reason....I mean, I've stayed off plenty of times because laziness or dropping out of college and whatever, but that was always my decision. It was somewhat galling to be forced to the sidelines. That a physical impairment kept me out of the action, as it were. I don't like being reminded of my own mortality, and that's happened a lot this past week. When I was in my late teens, early twenties, it used to keep me awake at night. Again, I think this is something I've talked about before, something that I'd mostly gotten over, but it's been back this week, because I've not been able to read books, play video games, go to university and what not, and also, the pain in the arm has been keeping me awake at night and that's when the thoughts creep in. When the shadows curl and twist around the silence...
It's still hurting now. The arm, I mean, it's still quite tender and the hand's numb. I tried writing before and well, my already messy handwriting is even messier because I can't hold the pen right....even typing this out has been kind of a chore because, and I don't know why this is the case, but my co-ordination is off....like, I keep hitting the keys above and/or to the side of the one I want to hit....I don't know if it's just because I've not typed anything in over a week (with the right hand anyway) or what, I don't know...that's kinda scary in itself though....that it's a skill that can be 'lost', as it were, in just a week....I'm hoping it's just the meds and the fact that the muscle's still kind of twinging.
Anyway, that's all I have to say right now....and jesus, how many words did I have to use to not say not really much of anything at all...
The next day, Saturday, it was really quite painful. The pain had bloomed during the night. I went around to a friend's house and did normal friend things, like being lazy, watching cartoons, and playing video games (for they are Terencian in those ways), and....I don't know....I never let on or complained about the pain. All day and night, I was surreptitiously moving my arm about, putting it behind my head or something (really weird thing, putting the arm up and behind the head gave some relief from the pain...I figure it must be something to do with the pressure on the muscle or something, but then, I don't know, because surely gravity would also be acting on it....or maybe angels were high fiving the pain away...I don't know! You come up with a theory then, looking at me like I'm crazy, pfft, it is not I who am crazy...it is I who am mad!), which made it okay for like a moment or two, then the pain would come back with it's bigger brother and kick my ass for chatting back.
Then, Sunday morning. Oh boy, was that fun. I couldn't get out of bed. I couldn't move. When I was a kid, I was ran over by a car. I think i've talked about that before, I nearly lost a a foot, it had to be literally sewn back on....that didn't hurt half as much as Sunday morning. Well, maybe it did, I don't know, pain is weird in that sense. Like, you can imagine pain right, someone puts the visual in your mind of being stabbed in the eye or whatever, with a needle, you go 'ah, wtf, bleugh' and shiver, right? But remembering pain? That's much harder. At least it is for me, and I assume it's a universal thing because I've not met anyone who can actually remember physical pain. Mental pain, sure, but physical? Not so much. And I talk about this a lot with people, because I'm weird like that....anyway, it was pretty bad, I couldn't move for the pain. At least for a good half hour anyway, I just kind laid there and cried. Then I remembered my ninja turtle training, rolled off my back, and got a taxi to the A&E.
Here's where I could go on a rant about the NHS. Because they didn't examine me. No scans, no poking, no prodding, nada. Just, 'you're in pain,' 'yessum,' 'is it really bad?' 'yessum,' 'cool, here's a prescription for some pain meds strong enough to kill a small elephant, go have fun.' 'aye sir!' Because....and I know that it must be awfully disheartening to be a doctor at times, especially in a shithole of a city like Liverpool, and it's hard to believe when there's a real case because of every arsehole scouser who comes into the clinic with their 'aw, but lad, i've got this like, real pain, giz us some meds like', but iono, it just seemed really unprofessional to sign off on something like that without an examination. But then, that's the NHS for you.
Since then, life's been shit. I had to actually stay off university because I couldn't get dressed (literally couldn't put my pants, shoes and socks on, because it hurt far too much, even with the meds, even with my left hand). I'd not missed any education or work thing since I was fourteen or so....at least, not for a legitimate reason....I mean, I've stayed off plenty of times because laziness or dropping out of college and whatever, but that was always my decision. It was somewhat galling to be forced to the sidelines. That a physical impairment kept me out of the action, as it were. I don't like being reminded of my own mortality, and that's happened a lot this past week. When I was in my late teens, early twenties, it used to keep me awake at night. Again, I think this is something I've talked about before, something that I'd mostly gotten over, but it's been back this week, because I've not been able to read books, play video games, go to university and what not, and also, the pain in the arm has been keeping me awake at night and that's when the thoughts creep in. When the shadows curl and twist around the silence...
It's still hurting now. The arm, I mean, it's still quite tender and the hand's numb. I tried writing before and well, my already messy handwriting is even messier because I can't hold the pen right....even typing this out has been kind of a chore because, and I don't know why this is the case, but my co-ordination is off....like, I keep hitting the keys above and/or to the side of the one I want to hit....I don't know if it's just because I've not typed anything in over a week (with the right hand anyway) or what, I don't know...that's kinda scary in itself though....that it's a skill that can be 'lost', as it were, in just a week....I'm hoping it's just the meds and the fact that the muscle's still kind of twinging.
Anyway, that's all I have to say right now....and jesus, how many words did I have to use to not say not really much of anything at all...
Sunday, 1 March 2015
Salt
Salt is weird. Like, thousands of years ago, salt was super
important so much so it was basically currency but it came from the ocean.
Specifically salt encrusted rocks...what happy accident was that then?! Some
caveman family was at the seaside, one of them accidentally dropped their
mammoth sandwich (in that it was big and also made from a mammoth) on one of
the rocks and, being an unfussy eater, ate the sandwich then turned around to
the others "Okay dudes, you're not going to
believe me, but this rock, this one right here, this rock is delicious!"
and so, sceptical at first, they all started wiping sandwiches on seaside rocks
and found that they loved it.
Or the other explanation is that salty tasting meals exist
naturally in...nature...so, ancient humans went on quests to find more
accessible salts. Which would be fun to imagine. A caveman scientist, "Day
1, just invented numbers, very happy side effect of quest for salt. Tried
licking a porcupine...porcupine seemed to enjoy it, but my tongue did not for
varying reasons. Will update log again tomorrow." The next day, "Day
2. Just invented linear concept of time, very happy, though now also somewhat
aware of own mortality which is rather uncomfortable. Mission for salt
continues, got grandmother to try sucking eggs as per Jeff's suggestion, she
said they could use some salt. Will update log again tomorrow." The third
day, "Day 3, decided to take a break today with the family, went to the
beach. A good time was had by all until Jeff dropped his sandwich on the floor.
He caused a scene until I offered to give him my sandwich and I'd eat the one
off the floor because it's the stone age and who really cares about germs,
apart from Jeff. Found that the sandwich now had salt on it, rocks make salt,
fellow salt hunters very happy with my discovery." "Day 4, Jeff
suggested salt was actually in the water and that we could harvest it by
boiling said water. Crazy Jeff, salt is a solid, not a liquid, he'll never be a
scientist like me if he continues to think like that."
I did originally have an ending for this, but I forgot it...so,
erm, lets talk about dinosaurs instead. Now dinosaur means "terrible
lizards" which is a fantastically inaccurate name as they were neither at
all terrible nor lizards. But that is a story for another day, smoke bomb!
*flees in confusion*
Monday, 29 December 2014
Zeus, am I right?
Zeus was doing his usual Zeus thing, chatting up a mortal priestess (ancient greek devouts were so much open to seduction) named Io, when Hera came along and was all like "Zeus, you better not be hitting on some human again?!" and so Zeus, being that he was the king of the gods, was crafty and quick enough to change Io into a cow before his wife could catch them together.
Hera though, being that she was the Queen of the gods and also, you know, knowing what Zeus was like, was suspicious when she found her husband with his arms wrapped around a cow and so, using her wit, proclaimed "Oh, what a fabulous gift you've got for me there, I've always wanted a cow!" and Zeus was forced to give over poor Io to Hera.
However, thinking quickly, Zeus burst out "Ah, but we live on Mount Olympus, can't take cows up a mountain, they're very terrestrial, scared of heights, don't you know."
Hera conceded the point but insisted that the cow be kept in her sacred olive grove (somehow not a euphemism) and watched over by her friend, Argos, who was a giant with like, so many eyes, just, freaking, so many, it was weird. Hera knew that loyal Argos would keep an eye (or two, or fifty, or a hundred) on Io at all times because he never closed them all at once.
However, she had not banked on Hermes, who Zeus sent to kill Argos because that's the logical reaction to being cockblocked by your wife. Send your son to kill her friend. Anyway, Hermes went there and tried to get Argos to leave the cow unattended, but no matter what he did he couldn't get the giant to close all his eyes at the same time. He tried spells and hexes, he tried playing soothing lullabies on his lyre, nothing would work until he started spouting on about the history of musical instruments ("Hey, did I ever tell you how I made the first lyre? First, I got this turtle right...." and on he goes, oy) which knocked the giant out. Then, Hermes lopped Argos' head off with a sickle because fucker was hardcore.
As it turns out, Zeus had kind of moved on by this point and didn't really care anymore. He went off to do Zeus things. Argos' eyes got put on peacock tails because they were Hera's favourite bird. Hermes got no comeuppance. And as for Io, well, she eventually got turned back into a human, after being cursed by Hera to madness by gadfly (just one, that couldn't be gotten rid of, just stinging her, all the time, to induce insanity you see), meeting the titan Prometheus and swimming across a whole fucking ocean (as a human that's tough, as a cow...yeah). But it was all worth it because in the end Zeus had his way and she ended up giving birth to some of Zeus' kids (sure, he had given up on her, but Zeus is Zeus), who then had kids of their own, who then had kids with other Zeus babies because looking at the family tree of ancient greeks myths is a lot like reading a rednecks family tree (oh my mother is my brother, is my fathers aunties uncle, is my grandpa, is my nephew is my son! and so on, seriously, zeus hit up his own grandchildren multiple times, who then procreated with each other, and don't even get me started on Herakles and the Danaids, 1 Zeus male descendant, 50 Zeus female descendants, and all 50 were impregnated, and then started marrying each other, and all the ancient greek rulers pointed at shit like this and was like "we is descended from this union, this is why we're more specialler than you!" and you know, they weren't wrong)....
....anyway, where was I...oh yes, the moral. I guess the moral of this story is don't trust Zeus. If you're a woman, he'll probably turn you into some kind of animal...and then fuck you....or turn himself into an animal...and fuck you...either way, he's going to fuck you. If you're a male, don't get in the way or he will have you killed...and then probably fuck you.
Hera though, being that she was the Queen of the gods and also, you know, knowing what Zeus was like, was suspicious when she found her husband with his arms wrapped around a cow and so, using her wit, proclaimed "Oh, what a fabulous gift you've got for me there, I've always wanted a cow!" and Zeus was forced to give over poor Io to Hera.
However, thinking quickly, Zeus burst out "Ah, but we live on Mount Olympus, can't take cows up a mountain, they're very terrestrial, scared of heights, don't you know."
Hera conceded the point but insisted that the cow be kept in her sacred olive grove (somehow not a euphemism) and watched over by her friend, Argos, who was a giant with like, so many eyes, just, freaking, so many, it was weird. Hera knew that loyal Argos would keep an eye (or two, or fifty, or a hundred) on Io at all times because he never closed them all at once.
However, she had not banked on Hermes, who Zeus sent to kill Argos because that's the logical reaction to being cockblocked by your wife. Send your son to kill her friend. Anyway, Hermes went there and tried to get Argos to leave the cow unattended, but no matter what he did he couldn't get the giant to close all his eyes at the same time. He tried spells and hexes, he tried playing soothing lullabies on his lyre, nothing would work until he started spouting on about the history of musical instruments ("Hey, did I ever tell you how I made the first lyre? First, I got this turtle right...." and on he goes, oy) which knocked the giant out. Then, Hermes lopped Argos' head off with a sickle because fucker was hardcore.
As it turns out, Zeus had kind of moved on by this point and didn't really care anymore. He went off to do Zeus things. Argos' eyes got put on peacock tails because they were Hera's favourite bird. Hermes got no comeuppance. And as for Io, well, she eventually got turned back into a human, after being cursed by Hera to madness by gadfly (just one, that couldn't be gotten rid of, just stinging her, all the time, to induce insanity you see), meeting the titan Prometheus and swimming across a whole fucking ocean (as a human that's tough, as a cow...yeah). But it was all worth it because in the end Zeus had his way and she ended up giving birth to some of Zeus' kids (sure, he had given up on her, but Zeus is Zeus), who then had kids of their own, who then had kids with other Zeus babies because looking at the family tree of ancient greeks myths is a lot like reading a rednecks family tree (oh my mother is my brother, is my fathers aunties uncle, is my grandpa, is my nephew is my son! and so on, seriously, zeus hit up his own grandchildren multiple times, who then procreated with each other, and don't even get me started on Herakles and the Danaids, 1 Zeus male descendant, 50 Zeus female descendants, and all 50 were impregnated, and then started marrying each other, and all the ancient greek rulers pointed at shit like this and was like "we is descended from this union, this is why we're more specialler than you!" and you know, they weren't wrong)....
....anyway, where was I...oh yes, the moral. I guess the moral of this story is don't trust Zeus. If you're a woman, he'll probably turn you into some kind of animal...and then fuck you....or turn himself into an animal...and fuck you...either way, he's going to fuck you. If you're a male, don't get in the way or he will have you killed...and then probably fuck you.
Voices
When I was a kid I used to do these voice imitation things. Like, I'd put on different accents, imitate celebrity voices or whatever. One time, I went about a week or so changing my voice every day. I'd spend one day speaking in a cockney accent all day, the next, an Arnold Schwarzenegger imitation, the next I'd do a hoarse Glaswegian voice. Anyway, it got to the point where I forgot what my actual voice sounded like. Have you ever had that? It's a surreal moment of depersonalisation. It was kind of like that thing people get when they hear themselves on a recording, the "do I really sound like that?" moment where they're not entirely certain it's them because they're hearing their own voices without the differing timbre and such created by their own skulls. It was like that but taken to the extreme. "Do I really sound like that? Hang on, what do I actually sound like?"
It was genuinely terrifying, like losing a piece of the self, or rather, not knowing it at all. Never told anyone about it either, never wrote it down anywhere, but people (randomers as well as family and friends of) would always say that I don't sound like I'm from Liverpool (sadly, I do sound more Scouse now, which is a shame as I cannot stand that fucking accent...thinking on it, probably some psychosomatic thing that caused the change in voice in the first place...hmm) and of course, that just fueled the fear that I had done something to my voice. That it wasn't *my* voice, if that makes sense.
It was genuinely terrifying, like losing a piece of the self, or rather, not knowing it at all. Never told anyone about it either, never wrote it down anywhere, but people (randomers as well as family and friends of) would always say that I don't sound like I'm from Liverpool (sadly, I do sound more Scouse now, which is a shame as I cannot stand that fucking accent...thinking on it, probably some psychosomatic thing that caused the change in voice in the first place...hmm) and of course, that just fueled the fear that I had done something to my voice. That it wasn't *my* voice, if that makes sense.
Wednesday, 10 December 2014
Lucky Chloe
http://i.ytimg.com/vi/4O0UphHT6uE/maxresdefault.jpg
This is Lucky Chloe. She is a new character in the fighting series Tekken, joining the roster when Tekken 7 releases. Except maybe not (at least in America) because of the fans outraged at the idea of a cute character in their grimdark serious fighting game series (the same series that has characters such as: http://img2.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20120821020820/tekken/en/images/7/7d/Alisa_Bosconovitch_TTT2.png a literal robotic schoolgirl, http://img1.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20110830171938/tekken/en/images/c/c4/Gon_-_Full-body_CG_Art_Image_-_Tekken_3.png a tie in promotion chibi dinosaur, and many more...I've also got to include this scene http://s1.dmcdn.net/UyHV.jpg because it's the badass main character of the series being made to wear a thong...serious bidness!).
Reading through the comment sections on various sites (listed at the end of this missive)the outrage runs the gamut from the aforementioned "you can't put this in my fighting game!" to "screw them for appealing to the popular vocaloid crowd" to "this character is oppressive to females and only reinforces stereotypes!" to which I say...fucking shut up! The arguments seem different but they all boil down to the same basic point, "I feel undue privilege, give me what I want or I will scream."
Your fighting game? No sir/madam, it's the makers (Harada's) game. He could make the game's roster consist of nothing but Lucky Chloe reskins and it would be perfectly fine because it is "his" (well, his teams, but he's the boss so) game.
'It's just to appeal to Vocaloid fans', yes, and? Vocaloids fairly big in Japan but, hmm, lets think about this, a Japanese game trying to appeal to a Japanese audience...there might actually be something in this one...except the outrage is justified because...what? It's not targeted at you? Get the fuck out.
And lastly, my favourite, the "this character is oppressive to females" blather. This one I love most of all because it's so utterly hypocritical, basically "you can't tell women how to act or dress, only I (and people like me) can!". Add in some casual racism (as tends to be the case with these people commenting) along the lines of "Japan needs to start acting more like us civilised people in the West" and you have to laugh if only to curb the murderous rage now burning within.
Anyway, to end this (not really focussed tirade), here's a picture based on the Tekken character designer Harada's tweet saying he'd make a big, burly man character to appease the offended inclusionary folk.
https://pbs.twimg.com/media/B4d63E6IAAARLeb.png:large
Bless that man.
- Outraged points of view were taken from Gamespot, Polygon, Ign and Eurogamer website comment sections. (The reports themselves were about the outrage)
This is Lucky Chloe. She is a new character in the fighting series Tekken, joining the roster when Tekken 7 releases. Except maybe not (at least in America) because of the fans outraged at the idea of a cute character in their grimdark serious fighting game series (the same series that has characters such as: http://img2.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20120821020820/tekken/en/images/7/7d/Alisa_Bosconovitch_TTT2.png a literal robotic schoolgirl, http://img1.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20110830171938/tekken/en/images/c/c4/Gon_-_Full-body_CG_Art_Image_-_Tekken_3.png a tie in promotion chibi dinosaur, and many more...I've also got to include this scene http://s1.dmcdn.net/UyHV.jpg because it's the badass main character of the series being made to wear a thong...serious bidness!).
Reading through the comment sections on various sites (listed at the end of this missive)the outrage runs the gamut from the aforementioned "you can't put this in my fighting game!" to "screw them for appealing to the popular vocaloid crowd" to "this character is oppressive to females and only reinforces stereotypes!" to which I say...fucking shut up! The arguments seem different but they all boil down to the same basic point, "I feel undue privilege, give me what I want or I will scream."
Your fighting game? No sir/madam, it's the makers (Harada's) game. He could make the game's roster consist of nothing but Lucky Chloe reskins and it would be perfectly fine because it is "his" (well, his teams, but he's the boss so) game.
'It's just to appeal to Vocaloid fans', yes, and? Vocaloids fairly big in Japan but, hmm, lets think about this, a Japanese game trying to appeal to a Japanese audience...there might actually be something in this one...except the outrage is justified because...what? It's not targeted at you? Get the fuck out.
And lastly, my favourite, the "this character is oppressive to females" blather. This one I love most of all because it's so utterly hypocritical, basically "you can't tell women how to act or dress, only I (and people like me) can!". Add in some casual racism (as tends to be the case with these people commenting) along the lines of "Japan needs to start acting more like us civilised people in the West" and you have to laugh if only to curb the murderous rage now burning within.
Anyway, to end this (not really focussed tirade), here's a picture based on the Tekken character designer Harada's tweet saying he'd make a big, burly man character to appease the offended inclusionary folk.
https://pbs.twimg.com/media/B4d63E6IAAARLeb.png:large
Bless that man.
- Outraged points of view were taken from Gamespot, Polygon, Ign and Eurogamer website comment sections. (The reports themselves were about the outrage)
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