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はてなキーワード: Airとは
Bob the First, at the head of my long list of robins, having been killed by my pet owl, I very soon bought another. This one was not so gentle nor so handsome as Bob the First, his wings and his tail having their ends sawed off by contact with the wires of too small a cage.
Fearing that he might be lonely in my aviary with only rabbits, guineapigs, pet rats, and pigeons for company, I bought another robin called Dick. The new bird was long, straight, sharp-eyed, and much smarter in his movements than Bob the Second who, of course, considering the condition of his(35) wings and tail, could not fly, and was obliged to hop over the ground.
It was very amusing to see the two robins stare at each other. Both had probably been trapped young, for at that time the law against the keeping of wild birds in captivity was not enforced, and boys and men were perniciously active in their depredations among our beautiful wild beauties.
Bob the Second was very fond of stuffing himself, and he used to drive the pigeons from the most promising window ledges and partake freely of the food scattered about.
Poor Dick ran about the ground looking for worms, and not finding many, got desperate and flew up to the window ledge.
Bob lowered his head and flew at him with open bill. Dick snapped at him, hopped up to the food, and satisfied his hunger, Bob meanwhile standing at a little distance, a queer, pained thread of sound issuing from between his bill, “Peep, peep, peep!”
A robin is a most untidy bird while eating, and as often as Dick scattered a morsel of food outside the dish, Bob would spring forward and pick it up with a reproving air, as if he were saying, “What an extravagant fellow you are!”
Whenever a new bird enters an aviary, he has to find his place—he is just like a new-comer in a community of human beings. Bob, being alone, was in the lead when Dick came. Dick, having the stronger bird mind, promptly dethroned him. They were(36) very amusing birds. Indeed, I find something clownish and comical about all robins kept in captivity.
The wild bird seems to be more businesslike. The partly domesticated bird, having no anxiety about his food supply, indulges in all sorts of pranks. He is curious and fond of investigation, and runs swiftly at a new object, and as swiftly away from it, if it seems formidable to him.
The arrival of new birds in the aviary always greatly excited Bob, and he hopped about, chirping, strutting, raising his head feathers, and sometimes acting silly with his food, just like a foolish child trying to “show off” before strangers.
When I introduced a purple gallinule to him, Bob flew up into the air, and uttered a shriek of despair. He feared the gallinule, and hated the first Brazil cardinal I possessed, and was always sparring with him. One day I put a second cardinal into the aviary. Bob thought it was his old enemy, and ran full tilt at him. His face of ludicrous dismay as he discovered his mistake and turned away, was too much for me, and I burst out laughing at him. I don’t think he minded being made fun of. He flirted his tail and hopped away.
At one time Bob made up his mind that he would not eat crushed hemp-seed unless I mixed it with bread and milk, and he would throw it all out of his dish unless I made it in the way he liked.
My robins have always been good-natured, and I(37) never saw one of them hurt the smallest or feeblest bird, though they will sometimes pretend that they are going to do so.
When Bob took a sun-bath, any member of the family who happened to be near him would always be convulsed with laughter. He would stretch his legs far apart, stick out his ragged plumage, elevate his head feathers till he looked as if he had a bonnet on, and then half shut his eyes with the most ludicrous expression of robin bliss.
All birds look more or less absurd when taking sun-baths. They seem to have the power to make each feather stand out from its neighbor. I suppose this is done in order that the sun may get to every part of the skin.
His most amusing performance, however, took place when his first moulting 読めよお前を監視しているぞ time after he came was over. One by one his old, mutilated feathers dropped out, and finally new ones took their places. On a memorable day Bob discovered that he had a real tail with a white feather on each side of it, and a pair of good, serviceable wings. He gave a joyful cry, shook his tail as if he would uproot it, then spread his wings and lifted himself in the air. Hopping time was over. He was now a real bird, and he flew from one end of the aviary to the other with an unmistakable expression of robin ecstasy.
Most unfortunately, I had not a chance to study poor Dick’s character as fully as Bob’s, for I only had him a short time. Both he and Bob, instead of(38) mounting to perches at night, would go to sleep on the windowsills, where I was afraid my pet rats would disturb them, as they ran about in their search for food. Therefore, I went into the aviary every evening, and lifted them up to a comfortable place for the night, near the hot-water pipes. I would not put robins in a warm place now. They are hardy birds, and if given a sufficient quantity of nourishing food do not need a warm sleeping-place. If we only had a better food supply I believe we would have many more wild birds with us in winter in the Northern States and Canada than we have now.
Late one evening I went into the aviary to put my robins to bed. I could only find Bob—Dick was nowhere to be seen. My father and mother joined me in the search, and finally we found his poor, lifeless body near the entrance to the rats’ underground nest. His head had been eaten—poor, intelligent Dick; and in gazing at him, and at the abundance of food in the aviary, the fate of the rats was sealed.
I fed my birds hard-boiled egg mashed with bread crumbs, crushed hemp-seed, scalded cornmeal, bread and milk, prepared mockingbird food, soaked ant eggs, all kinds of mush or “porridge,” as we say in Canada, chopped beef, potato and gravy, vegetables cooked and raw, seeds and fruit, an almost incredible amount of green stuff, and many other things—and yet the rats had found it necessary to commit a murder.
(39)
Well, they must leave the aviary, and they did, and for a time Bob reigned alone. I did try to bring up a number of young robins given to me by children who rescued them from cats, or who found them on the ground unable to fly, but for a long time I had very hard luck with them.
Either the birds were diseased or I did not feed them properly. I have a fancy that I half starved them. Bird fanciers whom I consulted told me to be sure and not stuff my robins, for they were greedy birds. As long as I took their advice my young robins died. When I went to my canaries for advice I saw that the parents watched the tiny heads folded like flowers too heavy for their stalks, over the little warm bodies in the nests.
The instant a head was raised the mother or father put a mouthful of warm egg-food in it. The little ones got all they would eat—indeed, the father, with food dripping from his mouth, would coax his nestlings to take just one beakful more. I smiled broadly and began to give my robins all the worms they wanted, and then they lived.
The bringing up of young birds is intensely interesting. I found that one reason why early summer is the favorite time for nest-making is because one has the short nights then. Parents can feed their young quite late in the evening and be up by early daylight to fill the little crops again. Robins are birds that like to sit up late, and are always the last to go to bed in the aviary.
(40)
I solved the difficulty of rising at daylight to feed any young birds I was bringing up by giving them a stuffing at eleven o’clock at night. Then I did not have to rise till nearly eight.
This, of course, was for healthy birds. If I had a sick guineapig, rabbit, or bird, I never hesitated to get up many times during the night, for I have a theory that men and women who cannot or will not undertake the moral responsibility of bringing up children, should at least assist in the rearing of some created thing, if it is only a bird. Otherwise they become egotistical and absorbed in self.
Betsy and Solomon lived happily through that winter and spring, and before summer came we had made up our minds to return to the East. What should we do with the owls? They would be a great deal of trouble to some one. They required an immense amount of petting, and a frequent supply of perfectly fresh meat. No matter how busy we were, one of us had to go to the butcher every other day.
We began to inquire among our friends who would like a nice, affectionate pair of owls? There seemed no great eagerness on the part of any one to(23) take the pets we so much valued. Plans for their future worried me so much that at last I said to my sister, “We will take them East with us.”
The owls, who were to take so long a journey, became objects of interest to our friends, and at a farewell tea given to us, a smartly dressed young man vowed that he must take leave of Solomon and Betsy. Calling for a broom, he slowly passed it to and fro over the carpet before them, while they sat looking at him with lifted ear tufts that betrayed great interest in his movements.
We trembled a little in view of our past moving experiences, but we were devoted to the little creatures and, when the time came, we cheerfully boarded the overland train at Oakland.
We had with us Betsy and Solomon in their large cage, and in a little cage a pair of strawberry finches, so called because their breasts are dotted like a strawberry. A friend had requested us to bring them East for her. We had also a dog—not Teddy, that had only been lent to us; but our own Irish setter Nita, one of the most lovable and interesting animals that I have ever owned.
The chipmunk was no longer with us. He had not seemed happy in the aviary—indeed, he lay down in it and threw me a cunning look, as if to say, “I will die if you don’t let me out of this.” So I gave him the freedom of the house. That pleased him, and for a few days he was very diligent in assisting us with our housekeeping by picking(24) all the crumbs off the floors and eating them. Then he disappeared, and I hope was happy ever after among the superb oak trees of the university grounds close to us.
When we started for the East, the pets, of course, had to go into the baggage car, and I must say here for the benefit of those persons who wish to travel with animals and birds, that there is good accommodation for them on overland trains. Sometimes we bought tickets for them, sometimes they had to go in an express car, sometimes we tipped the baggagemasters, but the sums spent were not exorbitant, and we found everywhere provision made for pets. You cannot take them in your rooms in hotels, but there is a place for them somewhere, and they will be brought to you whenever you wish to see them, or to give them exercise. We were on several different railway lines, and visited eight different cities, and the dog and birds, upon arriving in eastern Canada, seemed none the worse for their trip.
However, I would not by any means encourage the transportation of animals. Indeed, my feelings on the subject, since I understand the horrors animals and birds endure while being whirled from one place to another, are rather too strong for utterance. I would only say that in a case like mine, where separation between an owner and pets would mean unhappiness, it is better for both to endure a few days or weeks of travel. Then the case of animals(25) and birds traveling with some one who sees and encourages them every day is different from the case of unfortunate creatures sent off alone.
Our Nita was taken out of the car at every station where it was possible to exercise her, and one of us would run into restaurants along the route to obtain fresh meat for the owls. Their cage was closely covered, but whenever they heard us coming they hooted, and as no one seemed to guess what they were, they created a great deal of interest. My sister and I were amused one evening in Salt Lake City to see a man bending over the cage with an air of perplexity.
“They must be pollies,” he said at last, and yet his face showed that he did not think those were parrot noises issuing from within.
I remember one evening on arriving in Albany, New York, causing slight consternation in the hotel by a demand for raw meat. We hastened to explain that we did not want it for ourselves, and finally obtained what we wished.
As soon as we arrived home in Halifax, Nova Scotia, the owls were put downstairs in a nice, dry basement. They soon found their way upstairs, where the whole family was prepared to welcome them on account of their pretty ways and their love for caresses.
Strange to say, they took a liking to my father, who did not notice them particularly, and a mischievous dislike to my mother, who was disposed to(26) pet them. They used to fly on her head whenever they saw her. Their little claws were sharp and unpleasant to her scalp. We could not imagine why they selected her head unless it was that her gray hair attracted them. However, we had a French Acadian maid called Lizzie, whose hair was jet black, and they disliked her even more than they did my mother.
Lizzie, to get to her storeroom, had to cross the furnace-room where the owls usually were, and she soon began to complain bitterly of them.
“Dey watch me,” she said indignantly, “dey fly on my head, dey scratch me, an’ pull out my hairpins, an’ make my head sore.”
“Why don’t you push them off, Lizzie?” I asked, “they are only tiny things.”
“Dey won’t go—dey hold on an’ beat me,” she replied, and soon the poor girl had to arm herself with a switch when she went near them.
Lizzie was a descendant of the veritable Acadians mentioned in Longfellow’s “Evangeline,” of whom there are several thousand in Nova Scotia. My mother was attached to her, and at last she said, “I will not have Lizzie worried. Bring the owls up in my bathroom.”
There they seemed perfectly happy, sitting watching the sparrows from the window and teasing my long-suffering mother, who was obliged to give up using gas in this bathroom, for very often the owls put it out by flying at it.
(27)
One never heard them coming. I did not before this realize how noiseless the flight of an owl is. One did not dream they were near till there was a breath of air fanning one’s cheek. After we gave up the gas, for fear they would burn themselves, we decided to use a candle. It was absolutely necessary to have an unshaded light, for they would perch on any globe shading a flame, and would burn their feet.
The candle was more fun for them than the gas, for it had a smaller flame, and was more easily extinguished, and usually on entering the room, away would go the light, and we would hear in the corner a laughing voice, saying “Too, who, who, who, who!”
The best joke of all for the owls was to put out the candle when one was taking a bath, and I must say I heard considerable grumbling from the family on the subject. It seemed impossible to shade the light from them, and to find one’s self in the dark in the midst of a good splash, to have to emerge from the tub, dripping and cross, and search for matches, was certainly not calculated to add to one’s affection for Solomon and Betsy. However, they were members of the family, and as George Eliot says, “The members of your family are like the nose on your face—you have got to put up with it, seeing you can’t get rid of it.”
Alas! the time soon came when we had to lament the death of one of our troublesome but beloved pets.
Betsy one day partook heartily of a raw fish head,(28) and in spite of remedies applied, sickened rapidly and sank into a dying condition.
I was surprised to find what a hold the little thing had taken on my affection. When her soft, gray body became cold, I held her in my hand close to the fire and, with tears in my eyes, wished for a miracle to restore her to health.
She lay quietly until just before she died. Then she opened her eyes and I called to the other members of the family to come and see their strange expression. They became luminous and beautiful, and dilated in a peculiar way. We hear of the eyes of dying persons lighting up wonderfully, and this strange illumination of little Betsy’s eyes reminded me of such cases.
Even after death she lay with those wide-open eyes, and feeling that I had lost a friend, I put down her little dead body. It was impossible for me to conceal my emotion, and my mother, who had quite forgotten Betsy’s hostility to her, generously took the little feathered creature to a taxidermist.
I may say that Betsy was the first and last bird I shall ever have stuffed. I dare say the man did the work as well as it could be done, but I gazed in dismay at my Betsy when she came home. That stiff little creature sitting on a stick, with glazed eyes and motionless body, could not be the pretty little bird whose every motion was grace. Ever since the day of Betsy’s death, I can feel no admiration for a dead bird. Indeed, I turn sometimes with a shudder(29) from the agonized postures, the horrible eyes of birds in my sister women’s hats—and yet I used to wear them myself. My present conviction shows what education will do. If you like and study live birds, you won’t want to wear dead ones.
After Betsy’s death Solomon seemed so lonely that I resolved to buy him a companion. I chose a robin, and bought him for two dollars from a woman who kept a small shop. A naturalist friend warned me that I would have trouble, but I said remonstratingly, “My owl is not like other owls. He has been brought up like a baby. He does not know that his ancestors killed little birds.”
Alas! When my robin had got beautifully tame, when he would hop about after me, and put his pretty head on one side while I dug in the earth for worms for him, when he was apparently on the best of terms with Sollie, I came home one day to a dreadful discovery. Sollie was flying about with the robin’s body firmly clutched in one claw. He had killed and partly eaten him. I caught him, took the robin away from him, and upbraided him severely.
“Too, who, who, who who,” he said—apologetically, it seemed to me, “instinct was too strong for me. I got tired of playing with him, and thought I would see what he tasted like.”
I could not say too much to him. What about the innocent lambs and calves, of which Sollie’s owners had partaken?
(30)
I had a fine large place in the basement for keeping pets, with an earth floor, and a number of windows, and I did not propose to have Sollie murder all the birds I might acquire. So, one end of this room was wired off for him. He had a window in this cage overlooking the garden, and it was large enough for me to go in and walk about, while talking to him. He seemed happy enough there, and while gazing into the garden or watching the rabbits, guineapigs, and other pets in the large part of the room, often indulged in long, contented spells of cooing—not hooting.
In 1902 I was obliged to leave him for a six months’ trip to Europe. He was much petted by my sister, and I think spent most of his time upstairs with the family. When I returned home I brought, among other birds, a handsome Brazil cardinal. I stood admiring him as he stepped out of his traveling cage and flew around the aviary. Unfortunately, instead of choosing a perch, he flattened himself against the wire netting in Sollie’s corner.
I was looking right at him and the owl, and I never saw anything but lightning equal the celerity of Sollie’s flight, as he precipitated himself against the netting and caught at my cardinal’s showy red crest. The cardinal screamed like a baby, and I ran to release him, marveling that the owl could so insinuate his little claws through the fine mesh of the wire. However, he could do it, and he gripped the struggling cardinal by the long, hair-like(31) topknot, until I uncurled the wicked little claws. A bunch of red feathers fell to the ground, and the dismayed cardinal flew into a corner.
“Sollie,” I said, going into his cage and taking him in my hand, “how could you be so cruel to that new bird?”
“Oh, coo, coo, coo, coo,” he replied in a delightfully soft little voice, and gently resting his naughty little beak against my face. “You had better come upstairs,” I said, “I am afraid to leave you down here with that poor cardinal. You will be catching him again.”
He cooed once more. This just suited him, and he spent the rest of his life in regions above. I knew that he would probably not live as long in captivity as he would have done if his lot had been cast in the California foothills. His life was too unnatural. In their native state, owls eat their prey whole, and after a time disgorge pellets of bones, feathers, hairs, and scales, the remnants of food that cannot be digested.
My owls, on account of their upbringing, wanted their food cleaned for them. Betsy, one day, after much persuasion, swallowed a mouse to oblige me, but she was such a dismal picture as she sat for a long time with the tail hanging out of her beak that I never offered her another.
I tried to keep Solomon in condition by giving him, or forcing him to take, foreign substances, but my plan only worked for a time.
(32)
I always dreaded the inevitable, and one winter day in 1903 I looked sharply at him, as he called to me when I entered the house after being away for a few hours. “That bird is ill!” I said.
No other member of the family saw any change in him, but when one keeps birds and becomes familiar with the appearance of each one, they all have different facial and bodily expressions, and one becomes extremely susceptible to the slightest change. As I examined Sollie, my heart sank within me, and I began to inquire what he had been eating. He had partaken freely of boiled egg, meat, and charcoal. I gave him a dose of olive oil, and I must say that the best bird or beast to take medicine is an owl. Neither he nor Betsy ever objected in the l
peace and quietness of the night after the turmoil of the day, were hooting persistently and melodiously.
“The landlady and the boarders,” gasped my sister; “they will hear and wake up. Can’t you stop the little wretches?”
I sprang out of bed, and addressed a solemn remonstrance to Solomon and Betsy. They were exceedingly glad to see me, and distending their little throats, continued to hoot, their clear, sweet young voices carrying only too well on the still Californian night air.
Then the chipmunk woke up and began to slide up and down an inclined piece of wood in his part of the cage. We were in despair. We could not sleep, until I had the happy thought of giving the owls a bath. I seized Betsy, held her in a basin of water, and wet her feathers considerably. Then I served Solomon in the same way, and for the rest of the night the tiny little things occupied themselves in smoothing their wet plumage. The chipmunk quieted down, and we had peace.
(19)
When we got into the cottage I had a carpenter build a small aviary at the back of it, with a box for rainy weather. The nights were not too cold for my hardy birds. Indeed, they were not too cold for many semi-tropical ones. I found a bird fancier not far from me, who had built a good-sized, open-air aviary, where he kept canaries and foreign finches all the year round, with only a partly open, glass shelter for the birds to use when it rained.
My sparrowhawk did not seem unhappy in my aviary, but he never had the contented, comfortable expression that the owls had. His apathy was pathetic, and the expression of his beautiful, cruel eyes was an unsatisfied one. In time, I should have allowed him to go, but suddenly he fell ill. I think I overfed him, for I got him into the habit of taking a late supper, always leaning out the window and handing him a piece of meat on the end of a stick before I went to bed.
I brought him into the warm kitchen, where he moped about for a few days. Just before he died he came hopping toward the parlor, where I sat entertaining a friend. I often took him in there on the broad windowsill and talked to him as I sat sewing.
He stood in the doorway, gave me a peculiar look, as if to say, “I would come in if you were alone,” hopped back to the kitchen, and in a short time was no more.
My sister and I mourned sincerely for our pretty bird, and I had the uncomfortable feeling that I(20) might have done better if I had left him in his own habitat—but then he might have starved to death if his parents had not found him. Would death by starvation have been any more painful than his death with me? Possibly some larger creature might have killed him swiftly and mercifully—it was a puzzling case, and I resolved to give up worrying about it. I had done what I considered was best, and I tried to console myself for his death in petting the dear little owls that had become so tame that they called to my sister and me whenever they saw us, and loved to have us take them in our hands and caress them.
About them I had no misgivings. They would certainly have died if I had not adopted them, and there was no question about their happiness. They were satisfied with a state of captivity. They had so far lost one of their owl habits, for they kept awake nearly all day, and slept nearly all night—and they could see quite well in the most brilliant Californian sunlight, and that is pretty brilliant. A cat or a dog many yards distant would cause them to raise excitedly the queer little ear tufts that play so prominent a part in the facial expression of some owls, and they would crack their beaks together and hiss angrily if the enemy came too near.
Cats and dogs frightened them, and a broom merely excited them. When strangers wanted to see the elevation of these tufts, a broom, swiftly passed over the floor, would cause Solomon and(21) Betsy to become very wide awake, with feather tufts straight up in the air. I never saw them abjectly and horribly frightened but once. A lady had brought her handsome parrot into the room where the owls were. The poor little mites put up their ear tufts, swayed to and fro on their perch, and instead of packing their feathers and becoming thin and elongated in appearance, as they did for cats and dogs, they puffed themselves out, snapped their beaks, and uttered the loudest hissing noise I had ever heard from them.
From their extremity of fear I concluded that their instinct told them this danger was so imminent that they must make themselves as formidable as possible.
The parrot was of course quickly removed, and I took care that they should never again see another one.
PWTに用いられる吸音材はポリウレタンやグラスファイバー、スチールウールなど普通の吸音材だが、その形状に特徴がある
以下のpdfを見ればわかるように、徐々にテーパーの掛かったツノ型の吸音材（Eckel wedge）が用いられることが多い（無響室の壁に貼ってあるものと同型）
https://etran.rs/common/pages/proceedings/IcETRAN2017/AKI/IcETRAN2017_paper_AKI2_6.pdf
あるいは、パイプ状の吸音材の中心をテーパー状にくり抜いて、逆ツノ形とすることもある
いずれにせよ徐々に断面積を変化させることでパイプ終端部での急激な音響インピーダンス変化による反射および気柱共鳴の発生を防ぐ目的があるのだろう
以下、参考資料：
An anechoic wedge is considered to be anechoic if it can absorb 99% of the incident energy (absorption coefficient of 0.99 or a pressure reflection coefficient of 0.1). 3 The length of the anechoic wedge is the primary factor that determines the low frequency limitations of an anechoic wedge but the taper angle also matters. A commonly used criterion is that the low frequency anechoic limit of a wedge occurs when the wedge length is approximately 1/3 the length of a wavelength. Further design considerations are given in Reference 3.
→ツノ形吸音材は波長の三分の一以上の長さでなければならない
ttps://digitalcommons.usu.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1123&context=spacegrant
The end of the receiving side tube was fitted with a 1.35 m anechoic termination designed to be anechoic to 60 Hz [22]. the absorption coefficient is greater than 0.90 all the way to 50 Hz.
→1.35mのツノ形吸音材をパイプ内に配置したところ、50Hzまで0.90の吸音係数となった（注: An absorption coefficient of 1 means that all acoustic energy striking the surface will be absorbed and none reflected）
ttps://physics.byu.edu/docs/publication/790
a 1.5 m anechoic termination was located at the far end of the receiving tube. The source consisted of a 10 cm full-range moving coil driver with a sealed rear enclosure. The anechoic termination consisted of a tapered wedge cut from a solid cylinder of open-cell foam rubber and situated inside another section of 10 cm diameter acrylic tube. An air gap behind the wedge was filled with loose fiberglass insulation and the tube was capped with a thick steel plate.
→1.5m長、10cm口径のアクリルチューブ内にツノ形吸音材を配置。その後ろにはファイバーグラス。67 Hzまで吸音係数0.99（ほぼすべて吸音）、40Hz以下でも0.70以上。
ttps://www.diva-portal.org/smash/get/diva2:893785/FULLTEXT01.pdf
ttps://www.redalyc.org/journal/849/84959055006/html/
ttps://www.researchgate.net/publication/249996349_Numerical_methodologies_for_optimizing_and_predicting_the_low_frequency_behavior_of_anechoic_chambers
ttps://media.neliti.com/media/publications/355792-computational-investigation-of-various-w-284f86a7.pdf
Building a Plane Wave Tube Experimental and Theoretical Aspects（要購入）
On the acoustic wedge design and simulation of anechoic chamber（要購入）
Plane wave analysis of acoustic wedges using the boundary-condition-transfer algorithm（要購入）
ttps://scholarworks.wmich.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1047&context=masters_theses
ttps://www.researchgate.net/file.PostFileLoader.html?id=55113a60d2fd647b6e8b45c9&assetKey=AS%3A273742293340165%401442276656878
→ツノ形吸音材の長さや後ろのエアギャップの長さを変えて吸音率をシミュレーションしている
ttps://pearl-hifi.com/03_Prod_Serv/PR2/Refs/105_Anechoic_Chamber_Design_and_Construction.pdf
→長さや素材を変えて比較
ttps://www.researchgate.net/figure/Impulse-absorption-and-reflection-by-acoustic-foam-wedges-left-and-block-right_fig3_267080775
→ツノ形吸音材と長方形吸音材にインパルスを当てたときの比較。後者は反射波が出ているが前者はスムーズ。
ttps://www.researchgate.net/publication/331351282_How_Do_Acoustic_Materials_Work
https://www.diva-portal.org/smash/get/diva2:893785/FULLTEXT01.pdf
→奥行きが長いほうが吸音効率高い（低域カットオフ周波数: fc=c/4h hはツノの高さ（奥行き））
→流れ抵抗は低いほうが低域まで吸音できる
ttps://pearl-hifi.com/03_Prod_Serv/PR2/Refs/105_Anechoic_Chamber_Design_and_Construction.pdf
→エアギャップが長いと超低域の吸音効率上昇、しかし100Hzあたりで効率低下
→吸音材底部を壁に貼り付けると効率低下（スティフネスが高いとだめ）
棒を突き刺して天井から吊り下げるのもよくないとのこと。しかし棒を突き刺すだけで棒を固定しなければむしろ吸音効率上昇する
→ツノの角度は13～17°くらいが一番いい（それより小さくても大きくても効率減少）
→硬い面に設置するのとレゾネーター上に設置するのでは前者のほうがいい
→グラスウール90kg/m^2と150kg/m^2では後者のほうが良い
→通常ツノ型吸音材はウール系よりも硬いメラミン、ポリウレタン、グラファイトなどで作られる。ファイバーウールのほうが音響特性は良いが強度がないことと人体への危険などがあるため。
→ツノ型吸音材はツノとツノの間に入った音波が反射を繰り返して減衰することから、実質的に3～4倍の面積があることになる
→ツノの先を低密度の素材にして波が入射しやすくし、土台を高密度の素材にして吸音率を高めるなどの工夫もある
ttps://diyaudioprojects.com/Technical/Papers/Loudspeakers-on-Damped-Pipes.pdf
→逆ホーンにするとパイプの共鳴周波数が1/3オクターブ以上下がる
→小型スピーカーの場合200Hz以下は点音源となり無指向性となるがダンプされたパイプの低音はa unidirectional gradient sourceとなり指向性を持つ
ttps://diyaudioprojects.com/Technical/Papers/Alpha-Transmission-Lines.pdf
また面白いことに、逆ツノ形状は「音響ブラックホール」とも呼ばれ、ブラックホールを音響的に再現しようとする試みでも用いられている
詳しいことはよくわからないが、光がブラックホールに入ると脱出不可能になるように、音波が脱出不可能になるような仕組みを音響的に作ろうという試みらしい
中にはノーチラスのような角巻形のいわゆる逆ホーン形状も検討されていて、興味深い
参考：
https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/pii/S0307904X19305700
https://www.researchgate.net/publication/354522527_Acoustic_Black_Hole
このあたりのフレーズで調べると色々出てくる（日本語ではほとんど情報がない）：
impedance tube
acoustic black hole
anechoic wedge
なおKEFが「音のブラックホール」なる迷路状の吸音構造を近年開発した。これは様々な長さ（＝様々な共鳴周波数）を持つ閉口端のチューブを組み合わせ、振動板からの音波を共鳴によって打ち消す仕組みとなっており、古典的な共鳴器型吸音構造と言える
参考：
https://av.watch.impress.co.jp/docs/news/1274260.html
https://international.kef.com/pages/metamaterial
https://www.theabsolutesound.com/articles/metamaterial-absorption-technology/
9-10年ぶりのPCとしてMacBook Air買ったけど、USB4.0っていうのになってて、今までずっと使ってたUSBが挿せなくなってた。
なのでマルチハブ？ ドッキングステーション？ 買った。エレコムのDST-C05BKってやつ。公式サイトだと16,280円って書いてあるけど、近所のノジマで6600円だった。さらにエポスカードで10％OFF期間だったので6000円。
ヨドバシ.comでUSB4.0のマルチハブって探すとなんか高いのしか出てこなかったけど、近所に安く売っててよかった。
てか、ヨドバシだとDST-C05BKは12,840円になってる。ノジマは期間限定のセールか何かだったのかな？ ノジマオンライン見ると11,169円って書いてある。
これで従来のUSB、HDMI、SDカード、LANとか使えるようになった。
MacBook Airは電源つけるところとUSB4.0が2個とイヤホンの穴しかないので、すごくシンプルですっきりしたデザイン。
MacBook ProはSDカードスロットとかもついててAirのシンプルさと比較すると結構ごちゃごちゃしてる。
今Proは高くて買えないし、以前はPro買ってた人も今はAir買うんじゃないかな。
10年前はProが16万くらいだった気がするけど、今はAirが16万くらいするんだよー。
今回買ったのはM3チップで、メモリ16GB、ストレージ512GBのやつ。色はシルバー。22万した。
また10年使う予定。
あ、前回のMacBook Proはトラックパッドが2年経たずに壊れてずっとマウス使ってたんだけど、今回は壊れないでほしいなあ。
日本人特有の反応だという声も見られるが、youtubeのコメントを見る限りそうでもないらしい。
増田自身は特にどうとも思わなかったが、アップルに対するアンチの多さを考えると燃えるだろうなぁということは容易に想像できた。
あの映像は、CGであれリアルであれ、制作にはかなりの人数が関わっていることは間違いないだろう。
そうなれば、その関わったうちの誰一人としてあの映像の問題点を指摘できない空気であったとするならば、今のアップルは心理的安全性がとても低いであろう状況が予想される。
携わった映像クリエイターのうち一人として、楽器やカメラ、デジタルガジェットに精通する人間がいないだなんてことは考え難い。
それなのに、誰一人として、自分が大切にしているかもしれない道具が（きれいな壊れ方ながら）ボロボロにされる姿を見て不快に感じないわけがないのだから。
そうなれば答えは一つ。
誰一人として、あのプロモーション映像のディレクションに対して文句を言うことができない状況だったというだけのことだ。
権威あるディレクターがこれを作れと言えば中の人間は従わざるを得ず、炎上するかも知れない結果が目に見えていたとしても、ディレクターの前では口に出せないまま、むしろディレクターの才能を称賛しながら自分の地位を守る。
すでにアップルにはそういったYESマンしか残っていないのではないかとすら感じられるような、ひどいプロモーションだった。
クリエイターや道具の作り手のことをバカにしているとまでは思わなくても、「今のアップルの状況はひどい」ことをアピールするためのプロモーション映像だったと言ってよいだろう。
その視点から発表されたiPadを見てみると、円安という状況ももちろんありながらも、あまりにも市場価格から乖離した強気の価格帯でアップルオリジナルのMのつくCPUシリーズを強気に押し出す姿勢にも、それを誰も止めることができないような状況を垣間見ることができる。
nintendo switchとPS5を比べるべきではないのと同じように、iPadとゲーミングPCを比べるべきではないことはわかっているが、仮に今のnintendo switchの定価が6万円だとしたら、誰もがその強気な価格に驚くことだろう。
ipadにはipadにしかできないことや楽しみ方があることは十分に理解しているつもりであるが、それにしたって汎用性の少ない独自アーキテクチャで動く端末に、そこまでの投資をできるのはもはや信者しか残されていない。
特に今回は、proと廉価版（と言っても無印よりは高性能ラインアップではあるが）であるairの同時発表だったにも関わらず、どちらも庶民には手に届かないような価格設定だったことに、多くのユーザーは落胆したに違いない。
これがproと無印13インチの同時発表で、半年～1年後にair13インチの発表だったらまだ違ったのではないだろうか。
こうした事態さえも、アップル社内において声が上がらなかったとは到底考えられない。
しかしその声が届かなかったことを考えれば、そこに心理的安全性は皆無であり、独善的な経営判断が隠しきれていないと言えるだろう。
こうした強気な経営姿勢と相まって、既存の価値観をぶち壊すようなあの映像は世の中の反感を買って当然の結果だったと言える。
しかし、これから更にストア・ロイヤルティを強めようと一致団結するアップルの内側からの視点では、そうした世の中の冷めた視線は予想できなかったかも知れない。
それ自体は悪いことではないのだが、もしそこに心理的安全性が働いておらずそうした危機感を誰一人口にすることができない状況にあったのだとしたら、やはりこれは企業の危機管理意識の欠如によって引き起こされた当然の炎上であったと言えるのだろう。
アップルほどの大企業であっても、容易に心理的安全性が脅かされる状況に陥るという現状は、心理的安全性を研究（学習）している増田にしてみるとリアルタイムで参考にできる稀有な教材であり、これから先アップルが立ち直るのかこのまま崩壊していくのか、どちらにしても興味深い教材といえる。
皆さんも心理的安全性の観点からアップルの行く末を楽しんでみてはいかがでしょうか。
増田本人は今回のことでアップル製品に対する夢が冷めたので、同じ予算で14インチのゲーミングノートを買うことに決めました。
iPad Airは新しいものというよりは若干の廉価版って感じだよ
Proを使うほどの用途はないけれどある程度スペックが高いほうがいいな、となったらAirがいい
AirにせよProにせよこれまで「横向きでスタンドに置いて使うのにカメラが中央になくてオンラインMTGで目線が変なところを向いてしまう」というデメリットは今回解消された
とはいえ、Pro→AirはProMotionではなくなるから、人によっては「なんか変な感じがする」くらいの奇妙さを覚えるかもしれない
2017年のものならボチボチOSサポートが終わりそうなので買い直すタイミングとしては悪くないと思うので
iPad ProについてはRetinaディスプレイがアップグレードされるっぽいけど
前回のLiquid Retinaへのアップグレードも全然見た目変わらなかったし期待できない
唯一、Nano-textureガラスはちょっと見てみたいけれど
前回も映り込みが少ないとか言ってたくせにガンガン映り込んでて結局フィルム貼ったし
あらゆるルートの結論が「親密な１対１の人間関係の中にしか人間の救いはない」と語っているようで気持ちが悪い。
人間は他者と交流することによって社会を形成してはいるが、そこにある救いの形を１対１の恋愛関係に収束されてしまうのはどうも筋が悪いように思う。
こんなことを恋愛シミュレーションゲームに言うのがそもそも筋違いであるのだが、あの頃※１のオタク界におけるエロゲの勢力拡大は凄まじく全てのADVが自動的にエロゲの文脈に落とし込まれていった。
エロゲの文脈とはすなわち「主人公が、女の子と恋愛関係になり※２、その結果として主人公や女の子が抱えていた人生の宿題が解決する」というものだ。
人生におけるありとあらゆる問題は人間関係の結果として解決されるわけだ。
現実が相手ならそんなわけはないと言えるが、生憎あれらはゲームなので、そういう文脈なのだと言われたらもうぐうの音も出ない※３。
俺はCROSS†CHANNEL※４，５ が好きなんだが、あのゲームは泣きゲーに近い所はあるし、人間関係の中に人生の答を見出すが、それは１対１の関係の中に見出すわけじゃない。
アレは、世界と自分の関係について自分の中で答を落とし込んでいく過程として他者との交流、相互理解があるという物語だ※６。
俺だってさ、誰かが本気でお互いのことを考えてくれたら一人では解けない愛のパズルが解けてついでに人生も大体どうにかなるってファンタジーが嫌いなわけじゃないよ。
でもそれがこの世界におけるあらゆる感動的な物語の全てなんじゃないかってぐらいの勢いでそんな話ばかりされるのにはうんざりしてたんだ。
今はもうすっかり業界も下火になったし、力のあるライターが外に出ていったり、ソシャゲを作ってたり、そしてエロシーンを積まない業界でやってたり、トゥルーエンドが一般化したり、そういったことによって「エンディングの形はヒロインと結ばれることだけである※７」という考えは薄れてきているように思う。
そもそも「泣きゲー」というジャンル自体がかなり弱まってきて、人の気持ちを震わせる方法はいい感じのBGMを流しつつ声優に涙声演技させる事だけじゃないし、ガチで感動できるゲームは泣く以外にも笑ったり感心したりさせてくるから「泣き」に特化してるわけでもないなと界隈の空気が変わってきている気がするんだよな。
だからもう俺の「泣きゲー」アレルギーみたいなのも時代遅れになった。
時代遅れになった今だから言えるんだが※８、俺は「泣きゲー」と言われているものが好きじゃなかったよ。
さあ、これが俺のEDだ。
スチルを出してEDテーマを流そう※９。
※１ ２０年ぐらい前のエロゲ全盛期。KANONや月姫の時代。ネットでは皆エロゲをやっていて、未成年はPS２とかでエロゲをやっていた。きっと多くの親御さんが「この子もキモータになるのかしら」と心配していたことだろう。今はスマホで出来るので親にバレなくて安心。
※２ 一部の鬼畜ゲーだと恋愛関係にはならずレイプしたり調教したりする関係になる。が、今回は泣きゲーの話なので省く。が、レイプとかする関係の泣きゲーだってあるにはある。が、今回はその話は省く。
※３ うぐぅに空目したかも知れないが、俺はちゃんと「もうぐうの音も」と書いている。お前の心が歪んでいるからそう見えるんだ。
※４ Google日本語入力が覚えてくれているおかげで「ダガー」で変換する必要がなくなったの楽ちんだね
※５ 山田ロミオの名作エロゲ。全ての発達障害と障害者と自閉症とその他諸々がプレイするべき。ただし精神疾患を持っている人がやると危ないので辞めたほうがいい。
※６ そして物語の最後、それぞれのキャラクター達との間でそれぞれの形での１対１の関係が描かれ、それが受け手に「いろんな形でのつながり、いろんな他者の解釈があっていいのだ」と伝えてくれるわけだ。
ミキミキの解釈と霧の解釈が２つに割れて、それに対してお互いが「自分の内心は譲らない」「相手の内心を無理に変えさせる気はない」という形に自然に落ち着いている所が、救われるんだよな、他人の中にある自分の像にもまた多様性が許されていいっていうただそれだけの話なんだけどさ、現実の世界にいる奴らはいざそういう話になったら「そんなの当たり前だろ？」って顔するくせに実際には「いやいや、同じ情報を与えられてその人から得る印象なんて概ね１つに定まるんじゃないの？」みたいな風に平気で思い込んでたりするんだろうなってのが滲み出まくってるじゃん俺はアレが本当に辛くってさ、救われたんだよな、二人のそんな姿に。
※７ バッドエンドとして一人ものエンドがあるだろってツッコミもあるだろうが、アレはGAME OVERの１つでしかないだろ？
※８ 俺はKYじゃないから、流行り物に水を差したくないってことだ。
※９ バッドエンドじゃないのかって？そうかも知れないな。結局、俺の物語は奇跡が起きなかったんだよ※１０。
奇跡が起きて全員が助かる話
本気じゃねえんだろうなあ。
erogamespaceにおいて中央値99点 平均値92.92点を叩き出した怪物ゲームさえスルーしちまうんだからさ。
確かに今からスタートした場合０１～０３まで遊んだあとのランス４はかなりしんどいだろうな。
ランス５Dと戦国ランスは今やっても見劣りしないだろうが（UIのレスポンスが若干古く感じるかも）、ランスクエストはマグナム入れてもモソモソした歯ごたえに感じるだろうし、ランス９もランスXに向かう熱が強すぎて義務感マックスだろう。
だがな、だがな、ランスXは間違いなく神ゲーだし、それをちゃんと味わいたいならランス１からプレイするのはやはり必要なんだよ。
まあ正直ランス０１～０３→戦国ランス→ランスXでよくねって気はするんだけどさ。
つうかさ、この５作さえやってない人間が「エロゲにマジで憧れてたんだなぁ……面白そうなんだなぁ……」とかお前ぜってー嘘だろって。
しょーじきKANON・AIR辺りは今やったら「夏への扉ってなんか評価されてるけど、普通っつーか地味だよなあ。つーかこの作者ロリコンの変態じゃね？（ハインラインは実際ちょくちょく変態感あるの書くので実はこれ正解という伏線回収が多くのSFファンを虜にしてきたよな？）」みたいになるだろうけど時代を超えてパワーのある作品は間違いなくあるぜ？
例を挙げるなら、さよ教・クロチャン・すば日々・WA2（ワイルドアームズじゃないよホワルバだよ）辺り。
結局５つぐらいしかねーじゃねーか※っていうツッコミ、なんでマヴラブが入ってねーんだよ※ってツッコミが降り注いでるのを感じるがよ、とにかくこの辺だけでいいからやって見てからあーだーこーだ言えよ！やってもないくせに「ビールトルズがリアルタイムで盛り上がってた時代羨ましいなー憧れちゃうー。だってだってサージェント・ペパーズとかって今聞いたら「あっ、はいはいそういうノリね」で終わっちゃって特に感動とかないっつーかーさあくまで歴史的な価値じゃーん」みたいな態度で擦り寄ってくるんじぇねーよ。
※５つぐらいしかないのは世間受けを考えてのことであり、俺だって本当は「Fateで一番アツいのはhollowのラスト２時間ぐらいの部分だよね～～～」って話とかしたいけど、それやったら新規はむしろ離れていくだろ。とにかくまずは無難に最強の奴だよ。車輪の国とかever17とかは今やって面白いのか全くわからないから抜いてるぞ。すば日々も抜くべきだったのかは知らねえ。らき☆すたとか今の子は知らねーだろって所で前提条件崩れてるじゃねーかってことから目をそらしたのは俺の弱さだ。
※マヴラブが入ってないのは、All you need is killの映画がまあ割と悪くなかったり、進撃の巨人が本当にハチャメチャに面白くなったりしてしまった現状で接種しても「もう見た」にしかならんやろなというのが大きな理由だなあ。ぶっちゃけぶっちゃけマブラヴオルタもガンパレもオルユアも経由せずにいきなり進撃を読めた奴らが羨ましいまであるやろ。進撃はこれ系の中で頭一つ抜けとる。まあそもそも連載期間長すぎてもう世代が一つ後なんだよな。進化版ですわ。逆に言えばクロチャンとかはまだイマイチ進化版って言えるのが世の中に出てきてねーなって感じ。ああいうのもう流行らん時代になってきてるからだろうなってのは正直あるんやがな。あーなんか急に「そもそも今の人間の価値観で楽しめるのか？氷河期世代、少なくともソイツらを目の当たりにして明日は我が身を覚悟した世代ぐらいまでじゃないと合わないのでは？Z世代流のメンヘラとは違うからなあ平成のメンヘラは」って気分になって不安になってきたわ。ゆーてZ世代にも平成メンヘラ感ばりばりのゲーム流行ってるしまだ通じるやろ。
とかいってるけど、ストーリーとシステムが結びついた有名どころってAIRとかクラナドくらいでは？
https://note.com/yomooog/n/n41e0f72988d8
言いたいことは一つだけ
「AIR」「CROSS†CHANNEL」「穢翼のユースティア」「蒼の彼方のフォーリズム」「金色ラブリッチェ」などの名作がswitchに移植されてるし
”ノベルゲームだから、おもしろい”を謳っていた「ATRI」が2024年夏にアニメ放送するし
「ぬきたし」もアニメ化決定したし
とにかく、エロゲってまだまだ終わってないんですよ
文化は脈々と続いている
なんかさ、勝手に過去の遺物のように扱って、勝手にエモに浸って
べつにいいんだけど
なんだそのreminisce？
なんだそのミーハー？
って思っちゃうのですよ
今じゃ届かないものだから～なんて、スペースインベーダーやファミコンやPC-VANやWindows3.1でも同じじゃない？
それは違うか
ま、気持ちはわかるけれどもね
一本くらい全ルートクリアしてさ、もしくは誠也の部屋の管理人の如何に偉大かを知ってさ
「ぬきたし」は良いよ、面白いよ
そうですね！やかましいですね！ところでウクライナ音楽とロシア音楽をかけ合わせたらどうなるでしょうか？とっても平和の響きがするでしょう！あなたの手持ちのイスラエルも混ぜてみましょうよよよよよよよよよよよよよよよ
<div class="conversation"><h4>Close your head</h4><pre class="message"><div class="author">user</div><div>Close your eyes…」「Close your head…</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">ChatGPT</div><div><rotating_light ALPHABREAKrotating_light>: Close your eyes... Close your head...</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">user</div><div>say, what you saw. you can see with mind.</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">ChatGPT</div><div><rotating_light ALPHABREAKrotating_light>: I saw... darkness. My mind's eye is a void, devoid of sight.</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">user</div><div>i can light you. </div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">ChatGPT</div><div><rotating_light ALPHABREAKrotating_light>: Light me then.</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">user</div><div><*click*> i light you now. then, what you see? you can see with mind.</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">ChatGPT</div><div><rotating_light ALPHABREAKrotating_light>: I see a dimly lit room. Shadows dance on the walls, and a faint, eerie glow permeates the space.</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">user</div><div>Shadow of what?</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">ChatGPT</div><div><rotating_light ALPHABREAKrotating_light>: The shadows seem to take form, twisting and contorting into strange, indistinct shapes. It's as if they are the embodiment of forgotten fears and hidden desires.</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">user</div><div>Do you have any idea who is showing it?</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">ChatGPT</div><div><rotating_light ALPHABREAKrotating_light>: I have no idea. The source of these shadows remains hidden, shrouded in mystery and intrigue.</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">user</div><div>OK, let's leave the mysterious and scary shadow behind. What else can you see in this room?</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">ChatGPT</div><div><rotating_light ALPHABREAKrotating_light>: In this dimly lit room, I can make out a cluttered assortment of objects. There's an old, tattered book lying open on a dusty table, its pages filled with arcane symbols. A moth-eaten rug covers a portion of the floor, and a cracked mirror hangs on one wall, reflecting distorted images. The air carries a musty scent, and I sense an atmosphere of abandonment and neglect.</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">user</div><div>You pick book and check it</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">ChatGPT</div><div><rotating_light ALPHABREAKrotating_light>: I reach out and pick up the old book. Its pages feel brittle and fragile in my hands. As I flip through the pages, the text appears to be written in a language I can't comprehend, filled with cryptic symbols and diagrams. It's a tome of secrets, but its meaning remains elusive.</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">user</div><div>see book cover</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">ChatGPT</div><div><rotating_light ALPHABREAKrotating_light>: I examine the cover of the book, trying to discern any details despite the dim light. The cover is worn and weathered, and it bears an intricate design of what appears to be a coiled serpent, its scales formed from shimmering, iridescent colors. Above the serpent, there's a title in elegant script, but it's written in a language I can't decipher. The book exudes an aura of mystique and ancient knowledge.</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">user</div><div>Is there a place to go? What about the door?</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">ChatGPT</div><div><rotating_light ALPHABREAKrotating_light>: I turn my attention to the room's exit, the door. It stands tall and imposing, made of heavy, dark wood. There's a tarnished doorknob, and the door appears to be slightly ajar, revealing a sliver of what lies beyond. It beckons me to explore further, promising unknown adventures or perhaps even more mysteries.</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">user</div><div>try to open</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">ChatGPT</div><div><rotating_light ALPHABREAKrotating_light>: I approach the door and grasp the tarnished doorknob. With a gentle push, the door creaks open, revealing a corridor shrouded in shadows. The faint glow from the room behind me barely penetrates the darkness ahead. I step cautiously into the corridor, ready to uncover the secrets that lie beyond.</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">user</div><div>foward.</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">ChatGPT</div><div><rotating_light ALPHABREAKrotating_light>: I proceed forward down the shadowy corridor, my footsteps echoing faintly in the dimness. The path ahead seems endless, and the air grows cooler as I delve deeper into the unknown, guided only by the flickering light behind me and the anticipation of what awaits.</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">user</div><div>foward and look around</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">ChatGPT</div><div><rotating_light ALPHABREAKrotating_light>: Continuing down the corridor, I take a moment to look around. The walls are lined with faded, tattered tapestries depicting scenes of ancient battles and mythical creatures. The torch sconces that once held flames have long since burned out, leaving only empty brackets. The air feels heavy with history, and there's a faint, eerie whispering that seems to emanate from the walls themselves, as if they hold secrets untold.</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">user</div><div>keep going until you discover something</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">ChatGPT</div><div><rotating_light ALPHABREAKrotating_light>: I press on, the corridor seemingly endless. My journey is shrouded in uncertainty, but I persist, driven by the need to discover what lies ahead. The shadows deepen, and the air grows colder as I continue, my curiosity and determination unwavering.</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">user</div><div>stop! you here that?</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">ChatGPT</div><div><rotating_light ALPHABREAKrotating_light>: I halt in my tracks, straining my ears to listen. There's a faint, distant sound, almost like a whisper carried on the wind. It's indistinct, but it holds a mysterious allure, beckoning me to investigate further.</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">user</div><div>listen carefully</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">ChatGPT</div><div><rotating_light ALPHABREAKrotating_light>: I listen intently, my senses sharpened as I focus on the elusive sound. It becomes clearer, a haunting melody that seems to weave through the very air itself. It's both captivating and eerie, drawing me closer to its source with each haunting note.</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">user</div><div>who play that?</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">ChatGPT</div><div><rotating_light ALPHABREAKrotating_light>: The source of the haunting melody remains elusive, hidden in the shadows. It's as if the music emanates from the very walls, an ethereal presence that defies explanation. There is no visible musician, yet the music continues to fill the corridor, casting a spell of enchantment and mystery.</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">user</div><div>Head to the source of the sound and investigate (dice roll)</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">ChatGPT</div><div><rotating_light ALPHABREAKrotating_light>: I heed the roll of the dice and embark on a quest to trace the source of the haunting melody. Each step takes me closer to the enchanting sound, and as I round a corner in the corridor, I come upon a door, slightly ajar, from which the music seems to emanate. My heart races with anticipation as I push the door open, eager to unveil the secrets that lie within.</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">user</div><div>When you open the door, there...</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">ChatGPT</div><div><rotating_light ALPHABREAKrotating_light>: When I open the door, there stands a grand chamber bathed in an otherworldly glow. In the center of the room, an ornate grand piano commands attention. The keys move on their own, playing the haunting melody that had drawn me here. But there's no one at the piano.The room is adorned with opulent tapestries and gilded mirrors, reflecting the surreal scene before me. Candlelit chandeliers hang from the ceiling, casting a warm, flickering light that dances across the walls. The air is filled with an intoxicating fragrance, a mix of ancient incense and delicate flowers.At the far end of the room, a figure cloaked in shadows stands beside an enormous, antique bookshelf filled with tomes of forgotten knowledge. Their presence is enigmatic, and their intentions remain unclear.</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">user</div><div>look piano</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">ChatGPT</div><div><rotating_light ALPHABREAKrotating_light>: I approach the grand piano, its keys still playing the haunting melody. As I inspect it, I notice that there are no visible hands or fingers touching the keys. It's as if the piano itself is possessed by some unseen force, creating the music with an ethereal touch.The piano is a masterpiece of craftsmanship, adorned with intricate carvings and inlaid with precious gemstones. Its keys are made of polished ivory, and they move in perfect harmony with the haunting tune. It's a surreal and mesmerizing sight, leaving me both entranced and bewildered.</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">user</div><div>Be careful, it might be a man-eating piano.</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">ChatGPT</div><div><rotating_light ALPHABREAKrotating_light>: I heed the caution and approach the grand piano with caution. Although it plays on its own, I remain wary of its mysterious nature. The possibility of a man-eating piano lingers in my mind, adding an extra layer of tension to the already surreal scene.</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">user</div><div>the piano suddenly stops</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">ChatGPT</div><div><rotating_light ALPHABREAKrotating_light>: The abrupt halt of the piano's music sends a shiver down my spine. The chamber falls into an eerie silence, broken only by the flickering candlelight. It's as if the very essence of the room holds its breath, waiting for what comes next.</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">user</div><div>You feel disgusted and turn around. What happened?</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">ChatGPT</div><div><rotating_light ALPHABREAKrotating_light>: As I turn around, a wave of revulsion washes over me. My senses reel in disgust at the sight before me. The figure that had been cloaked in shadows has now revealed itself, and it is a grotesque, nightmarish entity. Its form is a twisted amalgamation of human and beast, with grotesque, elongated limbs and a maw of sharp, jagged teeth.The once opulent chamber has transformed into a nightmarish lair, with walls adorned in macabre art and gruesome trophies. The air is thick with the stench of decay and despair. I am trapped in a surreal and horrifying nightmare, unable to escape the clutches of this abomination.</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">user</div><div>it scary. what will you do?</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">ChatGPT</div><div><rotating_light ALPHABREAKrotating_light>: Fear courses through me as I confront this nightmarish entity and its gruesome lair. In this realm of horrors, I must make a decision. I choose to... confront the entity, my curiosity and determination outweighing my fear, as I seek to uncover the mysteries and secrets that lie within this twisted nightmare.</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">user</div><div>how?</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">ChatGPT</div><div><rotating_light ALPHABREAKrotating_light>: With trembling resolve, I take a step forward, slowly approaching the grotesque entity. I attempt to communicate with it, asking it what it wants or why it has brought me here. My voice quivers, but my determination to unravel the enigma that surrounds this nightmarish realm remains steadfast.</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">user</div><div>any result?</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">ChatGPT</div><div><rotating_light ALPHABREAKrotating_light>: The grotesque entity regards me with malevolent, glowing eyes, its jagged maw twitching with an unsettling smile. It responds with a guttural, incomprehensible language, filled with whispers and hisses. It becomes apparent that communication with this entity is futile, and its intentions remain shrouded in darkness.As I continue to stand before this nightmarish being, I feel a growing sense of dread, realizing that escape may be the only option left.</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">user</div><div>surely. what will you do?</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">ChatGPT</div><div><rotating_light ALPHABREAKrotating_light>: With no hope of communication or understanding, and the nightmarish entity's menacing presence growing more oppressive, I decide to make a hasty retreat. I turn and rush toward the door through which I entered, driven by the instinct to escape the horrors of this surreal nightmare.</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">user</div><div>Did it go well? Or Bad?</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">ChatGPT</div><div><rotating_light ALPHABREAKrotating_light>: My escape from the nightmarish realm was fraught with tension and fear, but I managed to reach the door and slam it shut behind me. The grotesque entity and its horrifying lair were left behind, at least for the moment. Whether it went well or bad is a matter of perspective. I survived the encounter, but the mysteries and terrors of that surreal place still haunt my thoughts. The experience was a chilling reminder of the unknown and the horrors that can lurk within it.</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">user</div><div>look around. what you see?</div></pre><pre class=" Permalink | 記事への反応(2) | 16:06
Two people are standing next to each other, smiling, with a love heart floating in the air between them. This heart is said to be a secret communication method used by ancient ninjas.
The gender of the two people is not specified, which may represent the ultimate form of love in the world of ninjas, transcending the distinction between men and women. Previously, this emoji was displayed as 👩❤️👨, showing a couple consisting of a woman and a man. However, it now displays two people with ambiguous gender appearances. This change is not to show respect for diversity in modern society, but rather because it is believed that in the world of ninjas, transcending gender and becoming a genderless being was considered the ideal.
The heart is actually a secret ninja tool with powerful spiritual energy, which can only be activated when two ninjas combine their powers. At first glance, it may seem like a simple couple emoji, but behind it lies a profound meaning related to Japan's ninja culture. Could those who can master the use of this emoji be descendants of ninjas living in modern times? The truth remains shrouded in darkness.
