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はてなキーワード: Lookとは
これは弥助問題の元ネタ論文でも何でもない可能性が高いので，論文をちゃんと読んでください。
っていうか，こういったテーマについては，藤田みどり『アフリカ「発見」――日本におけるアフリカ像の変遷』（岩波書店，2005年）っていう研究書がちゃんと出ているので，ネット上でかしましい皆様におかれてはまずはそういった文献もあたってみてください（ちなみに，この研究書のもとになった博士論文は国立国会図書館デジタルコレクションで読めます）。
注をよく見てみましょう。おや？ 日本語の文献が引用されていませんね。日本語の文献を引用せずに日本史研究ができるんでしょうか？ これは問題ではないのですか？
はい，問題ありません。なぜならこれは，タイトル「アジア人と黒人のあいだでの人種と人種観の利用――日系・アフリカ系アメリカ人の場合」からも分かるように，日本史の論文ではなくアフリカ系アメリカ人を主題にした論文だからです。
これはどう読んでも，アメリカの黒人の日本人観および日系人との関わりについてカリフォルニアを中心に調査した論文，つまりはアメリカ黒人の歴史に関する論文であって，ロックリー氏や岡氏がこれを読んでいないと断言することはできませんが（誰しも専門分野外の本や論文を読むことだってあるでしょう），わざわざこれを「元ネタ」にするなどということはとうていあり得そうもないことです。彼らがこの論文を参考にして立論しているのでは？ などというのは，馬の心肺機能に関する研究が『ウマ娘 プリティーダービー』を参考にしているのでは？ と言っているようなものです。ジャンル違いすぎるわ！ あとドリームジャーニー引けなくて凹むわ！ っていうか今回のLoHは千直だから荒れそうって言ったの誰だよ！ ふつうに安定して英雄譚取れたから拍子抜けしたわ！
こういうときは注を見て，どんな文献に基づいてこの話をしてるのか？ っていうのをチェックするんですよ。弥助が出てくる部分の出典は，第一にMichael Cooper, comp. They Came to Japan: An Anthology of European Reports on Japan, 1543-1640 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1965)っていう本の66ページで，これはまあ当時のヨーロッパ人が日本について書いたものをまとめて英訳した，っていうやつですから，多分日本語でも同じコンセプトの本はあると思うのでそれを探せばいいでしょう。第二は，Gary P. Leupp, Images of Black People in Late Mediaeval and Early Modern Japan, 1543-1900, Japan Forum 7, no.1 (1995)っていう論文で，ペイウォールの向こうに行ければ読めます（https://doi.org/10.1080/09555809508721524）。要するに，著者のデイヴィド・ライス氏（カリフォルニア大学バークレー校所属）は日本語読めないので，英訳された史料や英語で書かれた論文を典拠にして，本題に入る前のマクラとして弥助についてちょろっと書いたということでしょう。
仮に彼が日本史の研究者なら日本語を読めないのは問題外ですが，論文の内容から察するにあくまでアメリカ黒人史の研究者なので，それならまあ日本語の論文読んでないのも仕方ないかなという感じ。なんだろう，アーサー王伝説そのものについて研究するなら，古い時代の英語とかウェールズ語とかの史料が読めないといけないけど，「日本人がどんなふうにアーサー王伝説を受容したか」という研究なら，『Fate/stay night』が読めれば十分で，アーサー王については日本語の本を参考にしてても構わないじゃないですか。この論文もそんな感じです。
なので，ふつうの日本中世史研究者が，この論文を典拠として用いることはまずないです。だって普通に考えて，こんなの典拠にならないっしょ？ 中世ヨーロッパ史の研究者が論拠として『Fate』を参考にするなんてあり得ると思います？ そりゃ絶対あり得ないとは言えないけど，そういう蓋然性が薄い推測をわざわざするならもっと直接的な証拠（本の中でこの論文を引用してるとか）を持ってきてもらわないと……
（もちろん，最近は中世ヨーロッパ史の研究者が日本におけるヨーロッパ表象の研究に手を出していたりするので，そういう研究で『Fate』を史料として用いるのは全然あり得るっていうかもうやってる人はいたはずなんですが。そのへんの研究動向は，たとえばhttps://doi.org/10.34382/00003197とかhttps://doi.org/10.34382/00003198とかの論文を読んでもろて……あ，話がズレた）
この論文，表象の研究としてはまあ手堅いので，弥助論争に巻き込まれて変な受け止められ方をするのは気の毒だと思いました。ただそれはそれとして，日系サイドの話もアフリカ系の新聞に基づいて書かれているきらいがあるので，論文のタイトルから「アジア人」「日系」を外して黒人についての論文だと明確化するか，あるいは日系人についてもちゃんと彼らの出してた新聞を読み込んで「日系から見たアフリカ系」を調査しないとダメなんじゃないかなぁ，とは思います。まあ，当時の日系人が出してた新聞って日本語で書かれたやつがいっぱいあるので，単純に読めないのかもしれませんが，だったらなおさら「これは2つのマイノリティについての話です（ｷﾘｯ」と謳うんじゃなくて，「これはあくまで黒人史の話でっせ」という断りを入れた方がよいような。日系人の歴史は黒人史の添え物とちゃうねんで。
ちゃんと読むっていうのは，この論文のテーマは何で，どういう史料を使っていて，という，基本的なことを確かめながら読むことです。そうすれば，どれが話のマクラに過ぎず，どれが本題なのか，っていうのがわかって，「アメリカ黒人史の論文が日本中世史研究者の元ネタだったんだよ！」なんていうアホな主張をすることもなかったはずなので。
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.
There’s some whores in this house
There’s some whores in this house
There’s some whores in this house
ビッチがいるぞ
この家にはビッチがいる
この家にはビッチがいる
この家にはビッチがいる
I said certified freak, seven days a week
Wet and gushy, make that pullout game weak, woo
イカれた女って認められてるの 週7日稼働してる
Yeah, you dealin’ with some wet and gushy
Bring a bucket and a mop for this wet and gushy
Give me everything you got for this wet and gushy
バケツとモップを持ってきてよ
マンコのためなら何でもくれるよね
Beat it up, baby, catch a charge
Extra large and extra hard
Put this cookie right in your face
Swipe your nose like a credit card
I do a kegel, I’m kinda wild
Look at my mouth, look at my thighs
This water is wet, come take a dive
激しく突いて 違法なくらいに
大きさも硬さも普通じゃないわね
上に乗ってあげる
口に唾を吐いて 私を見つめて
税金・国民健康保険に外国人をフリーライドさせる政府・国会議員・官僚がいる
税金・保険料を上げる前にやる事がある、皆保険・生活保護を日本人限定にしよう！
ナポレオン「真に恐れるべきは有能な敵ではなく無能な味方である」
生活保護は医療費が無料、外国人生活保護受給者も医療費は無料です！
オーストラリアの皆保険は国民と永住者に限定していて、永住者以外の外国人は皆保険の対象外です！
外国人は難民申請・日本語学校留学・経営者ビザ等で、日本の高額医療にフリーライドしています！
tinyurl.com/1800manen
前の病院でも
せっせと納めた社会保険料で。
x.com/KRow_Dr_/status/1791761901552349598
「僕は病気を抱えてね、
自費は数千円しかないわけ。」
x.com/wake_neko/status/1777526842783838319
留学生の高額治療と感染症の対策を急げ 日本に来て割安な価格で治療を受けられる「抜け穴」
オーストラリアでは留学ビザ希望者に対して、政府が指定した医療機関での健康診断を義務付けている。
検査結果は、クラウド上に置かれ、オーストラリアの担当医師もチェックするという体制になっている。
そのうえで、留学生には「留学生保険」への加入が義務付けられている。
美容の治療や出産、そして出国前から把握されている高額な医療費のかかる慢性疾患（がんやHIV感染症）等については適用されない。
www.sompo-japan.co.jp/kinsurance/leisure/off/tips/pc/04_china/
前払制
中国では
受付時、
保証金も支払わなければなりません。
救急車は有料
x.com/magonote/status/1814917289684443539
朝鮮人は「朝鮮人生活擁護闘争」を展開、地方税の減免や生活保護の適用を求める
w.wiki/AZa5
tinyurl.com/tainouritsu
世帯の絶対数が少ないネパールが日本を含む全国籍の滞納金額の12%
tinyurl.com/tainougaku
tinyurl.com/kazoku-yobiyose
埼玉･川口市がクルド人めぐり国に異例の訴え なぜ？現場で何が？
その中に仮放免のクルド人の治療費も含まれているとみています。
tinyurl.com/iryouhi-mibarai
tinyurl.com/26000000yen
80歳のガン患者、
年齢制限がないのです
健康保険証を手に入れたらあとは使い放題です
人工透析：年間500万
ガンの高度治療：オプシーボ1450万
支払いですが、どれだけ高価な治療をしても支払いには上限があります
保険料：5000円
また、75歳以上の後期高齢者の場合は、さらに安くなる可能性があります
治療がおわったら国に帰りましょう
https://twitter.com/Catsuzuchan_01/status/1747572319869182459
「保険が使えるから日本に来た。全額負担なら絶対に来なかった」
x.com/moeruasia01/status/1791570525325570150
症状を医者に伝え、
やり取りに時間がかかる。
そして、いつもこういった
どう見ても70代なのに、
x.com/Naniwamono1/status/1791587361350172798
tinyurl.com/gaikokujin-funinchiryou
来日中国人が日本の医療制度に“タダ乗り”しようとしている!?
「医療費に業者への費用、滞在費をあわせて200万円ほどです」
国が定めるハーボニーの薬価は5万5000円で投薬期間は12週間。完治までには薬代だけで最低465万円がかかる計算となる。
「最近、日本語がまったく話せない70代の患者が、日本に住んでいるという息子と一緒に来院し、脳動脈瘤の手術をしました。
本来なら100万～200万円の治療費がかかりますが、健康保険証を持っていたので、高額療養費制度を使って自己負担は8万円ほど。
400万円の高度医療をたった8万円で！ 悪質な外国人に食い物にされる日本の医療保険制度
中国で話題「日本で会社作れば、医療タダ乗り」、保険診療天国ニッポンの落とし穴
中国人の間で注目されている経営・管理ビザとはどんなビザなのだろうか。
これは、外国人が日本で事業を起こし、経営や管理に従事する場合に発給される在留資格で、簡単に言えば「500万円を投資して事務所を設ければ日本で社長になれる」といわれているビザだ
意図がある申請者は、『病気の時だけ日本に来ることもできるのではないか』と悪知恵を働かせる可能性があります。また、当人の役員報酬により保険料が決まるため、納付する保険料を月額数千円程度と最低限の金額にすることも不可能ではありません
500万は見せ金で良いので富裕層でなくてもやる人はいるとか。
tinyurl.com/misegane
中国人の医療ツーリズム「健康保険制度で日本の病院を利用」がトレンドに？中国SNSやブログに解説記事も
日本の医療機関を利用する中国人の存在がさまざまな媒体で報道されてきましたが、
今回新たにネットで紹介されているのが
地獄への道は善意で舗装されている！
国民健康保険は、3か月を超える在留資格を取得した時に加入できて、高額医療を低額で受けられる。
保険料を滞納して、高額医療の自己負担分を踏み倒す外国人までいる！
高額医療が終了すると、直ぐに帰国する外国人もいる！もちろん高額医療の自己負担分は踏み倒す！
w.wiki/AMDo
tinyurl.com/tokutei-ginou
tinyurl.com/ynb6nrcd
www.refugee.or.jp/report/refugee/2023/10/hogohi/
単身で月約72,000円、
住居費は、
単身で上限４万円、
外国人に対して、
1年治療費960万円を
なぜ外国人の医療福祉を日本人の税金・国民健康保険で担うのですか？
I am not a gambler, but I would like to stay with Ippei Mizuhara in a hotel in an entertainment district in the middle of the desert.
He and I would never gamble.
But as he grips the slot lever with his buttocks tightened, I secretly burn with jealousy as I watch the pile of medals that gradually emerge from the seat next to me.
I would shift in my seat and play poker. I try desperately to drive the anxiety from my face, to imagine the joy of victory, but I know it is pointless.
And I will return to my original seat, angry and sad.
Sometimes we will look at each other over the baccarat table. In those moments, we would tell each other our own moves in the blink of an eye, and we would take care that one of us would win.
One day one of us will be penniless and the other will bury him outside the city. Then he will write a little poem to his friend who has traveled, and then he will kill himself, having found no reason to live without a last-minute bargaining chip.
私はギャンブルの依存症ではありません、ですが、水原一平さんと一緒に砂漠の真ん中にある歓楽街のホテルに泊まりたいです。
私と彼は賭け事をすることはないでしょう。
しかし彼が臀部を引き締めながらスロットのレバーを握るとき、次第に出てくるメダルの山を、隣の席で見ていた私は密かに嫉妬の炎を燃やします。
私は席を移って、ポーカーをするでしょう。私は不安感を表情から追い出そうと、必死に勝利の喜びを想像しますが、それが無意味なことを知っています。
最終的に私は勝てないでしょう。
そして私は怒りと切なさを感じながら元の席に戻ります。
時々私たちはバカラのテーブル越しに目配せしあうことがあるでしょう。その瞬間、私たちは自分自身の手の内を、瞬きの回数で教え合い、そしてどちらかが勝てるように配慮していくのです。
ある日、私たちの一人が無一文になり、もう一人が街の外に彼を埋めます。それから彼は旅だった友人にちょっとした詩を書いて、そしてギリギリの駆け引きなしには生きる理由を見出せずに自殺するでしょう。
I mean sure, you can totally go full retard and butcher the fuck out of grammar and still perfectly sound natural so long as that’s what a native speaker would say (i.e. baby talk). But who’s gonna take you seriously if you talk like that anywhere you go? Every place has its established norm and if you deviate from it you might be ignored or worse bullied for being a nuisance, which is the case for me when I post on 4chan; I get far less (you)s when I write differently from how the majority of them does. If you wanna blend in and not stand out, it’s important to adjust the formality and wording to match the situation, which is what native speakers would normally do (And yes, most of what’s on 4chan, reddit or whatever else is far more complex than what we’ve written here in English, just go look at a random thread like this one: https://boards.4chan.org/pol/thread/464155987/elon-musk-is-retarded). Only using basic vocab/grammar/rhetoric, etc. only takes you so far.
(Btw I also was once told by a British that she couldn’t tell me apart from a native speaker, though I don’t think I’m even remotely close to being one cuz of these reasons.)
If you think all native speakers use complex vocabulary and rhetoric, you'll be disillusioned pretty quickly. Native speaker picks up non-nativeness not from complex vocabulary or rhetoric, but in more fundamental things like basic grammar, use of a simple word and/or singular/plural, general smoothness, etc. Think of Japanese. People won't find it foreign when you don't use complex vocabulary and rhetoric. I once even had an occasion where this person believed I'm American because of a "wrong" use of plural that Americans often do. Just look at here or any SNS. I bet you don't find most of them use complex vocabulary and rhetoric. But if you use てにおは wrong a couple of times though, that's a big giveaway. And the use of "native level" usually comes with work. You can use the language at a native level for the work or you can't. It's not something that requires an opinion from an anonymous person on the internet, but thanks for your two cents.
89 名前：🥹英ちゃん😉 (ﾜｯﾁｮｲW 2386-CK/p) 2024/04/03(水) 04:05:45.97 ID:mOsZ+yw90
Ed Piskor committed suicide, people are choosing to believe the claims from people who had it out for him. Molly, girl they claimed he SA'd, tried correcting the claims.
91 名前：🥹英ちゃん😉 (ﾜｯﾁｮｲW 2386-CK/p) 2024/04/03(水) 21:10:04.37 ID:mOsZ+yw90
To "have it out for someone" is to dislike someone to the point of trying to find excuses to fire them, punish them, or cause them trouble/pain.
It is usually said of someone in authority (teacher, boss, cop) or of equal rank (coworker).
"You can't trust her. She really has it out for you, and will twist anything you say to make you look bad in front of the boss.
92 名前：名無しさん＠英語勉強中 (ﾜｯﾁｮｲW 1b12-5W83) 2024/04/03(水) 21:21:30.82 ID:l+Htu6kT0
hàve [(英)have gòt] it ín for A
そのinをoutに変えた感じかもね
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
ウィリアム・モリスの講演「芸術の目的」における分業と競争に関する言及(https://www.marxists.org/archive/morris/works/1882/hopes/chapters/chapter4.htm)
Will you, therefore, look upon me as a craftsman who shares certain impulses with many others, which impulses forbid him to question the rules they have forced on him? so looking on me you may afford perhaps to be more indulgent to me if I seem to dogmatise over much.
Yet I cannot claim to represent any one craft. The division of labour, which has played so great a part in furthering competitive commerce, till it has become a machine with powers both reproductive and destructive, which few dare to resist, and none can control or foresee the result of, has pressed specially hard on that part of the field of human culture in which I was born to labour. That field of the arts, whose harvest should be the chief part of human joy, hope, and consolation, has been, I say, dealt hardly with by the division of labour, once the servant, and now the master of competitive commerce, itself once the servant, and now the master of civilisation; nay, so searching has been this tyranny, that it has not passed by my own insignificant corner of labour, but as it has thwarted me in many ways, so chiefly perhaps in this, that it has so stood in the way of my getting the help from others which my art forces me to crave, that I have been compelled to learn many crafts, and belike, according to the proverb, forbidden to master any, so that I fear my lecture will seem to you both to run over too many things and not to go deep enough into any.
19世紀の芸術家であり社会思想家でもあったウィリアム・モリスは、1880年に行った講演「芸術の目的」の中で、分業と競争が芸術に与える悪影響について鋭い指摘を行っている。モリスは自らを「多くの職人と衝動を共有する一人の職人」と位置づけた上で、かつては商業の下僕だった分業が、いまや文明そのものを支配するまでに至り、本来は人類の喜びと希望、慰めの源であるはずの芸術をも困難な状況に陥れていると訴えた。
モリス自身の仕事も例外ではなく、分業の弊害により他者の助けを得ることが難しくなり、多くの技術を学ばざるを得なくなる一方で、どの技術も極められなくなってしまったと吐露している。
この指摘は、現代の音楽制作における問題にも通じるものがあるのではないだろうか。チームの肥大化と制作規模の拡大に伴い、個々のクリエイターの芸術性が発揮しづらくなり、音楽のおもしろさが失われていくのではないか？分業と専門化が進むほど、全体を見渡せる人材が不足し、音楽の芸術性が損なわれるという事態が、いま起こっているのではないか。
東京都葛飾区にある「四つ木地区センター」は、図書館や、音楽演奏ができる小さなホール、会議室などを備えた、葛飾区や周辺の住民にとって有難い施設の一つだ。
https://www.city.katsushika.lg.jp/institution/1006723/1025547/1006724/1006751.html
難点は2つ。駅やバス停からそれなりに距離があることと、周辺の駐車場がすぐに満車になる点だ。
この記事では周辺の駐車場をいくつか紹介しておこう。すぐに満車になるが（大事なことは二度言う）。
料金は、極端に高いボッタクリのものは無かったはずだ。もちろん料金設定に差はあるが、気にしてはいけない。すぐに満車になるのだから（大事なことは（ｒｙ
書いてある順序はおすすめ順というか、車でこの順に回って行って（地図上を反時計回り）、最初に空いているところに停めるのが吉である。最安値を求めるのならこの順番にはならないはずで、上級者はアレンジしてみて欲しいし、アレンジ結果をコメントして欲しい。
https://www.fruit-parking.jp/coinparkingmap/cat462/001126.html
四つ木地区センターからの徒歩の道のりは恐らく最も近いであろう駐車場だ。駐車スペースは3台しかないので、すぐに埋まる。同じ敷地内に月極駐車場のスペースが沢山あるが、間違えてそこに停めないように。
国道6号を四つ木ランプから青戸・金町方面に行く途中で、左斜め前に入る道に逸れてから150m(体感)ほどの場所にある。
https://www.s-park.jp/map/50273
※アイパーク公式ではコインパーキングの案内をしていないっぽいので、このURLは別企業のもの。
四つ木地区センターからの直線距離では最も近い駐車場だ。6台停められるが、いつも満車なのに空車表示が出ている。バグってる。（不正な駐車方法をしている車両がよく止まっている、という可能性も考えられる）
https://www.s-park.jp/map/43495
※トーヨーパークも公式では案内をしてないっぽいので、このURLは別企業のもの。
これは前述のアイパーク四つ木第五の斜め前（北西側）に位置する駐車場だ。確か8台くらい停めれたはずだが、すぐに満車になる。たぶん一番安いと思う。
Webサイトは、非公式のものも含めて見当たらないし、Google Map にも Apple Map にも載っていない駐車場だ。Google Street View ではその存在を見ることができる。場所は、前述の「アイパーク四つ木第五」や「TOYOPARK第六」に入る細い道を、そのまま西に50mほど進んだ場所の右手にある。
住所で言うと「葛飾区四つ木4丁目29-1」ということになるらしい。駐車スペースは4台ある。
Webサイト無し。
住所で言うと「葛飾区四つ木4丁目12-18」になるらしいのだが、ここに比較的新しい（恐らく2023年営業開始した）コインパーキングがある。国道６号から前述の「フルーツパーク四つ木４丁目」に行く途中に左手に見えるのだが、入り口が一方通行の向こう側にあって辿り着けない駐車場だ。
ここに行くには、前述の「TOYOPARK第２９」を西に通り過ぎて、左手に「四つ木中学校」を見ながら進み、中学校の北西角のところで左折（もちろん左折後も左手に中学校がある）し、そのまま細い道を進んだ場所だ。
Google Street View 上では空き地、Applemapの Look Around では月極駐車場っぽい見た目（看板無し）になっている。
Webサイト無し。
住所で言うと「葛飾区宝町1丁目19-21」に相当するらしい。GoogleMap上ではちょっと位置がズレて隣戸のところに表示されている。AppleMap上には存在しない。
これは四つ木地区センターからは少し遠いが、道はとても分かりやすい。帰りにベルクスというスーパーで買い物して帰るのも一興。
住所は「東京都葛飾区宝町1-18-12」だ。7台入るらしい。筆者はここの存在をつい最近知ったばかりで、まだ停めたことも実物を見たことも無い。場所は前述のメトロパークの裏側あたりだ。
https://www.fruit-parking.jp/coinparkingmap/cat462/001227.html
前述の2件よりは四つ木地区センターに近いものの、車では入りにくい場所にあるので、巡回の想定順序では後ろに持ってきた。入り方さえわかれば便利かもしれない。
AppleMapのLookAroundでは満車の様子が見てとれるので、これだけ入りにくい場所でも満車になるというこの地域の過酷さの理解の手助けとなれば幸いだ。2018年に撮影されたというGoogleStreetViewの映像だと、4台中2台のスペースが空いている。すごい！！
https://stores.itoyokado.co.jp/153
見ての通り商業施設だ。駐車場が無料であるからこそ難しい。駐車場としてここのお世話になるのならば、家族と一緒に車で来て、家族にはこの店舗内でショッピング等を楽しんでもらっている間に自分は四つ木地区センターのお世話になる、などの道義的かつ常識的な行動が必須であると断言できる。決して、車を停めるだけの利用をしてはいけない。必ず、駐車時間に応じた常識的な金額の売上をお店に落として行こう。
なお、お店の営業時間には注意すること。時間外という理由で 入庫できない・出庫できない ことがあったとしても、お店に文句を言うのは御法度だ。
Google はそう言ってない
Is hair on a guys chest attractive?
How Much Chest Hair Should You Expose? | Men's Health
A little bit of hair plays up your manliness, the researchers suggest, without making you look too aggressive. Of course, there are women who like the clean-shaven look, but there are also women who love lots of chest hair—so don't go hard with your razor if it just isn't your thing.
Is it good to have chest hair for men?
17% of women surveyed said they prefer a man to be cleanly shaven with no chest hair. So our takeaway from this survey is that overall, women like chest hair and even find it masculine, but they want you to keep it trimmed and maintained. I'm surprised by the low percentage of women who want men to be cleanly shaven.
Researchers have found that a majority of women really do prefer a man with a smooth chest. Researchers compared the attractiveness of men before and after shaving their chest,and found only 20 percent of women preferred the more hirsute version,the Daily Mail reported.
前回の記事では日米における画像生成AIの使われ方の違いを説明しました。
雑にまとめると以下です
以下のPostが X (Twitter) で話題になっていました。
https://twitter.com/Pureevilbich/status/1751662096381587457
元の投稿は (r/TwoXChromosomes)になされたものです。
内容はインスタグラムの写真を使われてポルノ画像を作られてしまったという話です。調べてみると友人、知人に LoRAされた AIポルノを生成されたという被害はそこそこ稀にあるトラブルのようです。今回炎上しているのは警察が対応してくれないということについてです。以下翻訳：
(r/TwoXChromosomes) url:https://x.gd/gl4BT
・・・そして警察は、彼らは何もすることができないと言った。電話は４分にも満たなかった。（もちろん110ではない普通の電話だ）警察は私の名を聞くことすらしなかった。警察は私に彼らをブロックしてこれ以上接触してこないことを願いましょうと言った。まるで私がまだブロックしていないかみたいな言い草だ。
何者かは私のインスタ写真を使いAI生成に使ったのだ・・・そしてそれは気持ち悪いほどリアルに見えた
全く加工していない写真に見えた。指の形まで精巧で。まさに不気味の谷だった。私は震えていて、どうすればいいのかわからない
これが女性としての人生として受け入れろとでもいうのだろうか？
…And the police officer said they can’t do anything about it. The phone call (to the non-emergency line) lasted four minutes. He didn’t even ask for my name. He told me to block them and hope they don’t contact me again. Like I hadn’t already blocked them by the time I decided to report it.
The person had taken a photo of me from my instagram and put it though an AI generator… and it looked sickeningly realistic. It didn’t look altered at all. Even the fingers were fine. It was so uncanny-valley. I am shaking, and I don’t know what to do.
ホスティングサービスにDMCA削除通知を提出しましょう。あなたの著作権で保護された画像があなたの許可なく使用されているのです。(+2.9k)
Laws always lag far behind technology.
File a DMCA takedown notice with the hosting service. It's your copyrighted image being used without your permission, you can even sue if you want. (+ 2.9k)
AI画像生成自体は罪になりません。上記のやりとりではインスタグラムの写真を勝手に学習に使われたということで、著作権侵害として対処しようとしています。
ただし日米で法律が異なるのに注意です。
日本ではよく知られたように著作物のAI使用は広く認められています。ただし
第三十条の四
著作物は、次に掲げる場合その他の当該著作物に表現された思想又は感情を自ら享受し又は他人に享受させることを目的としない場合には、その必要と認められる限度において、いずれの方法によるかを問わず、利用することができる。ただし、当該著作物の種類及び用途並びに当該利用の態様に照らし著作権者の利益を不当に害することとなる場合は、この限りでない。
とあります。『著作権者の利益を不当に害することとなる場合』に該当すると良いのですが。そうじゃないと困る。
また、プライバシーの侵害という観点から見れば「宴のあと事件」「石に泳ぐ魚事件」などの判例をみるに民事で訴えることは可能なように思えますね。
さらにいえば、もともと日本ではポルノの扱いが厳しくてポルノ画像を公共の場に送信するのは禁止されています（猥褻物頒布罪）
なので上で話題になっている男は日本なら刑事罰で捕まるはずです。
こんなわけで、アメリカで起こっている問題がそのまま日本ですぐさま問題になるわけではありません。
日本における表現規制の厳しさに救われたようなちょっと不思議な状況ですね
あくまで現状においてですが、LoRAによるAIポルノ被害は日本では全然耳にしません。
アメリカ人はフォトリアルなポルノを作るのに対し、日本人は萌え絵を作る。
萌え絵のおかげで日本人女性はあまり被害に遭わないというちょっと不思議なおはなし。
もちろんこれはあくまで傾向です。例外はありますよ。アメリカ人にも萌え絵を生成する萌えオタはいます。また、古くはグラビアアイドルでコラ画像を作る日本人もいました。
昔はコラ画像を作る技術を持った人たちはごく一握りだったのに対し、技術を持たないアホが画像生成AIを手にしてしまったということが数々の問題を引き起こしています。
アメリカでは大量のアホがフォトリアルなエロ画像を生成しているせいで出てくる問題なわけです
逆に言い換えれば、日本にも知人でLoRAする知人の写真で追加学習させるアホが探せばいるかもしれないけれど数が少なすぎて表面化しないということですね
念のためAI画像生成絵師さん達の名誉のために書いておきますが、Pixiv等でルールを守って投稿されている方々は何のトラブルも起こしていません。生成している絵もこだわりが込められていて、使う道具が違うだけで愛があるのだと感じます。まともな人ほど静かで目に入らない、問題のあるやつほど悪目立ちするというのが話がこじれる原因ですね
一連の記事は絵師とAI絵師の対立を煽るものではないことを強調しておきます。（いちおう私は絵師の立場です）
RoLA → LoRA
あー すでにあるんですか・・・・困りましたね
