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はてなキーワード: MOTHER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
［追々記］
思ったより反応をもらえて驚いています。
id:unfallen_castle タイトルを出すこと自体ネタバレになってしまう問題
id:atlas_estrela 適応障害で休職が決まったからゲームってまかり通るんだ。社会保険料は働く人たちが負担してるんだよな。そんなことも言ったらまずいような空気っておかしいと思う。そりゃ精神障害になる人が増えるわけだわ
ストレス源から遠ざかったら少しずつやりたいことが浮かぶようになってきたので、自分に近い体験やそれを乗り越える話を遊びたくなったんだよね。
自分自身でもこんな風に具合が悪くなると思わなかった。自分も、元気なときには療養中の人がフリーライドしているような気分になっていたかもしれない。
私があなたを不快な思いをさせてしまったら、申し訳ない。こんな体験はできればしない方がいいです。こんなにつらいとは思わなかった。
どうか心と身体にはお気をつけください。
id:molmolmine ゲーム作ってる側なので適応障害になってる時にそんな鬱ゲーして大丈夫か？という気持ちになる。お大事にね。
ありがとう。優しい言葉が身にしみます。頭木弘樹さんが『絶望読書』で書いていたんだけど、弱っているときこそ、苦しい話に癒やされることってあるように感じているのです。
ゲームづくり、応援しています。いつもゲームには本当に助けてもらっています。心から感謝しています。ありがとうございます。
id:zheyang こういったゲームがどれだけ実際の精神疾患に即しているのか、精神疾患を「びっくり箱」「お化け屋敷」のように扱っているだけではないのか、疑問。
確かにエクスプロイテーションな部分もある作品もあるとも感じます。けれど、同じくらい真摯につくっているもののいっぱいあると感じています。よかったら id:otoronoki 元精神病患者からみる「Hellblade: Senua's Sacrifice」の表現https://jp.ign.com/hellblade/17457/feature/hellblade-senuas-sacrifice とご紹介いただいた、こちらのリンクもご覧ください。
みなさん、ありがとう。
「serial experiments lain」 「星空ぷらねっと」 「アリス イン ナイトメア」 「天使のいない12月」 「マイチャイルドレーベンスボルン」 「さよならをおしえて」 「車輪の国、向日葵の少女」 「Iris and the Giant」
「ヒラヒラヒヒル] 「What Happened」 「CHAOS;HEAD」 「CHAOS;CHILD」 「White Door（Rusty Lake）」 「Tell me why」 「カルティストシミュレーター」 「Dreamscaper」 「SWAN SONG」 「シュレディンガーの手（街？）」 「Shady Part of Me」 「精神病に罹患したぬいぐるみたちを治療するドイツのゲーム https://www.parapluesch.de/whiskystore/test.htm 」……
とはいえ、今は調子がいい感じなのですが、少し調子に乗るとすぐに身動きがとれなくなるので、身体と心の調子をみながら、いろいろ調べてみます。
みなさんも、どうかご安全に！
［追記］
ブコメでもらったゲームとか、思い出したものなどについても追記してみる。
現代のデジタル社会やインターネット文化に関連するテーマを扱ったビジュアルノベル風のゲーム。
ソーシャルメディアやメンタルヘルスに焦点を当てている。実況とかで面白おかしく取り上げられたりもしてたけど、にゃるらさんが書いた「承認欲求女子図鑑」を読むと、また違った角度からもゲームの解像度が深まる。好き。
OMORI
MOTHERを彷彿させる雰囲気で、世界と夢の世界を探索し、さまざまな心理的なテーマや謎を解き明かしていくRPG。戦闘は少しだるかったけど、遊んでよかった。ファングッズを買うくらい好き。
DDLC
“DDLC”は「Doki Doki Literature Club」の略称。普通のビジュアルノベルっぽいけど……楽しかったけど、今回のニーズとは確かにちょっと違うかなー。
異世界？からの脱出を試みる学園生たちのストーリーを描いた日本のRPG。ゲームのテーマは現実と理想の間の葛藤や、社会的な問題に対する反抗などのよう。フリューのRPGは何回か手を出して、いまいち楽しめなかったものの多かったので未プレイでした。俄然興味がでました。
FlyingShine制作のアダルトゲーム。群青学院の放送部を舞台とした学園モノ。劇中で同じ時間を何度も繰り返す「ループもの」に該当するよう。（アダルトゲームには疎いのであまり知らないものが多いんだと思いました。全年齢版もあるのですね）
未プレイでした。
そういえば昔、沙耶の唄は遊びました。高次脳機能障害？認知機能障害？がテーマの一つに感じられて楽しかった。アダルトゲームは確かに病いに関連する作品も多そう。
上に天井がある。
ストレスを抱えた少女が、天井を探検しようとする短編心理アドベンチャー。
［追記終わり］
精神障害をテーマにしたゲームが好き。ただ、適応障害とかバーンアウトをテーマにしたゲームが思いつかない。
実は今月から適応障害で休職が決まった。自分の体験に近いゲームがしたい。そんなゲームがしたい。
以下は、知っていたり、触ったりしてきたゲーム。
Hellblade: Senua’s Sacrifice
主人公センアが幻覚や幻聴に苦しむ過程を通じて、統合失調症に関連する体験を描写。有名。
The Town of Light
1930年代から40年代のイタリアの精神病院を舞台に、主人公が自身の過去を探る過程で精神疾患に関するテーマが描かれる。
Night in the Woods
大学を中退し、故郷に戻った若者メイが自身のうつ病や不安と向き合う過程を描いています。物語の中で、彼女の精神的な苦悩が深く描かれています。気になっているけど、未プレイ。
Celeste
主人公のマデリンが山を登る物語を通じて、うつ病や不安といった精神的な障壁を乗り越える過程が描かれます。ゲームの難易度とテーマが巧妙にリンクして、大好き。
Milk inside a bag of milk inside a bag of milk
Neverending Nightmares
4PM
主人公がアルコール依存症を抱えながら過ごす一日を描いたインタラクティブな短編。短編だけど、結構印象に残った。
うつ病の部屋
うつ病を患う主人公の話。マウスが重くなる演出が好き。ゲームでゲームを喩えるのもアレだけど、フローレンス的なゲーム。
アルコール依存症とその影響をテーマにし、子供の視点から家族の困難な状況を描いている。アルコール依存症の影響とそれに対する親子の葛藤をどう克服するかについてを描いている。好き。
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qp9PL4EbWi4
@Musicombo
I DM'd Shogo Sakai on Twitter asking about the meter of Strong One recently, and he told me he was thinking of Strong One in terms of additive time signatures: 3/4 + 3/8 + 1/4 + 1.5/4 (spicy!)
It makes sense when you're focusing on the pulses in the combos driving the time signatures by themselves, but it also affirms the idea that Shogo Sakai was thinking about decently "regular"/"clean" meters, and therefore 15/8 and 29/16 kinda fit those conventional vibes.
For even more context by the way, the mp2k/Sappy sound engine -- the engine sent out to GBA devs by Nintendo which was used for Gen. III Pokémon and MOTHER 3 -- has a tempo "resolution" of 2 BPM, meaning the next smallest tempo change above 120 BPM Sappy supports is 122 BPM, not 121 BPM.
Also, excellent job accounting for the 3:5 16ths tuplet at the end of (Masked Man)
タイトル通り。
好きなゲームはゼルダ（全部）、シレン（N64〜）、MOTHERシリーズ、ドラクエ、ドラクエモンスターズ、アンダーテール、ロックマンエグゼシリーズ、ぱわぷろくんポケット。
やったことがあったり内容が分かったりで話せるゲームはカービィシリーズ、スマブラシリーズ、ピクミンシリーズ、マリオシリーズ、昔のFF、スプラトゥーン、ポケモン等。
忙しい時間をぬって自分の見た目が美しくなる方向に課金するのが趣味のように感じる。
美容室、服を見る買う、美容医療、アクセサリー、ネイル、バッグ…
自分も女なので周りから浮かない程度には課金するけど正直こんなことに時間とお金使うのが苦痛。
趣味聞かれたときゲームって正直に答えると「…えっ…？」みたいな反応になる。
たまに子供の園のお父さんとゲームの話で盛り上がるけど、大体その奥さんはゲームしないし周りの目があるのであんま仲良くするわけにもいかない。
最近こんなゲームしてるとか聴きたい。こんなゲームが面白いらしいとか話したい。
誰か私の友達になって。
タイトル通り。
好きなゲームはゼルダ（全部）、シレン（N64〜）、MOTHERシリーズ、ドラクエ、ドラクエモンスターズ、アンダーテール、ロックマンエグゼシリーズ、ぱわぷろくんポケット。
やったことがあったり内容が分かったりで話せるゲームはカービィシリーズ、スマブラシリーズ、ピクミンシリーズ、マリオシリーズ、昔のFF、スプラトゥーン、ポケモン等。
忙しい時間をぬって自分の見た目が美しくなる方向に課金するのが趣味のように感じる。
美容室、服を見る買う、美容医療、アクセサリー、ネイル、バッグ…
自分も女なので周りから浮かない程度には課金するけど正直こんなことに時間とお金使うのが苦痛。
趣味聞かれたときゲームって正直に答えると「…えっ…？」みたいな反応になる。
たまに子供の園のお父さんとゲームの話で盛り上がるけど、大体その奥さんはゲームしないし周りの目があるのであんま仲良くするわけにもいかない。
最近こんなゲームしてるとか聴きたい。こんなゲームが面白いらしいとか話したい。
誰か私の友達になって。
Media made us restrict our movements during COVID-19, and it had a very big impact. I checked Twitter and TV every day to see how many people were getting COVID-19, being hospitalized, and dying. Japanese TV showed videos of people on artificial respirators in hospitals, which was shocking and made me afraid to go out. I worried that if I got COVID-19, I would end up in the hospital on a respirator and might die. After watching those shows, I couldn't watch regular news on TV because I was so scared of COVID-19.
I stayed home for a long time, but I caught the virus from my father in September 2023. He had been coughing a lot since 2020 because of another disease, so I thought it was just that. But in the middle of September, his cough sounded different, so I thought it might be COVID-19. I was planning to go to Canada at that time, but things turned out badly. Both my mother and I got COVID-19 and had a very tough time. It was hard to breathe, but after a month, my symptoms weren't as bad. I didn't need to be hospitalized. I think that sometimes watching social media or TV can give us negative information that restricts our movements, but in this case, it was too much.
Everyone been wondering why Yonezu (last name) Kenshi (first name) is wearing the heeled shoes. In one of his interviews he said that once he dreamed a funeral. Everyone was sad, but suddenly someone in the first line started to whistle loudly, in a way that annoyed the other people. They all started to say that he wasn't respecting the dead person because he wasn't being in silence for him, but Kenshi knew that the man whistling was communicating with the dead one. That was their own unique way to recognize each other. Maybe the others will think you're crazy or something negative, but it won't change the love that the whistling man has for his dead friend. Turns out that Kenshi got inspired by this dream so in the sing he wore heeled shoes, because he wants to let us know that he doesn't care what others say, it's his special way to express himself, because Kenshi was affected by High-functioning Autism which brought him to be smarter than the average, but he couldn't handle with social relationships, that's why he never had many friends since a young age and everyone made fun of him because of his character.
米津（姓）ケンシ（名）がなぜヒールの靴を履いているのか、誰もが不思議に思っていることだろう。
彼はあるインタビューで、葬式の夢を見たことがあると言っていた。みんな悲しんでいたのに、突然一列目の誰かが、他の人たちを困らせるような大きな口笛を吹き始めた。
彼らは皆、口笛を吹いているのは死者に敬意を払っていない、死者のために黙っているのではない、と言い始めた。それが彼ら独自の認識方法だったのだ。
もしかしたら、他の人からは頭がおかしいとか否定的な見方をされるかもしれないが、口笛を吹いている男が死んだ友人を愛していることに変わりはない。
というのも、ケンシは高機能自閉症の影響を受けていて、平均よりも頭がいいのだが、社会的な人間関係をうまくこなすことができなかった。
This made Kenshi very sad and from then on he started to hate himself because of his very uncommon name (in Japan there aren't many people that have Yonezu as last name and no one, but Yonezu Kenshi, is called Kenshi or the spelling is similar, plus it sounds like a stage name as well) he thought he was strange and weird, an uncommon person who shouldn't have existed (in fact in Japan there is a very strong will to follow the mass, which means if the greater part of girls have bangs, then the girls without bangs will try to have them or if they remain what they are, they might be isolated because different from the rest of the population). But Kenshi to make us, his fans, satisfied, he decided to collaborate with many people in the 2017 like the animators for MHA, DAOKO and Suda Masaki.
このことがケンシをとても悲しくさせ、それ以来ケンシは自分の名前の珍しさ（日本では米津を名字に持つ人は少ないし、米津ケンシ以外はケンシと呼ばないし、スペルも似ていない、 存在しないはずの珍しい人（実際、日本では大衆に従おうとする意志が非常に強い。つまり、前髪のある女の子が多ければ、前髪のない女の子も前髪を作ろうとするし、前髪のないままだと、他の人とは違うという理由で孤立するかもしれない）。しかし、ケンシは私たちファンを満足させるために、MHAのアニメーターやDAOKO、菅田将暉など、2017年に活躍した多くの人々とのコラボレーションを決めた。
He changed during his musical career, like the time he was still Hachi (ハチ) and he felt somehow lost in all of his fame, so he made this song wearing heeled shoes and then the next song, Flamingo, is very different from Lemon because many people started to listen and to know him after Lemon, but he wanted to know what they would think if Kenshi changed the rhythm and the kind, turns out that many of them were attracted by Lemon and they didn't like Flamingo, but they still subbed to Kenshi's YouTube channel. Thank you for reading all of this, English isn't my mother language so I'm sorry for the mistakes and as always, have a nice day :D
彼は音楽活動の中で変わっていった。例えば、彼がまだハチだった頃、有名になることにどこか迷いを感じて、ヒールのある靴を履いてこの曲を作った、 というのも、多くの人がLemonの後にKenshiを聴き始め、知るようになったからだ。しかし、彼はKenshiがリズムや種類を変えたらどう思うかを知りたかった。英語は母国語ではないので、間違いがあってごめんなさい。
Edit: You can find a video summary of Yonezu Kenshi's life and all of his interviews, it's in Mandarin tho. I hope you have a good translator to understand what he's saying.
米津建志の人生とインタビューの要約ビデオを見ることができます。彼が何を言っているのか理解するために、良い翻訳者がいることを願う。
直訳版
A long time ago, in a certain country, there was a bastard named Cinderella. The reason why she is called Cinderella is because she sprinkled her own ashes on her own head at her mother's funeral, which led to her being called the ash-coverer, which is why her real name is Cinderella. I lost
The husband who lost his wife was also a bastard, and the day after the funeral he cheated on a woman three years younger than him, had sex with her, and even got married.
I have decided. Then, to her Cinderella
She now has an older sister and a younger sister who are not related by blood.
Her sister was a bitch too, she came to Cinderella's house
After a few days, she thought, ``Wouldn't it be more convenient to have an outbuilding?'' and cut down Cinderella's mother's grave in her garden and the hundreds of years old tree that was next to her grave, and built an outbuilding. We forced construction.
One day, the bastard's family receives news of a ball from the castle. But before Cinderella could read it, her sister broke the news and said, ``There's no way you can go.'' Cinderella didn't seem to have any intention of going either, saying, ``I had no intention of going in the first place.I'd rather go to hell.''
Then, on the day her mother was admitted to the hospital to give birth, her sister went to the ball. In the garden, the construction of an outbuilding was progressing as usual.
“Let’s light a fire here and make a bonfire.”
She thought about that, but Cinderella stopped her. Suddenly, a witch appeared
``Cinderella, why aren't you going to the ball?'' asked the witch.
"What's the point of telling Teme?"
Cinderella returned with an ax in her hand
Then, for some reason, Cinderella was wrapped in a jewel-like dress.
"If you don't go to the ball, that dress will kill you. Now go."
Cinderella doesn't want to die in a place like this, so she reluctantly decides to go to the castle.
In the castle, some asshole like her sister was looking for a one-night stand and was dancing wildly. No one really praised others, and in their hearts they all seemed to think that they were the center of the world.
Cinderella didn't dance, but killed her time by smoking a cigarette at the end of her room. There, she was approached by a man wearing formal clothes that were flashier and more expensive than anyone else, and said to her, ``Miss, won't you dance?''
She is Cinderella with a cigarette in her mouth
She said, ``I only dance with the Grim Reaper and bad luck.''
she answered. For some reason, the man fell in love with her at first sight, and she said, ``Let's have some fun in the other room.Here, come.'' She tried to force Cinderella to take her to another room in the castle. However, Cinderella pressed the cigarette she was holding into her hand.
"Her hand slipped," she laughed.
When she pressed the cigarette, the sound in her voice was so pitiful that no one tried to get close to him or dance with him. Of course, no one even knows that such a pitiful man is the prince who owns this castle.
Eventually, she had enough, Cinderella threw her shoes on her stairs and went back to her house in her bare feet. Her shoes were made of glass, so they shattered into pieces.
The next day, while her servant was cleaning the castle, she found one shoe on the stairs. Obviously thinking this was strange, she secretly examined her shoes and discovered that they had been smeared with a deadly amount of poison.
Rumors spread within the castle that this must be an attempt to kill the prince, and soon a large-scale investigation was conducted. Even though it's a survey, it's simple.
The idea was to create a replica of a shoe and imprison the person who matched it perfectly as a suspect.
And one after another, people were imprisoned just because of their size. Some of them had not been to the ball, but they thought it must be a lie and were forcibly taken away.
Eventually, an investigation came to Cinderella's house. That's when we all looked at her mother and child after she was discharged from the hospital, and of course her sister didn't fit.
So all that was left was Cinderella. Then, her sister said to Cinderella, ``Hell suits you better than this world.''
She was of course the perfect size for Cinderella.
However, she protested her innocence, saying that I hadn't gone to the ball and there was no dress anywhere in the house to prove it.
However, the prince showed him an empty pack of cigarettes that had been discarded in a trash can and said, ``This is the same brand that the criminal was smoking that time.Why?''
I unbuttoned all the buttons on her jacket.
She said, ``After all, I feel like dancing with the Grim Reaper. Right, little prince?'' she said.
By the time the princes realized it, it was already too late.
The grenade that fell at his feet blew up Cinderella and the prince.
The time was around noon. Bells rang throughout the city and residents prayed for lunch.
The flying fragments of the shoe became a weapon, a sad fragment that could only hurt someone, and no one could imagine its original form.
end
What you say is useless for English as a lingua franca.
People from various countries may pronounce English with accents which come from their own mother tongue, make English sentences obviously translated from other languages.
It's one of the reason why Japanese people "cannot" speak English that there are many Japanese people say "native speakers don't say it like that"
