「Sister」を含む日記

■anond:20240721134326

14本ですね。

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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

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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.

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■anond:20240326163951

Big sister is watching you

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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?''

Then Cinderella grinned and

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

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■anond:20240120164417

エスとは、特に戦前の、日本の少女・女学生同士の強い絆を描いた文学、または現実の友好関係。sisterの頭文字からきた隠語である。

エス (文化) - Wikipedia

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■anond:20231118170542

• Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid→明日に向って撃て！
• Dr. Strangelove→博士の異常な愛情
• Sister Act→天使にラブ・ソングを…
• Arlington Road→隣人は静かに笑う
• Basic Instinct→氷の微笑
• Total Eclipse→太陽と月に背いて
• 英雄本色→男たちの挽歌
• 重慶森林→恋する惑星

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■英訳　about the #Berbenheimer issue

anond:20230801140703

DeepLで勝手に英訳をしてみた。

勝手にごめん。元増田が嫌であれば消す。

Various things that really need to be said about the #Berbenheimer issue

In a discussion about the case, someone raised an objection to "someone who was not a party to the incident, who was not from Nagasaki, and who was not from Hiroshima, complaining about it. Seeing that opinion made me aware of my position, so I will say what I must say.

I was born in Nagasaki and am a third-generation A-bomb survivor.

I say this because I grew up hearing the stories of the A-bomb damage directly from those who suffered from the atomic bombings.

I feel that it is unacceptable for someone like me to speak about the A-bomb damage.

However, there are few A-bomb survivors left, so I will speak up.

In Nagasaki, children grow up hearing stories about the atomic bombing. We were made to sit in the gymnasium of an elementary school in the middle of summer, where there was not even an air conditioner or a fan, and for nearly an hour we were made to listen to stories about the atomic bombing. It was hard for me anyway.

I think it was even more painful for the elderly people who told the stories. But I don't think an elementary school kid could have imagined that. I, too, have forgotten most of the stories I was told. I can only remember one or two at most.

Another thing is that at this time of year, pictures of the victims of the atomic bombing are pasted up in the hallways.

In other parts of the country, these are grotesque images that would cause a fuss from the parents who are always nagging about them.

Recently, even the A-bomb museum has become more gentle in its exhibits, and most of the radical and horrifying exhibits that would have traumatized visitors have been removed.

I don't know how elementary schools now teach about the A-bomb damage. But when I was in elementary school, there were photos on display.

There was one photo that I just couldn't face as an elementary school student. It was a picture of Taniguchi Sumiteru(谷口稜曄). If you search for it, you can find it. It is a shocking picture, but I would still like you to see it.

I couldn't pass through the hallway where the photo was displayed, so I always took the long way around to another floor to avoid seeing the photo.

My grandfather was under the bomb and went to the burnt ruins of the bomb to look for his sister. I can understand now that he couldn't turn away or go another way.

There would have been a mountain of people still alive and moaning in the ruins of the burnt ruins. There would have been many more who would have died out in agony.

My grandfather walked for miles and miles, towing a rear wheelchair, through the narrow streets of rubble-strewn Nagasaki in search of his sister.

My grandfather was not a child then. But of course there were elementary school children who did the same thing he did. I am not speculating that there were. There were. I heard the story from him, and I still remember it.

A young brother and sister found their father's corpse in the ruins of the fire and burned it themselves. They didn't have enough wood to burn him alive, and when they saw his brain spilling out, they ran away, and that was the last time they ever saw him again.

I can never forget that story I heard when I was a kid, and even now it's painful and painful, my hands are shaking and I'm crying.

I keep wondering how that old man who ran away from his father's brain was able to expose to the public the unimaginably horrible trauma, the scar that will never heal, even after all these years.

Now I think I understand a little.

Why I can't help but talk about my grandfather and the old man now, even as I remember my own trauma.

Because this level of suffering is nothing compared to their words being forgotten.

It's nothing compared to the tremendous suffering that once existed that will be forgotten, like my hands shaking, my heart palpitating, my nose running with vertigo, and so on.

So maybe it's the same thing.

My grandfather, who went through an unimaginable hell, lived to see his grandchildren born, and met his sister's death in the ruins of the fire.

In other words, my grandfather was one of the happiest people in the ruins of the fire.

My grandfather and that old man were, after all, just people wading in the depths of hell.

I think that the suffering that even people who had experienced unimaginable pain could not imagine was lying like pebbles on the ground in Nagasaki 78 years ago, and no one paid any attention to it.

Their suffering, which I can't even imagine, is nothing compared to the countless, unimaginable suffering they witnessed, which they pretend never happened.

Memories fade inexorably with each passing human mouth. The memories that those people could never allow to be forgotten are almost forgotten.

The tremendous suffering of 78 years ago is mostly gone, never to be recounted.

Those who suffered the most from the atomic bombing died rotting in the ruins of the fire without being able to tell anyone about it.

Many of those who saw it with their own eyes kept their mouths shut and took it with them to their graves. Most of those who spoke a few words are still in their graves.

Compared to the words of the old men, my own words are so light. I would rather keep my mouth shut than speak in such light words.

But still, someone has to take over. I realize that even my words, which are so light, are only the top of the voices that are left in this world to carry on the story of the atomic bombing.

I know how it feels to think that I am the only one. Still, I hope that you will not shut your mouth. I know that I have closed my mouth because I thought I shouldn't talk about it, and that is the result.

Sometimes I almost choose to stop imagining the unimaginable suffering and live my life consuming other people's suffering for fun.

I am writing this while I still have some imagination of the suffering of the old people whose voices, faces, and even words I can no longer recall.

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■anond:20230801140703

すまん。勝手に翻訳した。拡散はどうするかな。redditとかに投稿するのがいいのか?

----

I have seen some posts asking if they should talk about "the case" even though they were not involved in it and were not born in Nagasaki or Hiroshima, and I am a bit aware of it, so I have to say what I have to say. I say this because I was born in Nagasaki, am a third generation atomic bomb survivor, and grew up hearing the stories of those who experienced the atomic bombing firsthand. I know it's a little bit too much for me, but I'm going to say this because there are very few survivors left.

In Nagasaki, children grow up hearing stories about the atomic bombing. They were stuffed into sushi for nearly an hour in the gymnasium of an elementary school in the middle of summer, with no air conditioner or fan, and told stories about the atomic bombing. That was a hard time for me. I think it must have been even harder for the old people who told the stories, but there was no way an elementary school kid could imagine such a thing, and I had forgotten most of the stories I had been told for a long time. I have forgotten most of the stories I was told. I can only remember one or two at most. There is one more hard thing. Every year around this time, a row of grotesque images that would drive the PTA crazy in other areas are prominently displayed in the hallways. These days, I hear that the atomic bomb museum has been bleached out and many of the radical and horrifying exhibits that traumatized visitors have been taken down. I don't know if they are still there, but they were there when I was in elementary school.

There was one photo that I just couldn't face when I was in elementary school. It is a picture of Sumiteru Taniguchi. If you search for it, you can find it. It is a shocking picture, but I would like you to take a look at it. I couldn't pass through the hallway where the photo was posted, so I always took the long way around to another floor of the school building to avoid seeing the photo.

Now I'm thinking that my grandfather, who headed into the burnt ruins to look for his sister, couldn't have turned away or taken a different path. There would have been a mountain of people still alive and moaning, not just pictures, and a mountain more who would have given up at the end of their suffering. He walked for miles and miles, towing his handcart through the narrow streets of rubble-strewn Nagasaki in search of his sister. My grandfather was not a child at the time, but of course there were children who did similar things. Not that there wouldn't have been. There were. I heard the story from him, and I still remember it. A young brother and sister found their father's body in the ruins of a fire and they burned it. They didn't have enough wood to burn his body, and when they saw the raw brain that spilled out, they ran away and that was the last time they ever saw him anymore.

I can never forget the story I heard when I was a kid, and even now it is painful and painful, my hands are shaking and I am crying. I keep wondering how the old man who escaped from that father's brain could have been able to unravel the most horrible trauma imaginable and expose it to the public with scars that will never heal.

Now I think I can understand a little.

The reason I can't help but talk about my grandfather and that old man, even if I have to rehash my own trauma, is that this level of suffering is nothing compared to the fact that their words will be forgotten. My hands shaking, my heart palpitating and dizzy, my nose running with tears, it's nothing compared to the tremendous suffering that was once there and will be forgotten.

So maybe it's the same thing.

My grandfather, who went through an unimaginable hell, lived to see his grandchildren born, and met his sister's death in the ruins of the fire. In other words, my grandfather was one of the happiest people in the ruins of the fire. My grandfather and that old man were, after all, just people wading in the depths of hell. I think that the suffering that even people who had experienced unimaginable pain could not imagine was lying like pebbles in Nagasaki 78 years ago, and no one paid any attention to it. Their suffering, which I can't even imagine, is nothing compared to the countless, tremendous suffering they witnessed, which they pretend never happened.

Memories fade inexorably every time people talk about them. The memories that those people could not allow to be forgotten are now largely forgotten; the tremendous suffering of 78 years ago is mostly gone, never to be recounted again. Those who suffered the most from the atomic bombing died rotting in the ruins of the fire, unable to tell anyone about it. Many of those who saw it with their own eyes kept their mouths shut and took it with them to their graves. Most of those who spoke a few words are now under the grave.

Compared to the words of the old men, my own words are so light. I would rather keep my mouth shut than speak in such light words. But still, someone has to take over. I realize that even my words, which are so light, are only the top of the voices that are left in this world to carry on the story of the atomic bombing. I know how it feels to wonder if someone like myself is allowed to speak about this. Still, I hope that you will not shut your mouth. This is the result of our silence.

Sometimes I almost choose to stop imagining the unimaginable suffering and live my life consuming other people's suffering for the fun of it. I am writing this while I still have some imagination of the suffering of the old people whose voices, faces, and even words I can no longer recall.

Translator's note: The original post in Japanese is a response to a post by a Japanese contributor who wondered if he was qualified to speak out on the subject of the A-bomb when he was not from Hiroshima and Nagasaki, but still spoke out about Barbie and the A-bomb. I translated it here because I think it deserves to be read by the world.

Permalink | 記事への反応(2) | 23:26

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■anond:20230801140703

ai翻訳

I must talk about various things regarding the Barbie incident.

I saw a post about it from someone who is neither directly involved nor from Nagasaki or Hiroshima, and it made me realize that there are things I must say.

I was born in Nagasaki and grew up listening to stories from the survivors, being a third-generation survivor myself. Most survivors are no longer with us, so I feel compelled to speak up.

In Nagasaki, kids grow up hearing about the atomic bomb. We were packed like sushi in a gymnasium without air conditioning or even fans during the scorching summer, and we listened to stories about the bomb. It was incredibly tough for me.

I imagine it was even harder for the elderly who spoke about their experiences. As a child, I couldn't fully comprehend their pain, and now, I can hardly remember most of the stories I heard. I can only recall one or two.

Every year during this time, gruesome images that would make PTA elsewhere go crazy were displayed in the hallways. I heard that many of the horrifying exhibits that used to traumatize visitors at the Atomic Bomb Museum have been removed, and the museum has been considerably sanitized. I'm not sure about the current situation, but that's how it was when I was there.

There was one photograph that I could never bear to look at as a child – a picture of Tadashi Taniguchi. You can find it if you search, but it's a shocking image with a viewer discretion warning. Still, I want people to see it.

I couldn't walk down the hallway where that photo was displayed, and I always took a different route, avoiding it so I wouldn't have to see it.

Now, I think of my grandpa who went to the ruins to search for my sister. He couldn't look away or take a different path. The pain must have been unimaginable.

Besides photographs, there were many living people moaning in pain back then, and there must have been even more who succumbed to suffering.

My grandpa walked for miles, pulling a handcart through the debris-laden streets of Nagasaki, searching for my sister.

Even though my grandpa was not a child, I'm sure there were elementary school kids who did similar things. I don't just think they might have been there; they were there. I heard the stories from the people themselves, and I still remember them.

I can't forget the stories I heard as a child, such as the young siblings finding their father's burnt corpse in the ruins and cremating him. They didn't have enough firewood, and their father ended up half-burnt. They ran away after seeing the brain tissue oozing out, and that became their final farewell.

I can never forget those stories I heard as a child, and even now, they still bring pain and suffering, making my hands tremble and tears flow.

I wonder how my grandpa, who ran away from that father's brain tissue, could expose his unimaginable trauma and everlasting scars to the world.

Now, I feel like I understand a little.

Even someone like me, who experienced such unimaginable trauma, has gone through pain that I can't even imagine being compared to being discarded, forgotten, and ignored. Compared to what those people experienced, my suffering means nothing.

My trembling hands and the palpitations and dizziness I experienced are nothing compared to the tremendous pain that many others went through.

Memories fade irreversibly every time they pass through people's lips. The memories that I couldn't bear to be forgotten are almost forgotten now.

The unimaginable pain that existed 78 years ago has mostly disappeared, and we can no longer pass it on.

The people who suffered the most from the atomic bomb perished in the ruins, rotting away without being able to convey it to anyone.

Even those who saw it with their own eyes mostly took the memories with them to their graves. Most of them are now under the tombstones.

Compared to the words of the elderly, my words seem so light. I think that speaking with such light words would be better than keeping silent, as silence has led to this result.

I feel like I might occasionally choose to stop imagining the unimaginable pain and consume the suffering of others in an amusing way to live on.

Before I forget the pain and suffering of those elderly people, whose faces and voices I can no longer recall, I will leave this here.

Permalink | 記事への反応(0) | 19:14

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■その服本当にいるのか？

最近ずっとSHEINでしか服買ってなかった。欲しい。

見た目が最高にかわいいワンピース。

一生リモートワークで平日はまず外に出ない。出るとしてもスーパー行くだけ。

すっぴん眼鏡なのでそれに相応しい服装しかできない。かわいいワンピース着るにはメイク髪型を相応にする必要性あり。

つまり着る時は近所ではなくある程度街に行く時。

街に行く用事は、舞台やコンサート行く時くらい。友達はいない。

月に1度か2度。

そのために買う。いや良くない！？

すんごい可愛めワンピなのであと何年着れるか。

同世代の女はまず着ないだろう趣味。ずっとそういう服を着て生きていくつもりだったが、ほうれい線やたるみが出たらもうさすがに無理かもしれない。

メイク髪型が服にあっていないのと同じで、顔が服に合わなくなるので。

今はまだギリギリいける。

いけるうちに買っていけるうちに着とけ！

でもSHEINで買った服、まだ一回も着てない服多い。

一体いつ着るんだ。

そもそも外に行く用事が少ないのが悪い？

外に行くと異常にお金かかる。

交通費と食べたくもない食事。何もやることないのに。

もっと美術展とか行くか。

いや真夏だぞ。日焼けしたくないし疲れるし。

服を着る機会を増やすために外に行くのは本末転倒？

いや何で転倒前提なんだ？

楽しくお出かけすりゃいいだろう。

何のためにお金稼いでるんだ？

稼いでるって言っても稼いでないんだよなぁ。

金はない。

でも月に3回くらい遊びにいくのはよくない？

いやほんとうに遊びにいきたいか？

外に行く暇あったら絵と漫画を描きたい度が正直高い。

最近漫画のレベルあがってきた。楽しい。

早く完成させたい。

一生外でないやん。

バランスよく生きたらいいのに…

何の話だっけ？

ワンピース買うか買わないかか。

いや、もうそれは買えばよくないか？

家で着るか？

絶対嫌だな。

部屋着、かわいいのを買えばいいんじゃないか？

そうかも。

ワンピも部屋着も欲しいな。

そんな服にばかり物欲を向けてどうするんだろう。

でも、かわいい服を着るの幸せだからな。

うーん。

どうしようか。結論出ないけど、感情的にはもう8割欲しい。

ごちゃごちゃ考えてないで買うか。

感情の前に理性なんかいらんやろ。

前にsister janeの欲しかったワンピ売り切れて泣いたしいまだに後悔してるもんな。

後悔引きずるくらいなら買う。買え。買うぞ。

-----

追記

買った！！！！！！！！！

Permalink | 記事への反応(1) | 12:58

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■アメリカの教会リーダーが臨死体験でイエスの生涯を目撃する話

https://www.churchofjesuschrist.org/study/general-conference/1989/10/the-sacrament-and-the-sacrifice?lang=eng

The Sacrament—and the Sacrifice

By Elder David B. Haight

Of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles

I pray for your faith and prayers that my utterances will be received and understood “by the Spirit of truth” and that my expressions will be given “by the Spirit of truth” so that we might all be “edified and rejoice together.” (See D&C 50:21–22.)

As I stand here today—a well man—words of gratitude and acknowledgment of divine intervention are so very inadequate in expressing the feelings in my soul.

Six months ago at the April general conference, I was excused from speaking as I was convalescing from a serious operation. My life has been spared, and I now have the pleasant opportunity of acknowledging the blessings, comfort, and ready aid of my Brethren in the First Presidency and Quorum of the Twelve, and other wonderful associates and friends to whom I owe so much and who surrounded my dear wife, Ruby, and my family with their time, attention, and prayers. For the inspired doctors and thoughtful nurses I express my deepest gratitude, and for the thoughtful letters and messages of faith and hope received from many places in the world, many expressing, “You have been in our prayers” or “We have been asking our Heavenly Father to spare your life.” Your prayers and mine, thankfully, have been answered.

One unusual card caused me to ponder upon the majesty of it all. It is an original painting by Arta Romney Ballif of the heavens at night with its myriad golden stars. Her caption, taken from Psalms, reads:

“Praise ye the Lord: …

“He healeth the broken in heart, and bindeth up their wounds.

“He telleth the number of the stars; he calleth them all by their names.

“… His understanding is infinite.” (Ps. 147:1, 3–5.)

As I lay in the hospital bed, I meditated on all that had happened to me and studied the contemplative painting by President Marion G. Romney’s sister and the lines from Psalms: “He telleth the number of the stars; he calleth them all by their names.” I was then—and continue to be—awed by the goodness and majesty of the Creator, who knows not only the names of the stars but knows your name and my name—each of us as His sons and daughters.

The psalmist, David, wrote:

“When I consider thy heavens, the work of thy fingers, the moon and the stars, which thou hast ordained;

“What is man, that thou art mindful of him? …

“For thou hast made him a little lower than the angels, and hast crowned him with glory and honour.” (Ps. 8:3–5.)

To be remembered is a wonderful thing.

The evening of my health crisis, I knew something very serious had happened to me. Events happened so swiftly—the pain striking with such intensity, my dear Ruby phoning the doctor and our family, and I on my knees leaning over the bathtub for support and some comfort and hoped relief from the pain. I was pleading to my Heavenly Father to spare my life a while longer to give me a little more time to do His work, if it was His will.

While still praying, I began to lose consciousness. The siren of the paramedic truck was the last that I remembered before unconsciousness overtook me, which would last for the next several days.

The terrible pain and commotion of people ceased. I was now in a calm, peaceful setting; all was serene and quiet. I was conscious of two persons in the distance on a hillside, one standing on a higher level than the other. Detailed features were not discernible. The person on the higher level was pointing to something I could not see.

I heard no voices but was conscious of being in a holy presence and atmosphere. During the hours and days that followed, there was impressed again and again upon my mind the eternal mission and exalted position of the Son of Man. I witness to you that He is Jesus the Christ, the Son of God, Savior to all, Redeemer of all mankind, Bestower of infinite love, mercy, and forgiveness, the Light and Life of the world. I knew this truth before—I had never doubted nor wondered. But now I knew, because of the impressions of the Spirit upon my heart and soul, these divine truths in a most unusual way.

I was shown a panoramic view of His earthly ministry: His baptism, His teaching, His healing the sick and lame, the mock trial, His crucifixion, His resurrection and ascension. There followed scenes of His earthly ministry to my mind in impressive detail, confirming scriptural eyewitness accounts. I was being taught, and the eyes of my understanding were opened by the Holy Spirit of God so as to behold many things.

The first scene was of the Savior and His Apostles in the upper chamber on the eve of His betrayal. Following the Passover supper, He instructed and prepared the sacrament of the Lord’s Supper for His dearest friends as a remembrance of His coming sacrifice. It was so impressively portrayed to me—the overwhelming love of the Savior for each. I witnessed His thoughtful concern for significant details—the washing of the dusty feet of each Apostle, His breaking and blessing of the loaf of dark bread and blessing of the wine, then His dreadful disclosure that one would betray Him.

He explained Judas’s departure and told the others of the events soon to take place.

Then followed the Savior’s solemn discourse when He said to the Eleven: “These things I have spoken unto you, that in me ye might have peace. In the world ye shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world.” (John 16:33.)

Our Savior prayed to His Father and acknowledged the Father as the source of His authority and power—even to the extending of eternal life to all who are worthy.

He prayed, “And this is life eternal, that they might know thee the only true God, and Jesus Christ, whom thou hast sent.”

Jesus then reverently added:

“I have glorified thee on the earth: I have finished the work which thou gavest me to do.

“And now, O Father, glorify thou me with thine own self with the glory which I had with thee before the world was.” (John 17:3–5.)

He pled not only for the disciples called out from the world who had been true to their testimony of Him, “but for them also which shall believe on me through their word.” (John 17:20.)

When they had sung a hymn, Jesus and the Eleven went out to the Mount of Olives. There, in the garden, in some manner beyond our comprehension, the Savior took upon Himself the burden of the sins of mankind from Adam to the end of the world. His agony in the garden, Luke tells us, was so intense “his sweat was as … great drops of blood falling … to the ground.” (Luke 22:44.) He suffered an agony and a burden the like of which no human person would be able to bear. In that hour of anguish our Savior overcame all the power of Satan.

The glorified Lord revealed to Joseph Smith this admonition to all mankind:

“Therefore I command you to repent …

“For … I, God, … suffered … for all, that they might not suffer if they would repent; …

“Which suffering caused myself, even God, the greatest of all, to tremble because of pain, and to bleed at every pore, …

“Wherefore, I command you again to repent, lest I humble you with my almighty power; and that you confess your sins, lest you suffer these punishments.” (D&C 19:15–16, 18, 20.)

During those days of unconsciousness I was given, by the gift and power of the Holy Ghost, a more perfect knowledge of His mission. I was also given a more complete understanding of what it means to exercise, in His name, the authority to unlock the mysteries of the kingdom of heaven for the salvation of all who are faithful. My soul was taught over and over again the events of the betrayal, the mock trial, the scourging of the flesh of even one of the Godhead. I witnessed His struggling up the hill in His weakened condition carrying the cross and His being stretched upon it as it lay on the ground, that the crude spikes could be driven with a mallet into His hands and wrists and feet to secure His body as it hung on the cross for public display.

Crucifixion—the horrible and painful death which He suffered—was chosen from the beginning. By that excruciating death, He descended below all things, as is recorded, that through His resurrection He would ascend above all things. (See D&C 88:6.)

Jesus Christ died in the literal sense in which we will all die. His body lay in the tomb. The immortal spirit of Jesus, chosen as the Savior of mankind, went to those myriads of spirits who had departed mortal life with varying degrees of righteousness to God’s laws. He taught them the “glorious tidings of redemption from the bondage of death, and of possible salvation, … [which was] part of [our] Savior’s foreappointed and unique service to the human family.” (James E. Talmage, Jesus the Christ, Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Co., 1977, p. 671.)

I cannot begin to convey to you the deep impact that these scenes have confirmed upon my soul. I sense their eternal meaning and realize that “nothing in the entire plan of salvation compares in any way in importance with that most transcendent of all events, the atoning sacrifice of our Lord. It is the most important single thing that has ever occurred in the entire history of created things; it is the rock foundation upon which the gospel and all other things rest,” as has been declared. (Bruce R. McConkie, Mormon Doctrine, Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1966, p. 60.)

Father Lehi taught his son Jacob and us today:

“Wherefore, redemption cometh in and through the Holy Messiah; for he is full of grace and truth.

“Behold, he offereth himself a sacrifice for sin, to answer the ends of the law, unto all those who have a broken heart and a contrite spirit; and unto none else can the ends of the law be answered.

“Wherefore, how great the importance to make these things known unto the inhabitants of the earth, that they may know that there is no flesh that can dwell in the presence of God, save it be through the merits, and mercy, and grace of the Holy Messiah, who layeth down his life according to the flesh, and taketh it again by the power of the Spirit, that he may bring to pass the resurrection of the dead, being the first that should rise.

“Wherefore, he is the firstfruits unto God, inasmuch as he shall make intercession for all the children of men; and they that believe in him shall be saved.” (2 Ne. 2:6–9.)

Our most valuable worship experience in the sacrament meeting is the sacred ordinance of the sacrament, for it provides the opportunity to focus our minds and hearts upon the Savior and His sacrifice.

The Apostle Paul warned the early Saints against eating this bread and drinking this cup of the Lord unworthily. (See 1 Cor. 11:27–30.)

Our Savior Himself instructed the Nephites, “Whoso eateth and drinketh my flesh and blood unworthily [brings] damnation to his soul.” (3 Ne. 18:29.)

Worthy partakers of the sacrament are in harmony with the Lord and put themselves under covenant with Him to always remember His sacrifice for the sins of the world, to take upon them the name of Christ and to always remember Him, and to keep His commandments. The Savior covenants that we who do so shall have His spirit to be with us and that, if faithful to the end, we may inherit eternal life.

Our Lord revealed to Joseph Smith that “there is no gift greater than the gift of salvation,” which plan includes the ordinance of the sacrament as a continuous reminder of the Savior’s atoning sacrifice. He gave instructions that “it is expedient that the church meet together often to partake of bread and wine in the remembrance of the Lord Jesus.” (D&C 6:13; D&C 20:75.)

Immortality comes to us all as a free gift by the grace of God alone, without works of righteousness. Eternal life, however, is the reward for obedience to the laws and ordinances of His gospel.

I testify to all of you that our Heavenly Father does answer our righteous pleadings. The added knowledge which has come to me has made a great impact upon my life. The gift of the Holy Ghost is a priceless possession and opens the door to our ongoing knowledge of God and eternal joy. Of this I bear witness, in the holy name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Permalink | 記事への反応(0) | 00:25

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■意訳するのも、もう人間の仕事じゃないんだな

chatgptにこの歌詞をロマンチックに詩的に翻訳してもらった

https://music.oricon.co.jp/php/lyrics/LyricsDisp.php?music=3929926

The singing sea

歌う海音に酔いしれ

The talking trees

話す木々が囁きかけ

A Silent in a noisy way

静かなのに大騒ぎ

The stars are bright

星たちが輝く

But give no light

でも光を放たない

The world spins backward everyday

世界は毎日逆回転

A rainbow rat

虹のネズミと

A checkered cat

チェック模様の猫

Go tail in tail around the road

尾を引っ張りながら道を巡る

The mouse is pleased

ねずみは喜ぶ

The moon is cheese

月はチーズであり

The sun is shining hot and cold

太陽は熱いと寒い光を放つ

A golden bird

黄金の鳥が歌い出す

Today I heard

今日聞いた

Sitting upon a silver branch

銀の枝に座っていた

His little song was very long

その小さな歌は心を打つ

Which made me sad and start to laugh

それが私を悲しくさせ、笑わせた

My sister is he

私の妹は彼

My brother is she

私の兄は彼女

But there is only me in the family

でも家族の中には私だけ

When I grow up

私が大きくなったら

I'll go down

川を下りて

The river to the Singing Sea

歌う海を目指す

Permalink | 記事への反応(0) | 13:30

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■スペクター・サウンドを256倍楽しむ方法

　日本では'76年に、フィレス・レーベルの作品がまとめて再発売されたことがありましたが、ボックス形式としては本邦初で、しかもCDのボックスとしては今回が世界初ということになります。また同時に、＜ヒーズ・ア・レベル＞という、関係者のインタビューを中心にした本が白夜書房から発売されます。それを読みながらこのBOXを聞きますと512倍楽しく聞けることを保証致します。

　では、時代を追って解説していきます。

テディー・ベアーズ

　1958年、17才にして彼は”スター”でした。この後ポップスの歴史を彩ることになるクリスタルズやロネッツ、キャロル・キングやバリー・マン、ビーチ・ボーイズやビートルズの誰よりも先に＜NO.1ヒット＞を持っていた！、このことが良くも悪くもスペクターのその後の人生を決定づけたと思います。ポップス史上、#1ヒットを星の数ほど作り続けたリーバー＆ストラーや、ジョージ・マーチンも、自らの＃１ヒットはなく、このことが彼を単に＜プロデューサー＞の範疇では捉えられない最大の理由です。＜彼を知ることは、彼を愛することだ＞というデビュー曲の＜彼＞は、もちろんスペクター本人の意味で、そこには強引さ、傲慢さも感じられますが、実はそれが力強くもあり、＜スターの要素＞そのものだともいえます。彼の仕事ぶりを評して、全てを自分一色に染めてしまう、という批判をよく聞きますが、これはことの本質を理解してい居ない人の発言です。かれは＜裏方＞ではなく＜スター＞なのです！それを、アーティストの持ち味を引き出すのがプロデューサーの仕事だ、という常識的な意味で彼を捉えようとするから批判的になるのです。彼こそが＜スター＞で、誰が歌おうか演奏しようが、他の人は全て脇役なのです。単に映画監督と言う視点でヒッチコックを捉えるとおもしろい解釈は生まれない、というのにも似ています。（誰が主演でもヒッチの映画になります。黒沢さんもそうですね。）

　デビュー・アルバム「TEDDY BEARS SING」のB-1「I DON'T NEED YOU ANYMORE」の＜ステレオ・バージョン＞はナント、リード・ボーカルの女の子の声が左で、真ん中がフィルのコーラス、しかも、ところどころリード・ボーカルの3倍くらいの大きさでコーラスが＜邪魔をする＞といってもいいほどの前代未聞のバランス！です。

　デビュー前からしてこうなのですから、自己主張とかワガママなどという、なまやさしいことではないのです。

SCHOOLもの

　のちにブラック・ミュージックにのめり込んでいった彼ですが、スタートは白人ポップスでした。まずは自らのヴォーカリスト、ギターリスト、および作曲家としての才能を試すところからはじめた、というところでしょうか。'50年代後半は、まだ黒人音楽は一般的ではありませんでしたが、若者の間では熱狂的な指示を得ていました。スペクターもいろいろな黒人アーティストを聞いていたようですが、こと自分のデビューに関しては、世間的に穏便な方法をとったところなど＜奇[...]

　また'50年代中期には「暴力教室」をはじめ「HIGHSCHOOL CONFIDENTIAL」など＜怒れる若者＞をテーマにした映画が続々と作られ、その代表としてJ・ディーンが登場し、代表作が「理由なき反抗」-REBEL WITHOUT A CAUSE -でした。このように、当時の若者のキー・ワードの一つは＜REBEL＞であり、「乱暴者」のマーロン・ブランドのような皮ジャン、サングラス、バイクというスタイルが流行しました。

　彼のでデビュー・ソングはたしかに＜学園もの＞でしたが、それまでの、例えばドリス・デイの「先生のお気に入り」調のホンワカしたものではなく、女の子が自分の想いを直接的、また積極的に＜ナゼわかってくれないの？＞と切々と歌い上げるというのは冬至の若者のフィーリングにピッタシきたようです。実はこの手法、スペクター特有の＜ソフィスティケーションの中の直接性＞というもので、彼を理会する上で大事なことなのです。

ガレージ・サウンド

　ある程度、あるいはそれ以上の音楽の素養がなければミュージシャンや作曲家になれなかったジャズと違って、ギター1本あればだれでもロックンローラーになれる、というのがロックの時代でした。子供が技術を会得して成長し、大人の仲間入りをするのがジャズだとすると、ロックは、子供が子供のままで音楽ができるというのが特徴でした。ヒョットしたらオレにもなれるかもしれないと、多くのシロウトがわれもわれもと参加したことが、音楽の単純化に拍車をかけました。ジャズが豊満でふくよか、とすると、R&Rは骨と皮だけといえましょう。ジャズが大人の音楽で、背景はナイトクラブと女性とお酒が似合いましたが、子供の音楽として誕生したR&Rの背景に一番ピッタリだったのはナント、＜ガレージ＞でした。

　麻雀同様4人（あるいは3人）いればすぐにできたのがR&Rの特徴でしたが、ニュー・ヨークのようにせまいところで大声を上げれば、お母さんに怒鳴られるだけですからストリートへ出るわけです。50'sのDoo Wapブームの背景は街角－ストリート・コーナーが似合ったわけです。

　それにくらべて土地の広大な中西部や西海岸は車がなければ不便なので、当選、どこの家にもガレージがあり、ここが若者の格好の練習場所となりました（蛇足ですが、今の日本のロックのサウンドの背景は＜貸しスタジオ＞－－密室－－ではないでしょうか？）。さて、楽器は感覚でどうにか弾けますが、作曲というのは簡単そうでもやはり多少の音楽の素養は必要です。しかし、若者の、なんでもいいからR&Rをやりたい！という想いはこんなことではくじけません。骨と皮だけのロックを、さらに皮も捨てて骨だけにしたのです。それが＜ギター・インストゥルメンタル＞でした。これは、楽器を感覚的にかき鳴らすだけですから、とりあえずだれにでもできました。ジャズの単純化がロックとすれば、これはさらに、ロックの単純化で、その極致であったわけです。

　これが＜ガレージ・サウンド＞の正体でしたが、この時代に呼応するかのように、新しく生まれた現象がありました。それは、録音機が少しずつ普及し始め、ガレージや居間などでの＜ホーム・レコーディング＞が行われるようになったことです。そして、デモ・テープのような、ある意味では乱暴

チャートに登場するようになり、まさに音楽の大衆化が、内容だけではなく、音質までにも及んだのです（エルビスもバディ・ホリーもデビュー曲は地方の、オヤジさんが社長、オカミさんが専務、というような町工場風のスタジオで録音したものです）。

　それまでの録音は、演奏者と録音技師はガラスを隔てて別々の仕事場でした。技師が演奏者にマイクの使い方を指導することはあっても、演奏者の方が技師に注文をつけるというケースはめったにありませんでした。しかし、ホーム・レコーディング特有の、機械いじりの好きな少年の思い付きや、また機材不足からひねりだした斬新な工夫は、新しいサウンドの母体となるのです。

　スペクターは、テディー・ベアーズの録音の時から、スタジオ内と調整室を行ったり来たりして、録音技師を困らせていたようですから、コダワリの姿勢は最初からのようです（口述しますが、後年よくいわれるワグナー好きやソウル・ミュージックの追求というのは、スターにありがちな＜後付け＞である、と私は考えています）。

　このホーム・レコーディングが、実は＜スペクター・サウンド＞の根幹なのです！＜BACK TO MONO＞の意味もこのことなので、一つのかたまり、大人数、熱気、乱雑の中の整理、複雑の単純化、そして＜ホーム＞、これが彼の求めたものでした。かたまりは＜MONO＞、大人数はミュージシャンの数、熱は＜ハル・ブレインのドラム＞、整理は＜J・ニッチェのアレンジ＞、単純化は＜L・レビンのミックス＞、そしてホームは＜西海岸＞、これがスペクター・サウンドの中味の分析ですが、詳しくはこれも後述します。

インスト・マニア

　この当時のロックンロール少年と同じく、スペクターもギター少年でした。本名のフィル・ハーヴェイとしてインスト・レコードも発表しています。また'58、'59年はインスト・ロックの当たり年で、チャンプ栖の「TEQUILA!」が＃１になったり、B・ホリーのインスト版ともいえるファイヤーボールズ、リンク・レイ、そしてジョニーとハリケーンズ、サント＆ジョニー、サンディー・ネルソン（「TO KNOW HIM～」のドラムはデビュー前の彼です）、そして極め付きはギター・インストの王者、デュアン・エディーの登場でした。

　日本ではなぜか、ほとんど評価されませんでしたが、ギターリストとして一番の人気とヒットのあった人で、そのサウンドのユニークさとポップ・シーンへの影響は大きいものがありました。またイギリスでの人気は特に異常で、'60年の人気投票では1位でした（すごい！）。近年リバイバル・ヒットした「PETER GUN」などは後の＜007シリーズ＞や＜バット・マン＞のもとになったともいえますし、日本では未公開の映画「BECAUSE THEY'RE YOUNG」のテーマは、彼の"トワンギー・ギター"と流麗なストリングスとのコンビネーションは、すぐアル・カイオラが取り入れて「荒野の7人」となって登場、西部劇のインスト・テーマの基本形となりました。また「ビートルズがやってくる　ヤァ！ヤァ！ヤァ！」のジョージ・マーチン楽団の「リンゴのテーマ」も、まさにD・エディーのマネジャー兼プロデューサーがレスター・シルで、テディー・ベアーズの録音の際、隣のスタジオで仕事をしていて知り合ったといわれ、この人と出会ってなければ＜スペクター・サウンド＞はこの世に存在しなかったといえるほど重大な出会いでした。

　シルはこの時すでにスペクターがプロデューサー向きであることを見抜き、早速契約を結び、最初に買った曲のタイトルがナント「BE MY GIRL!」。

　スペクターについては、まわりにいた人に才能があったので、本人にそう才能があったわけではない、という人もいますが、これは間違いです。確かにまわりにいた人々は有能でした。しかし、彼はプロデューサーとして一番重要な要素である＜何をやりたいのか＞ということが明確にありました。それは前にも述べましたがいろいろな意味での＜直接性＞というテーマを持っていたことです。これはもちろんR&Rのイディオム（佐野元春調）ですが、荒々しいサウンドの中の直接性より、スペクターがポップスに折り込んだ直接性の方がより＜暴力的＞ですらありました。

　例えば、R&Rの時代になって＜BE＞という動詞で始まるビッグ・ヒットは「BE MY BABY」が第1号です（BE CAREFUL～などの慣用句を除く）。簡単なようですが、作る側にまわってみると、これが簡単に言い切れるものではないのです。まさにこれをスパッと言い切れるのが＜スター＞なのです。「TO KNOW HIM～」の断定と「BE」の命令。このシェイクスピア調の、時代がかったともいえる口調が、逆に新味を呼んだのではないでしょうか。この大時代的で、且つ直接的な手法は「I WANT TO HOLD YOUR HAND」（ユーモアの点ではJ&Pの方が数段上ですネ！）に共通したものを感じます。

　シルと契約直後、スペクターはD・エディのセッションを見学しています。さっそく実地訓練をさせようというシルの計らいで、時は'59年の4月の後半でした。この年のエディーの最大のヒットは6月に発売された「FORTY MILES OF BAD ROAD」（9位）で、この曲はナント＜ベース・ドラムだけをイントロでフィーチャーした、ポップス史上初のヒット曲＞なのです。さて、ベース・ドラムのイントロといえば「BE MY BABY」ですが、この2曲の因果関係についての疑問を、10年ほど前の＜ニュー・ミュージック・マガジン＞で発表したことがありましたが、時期的にはこの推論が成り立つようです。が、モチロン、その因果については全く憶測の域は出ておりません。

　エディーのスタジオは1トラックのテープ・レコーダーが1台しかないという粗末な設備ながら、そのエコーを駆使してのサウンド作りは、特に録音にはうるさかった若き日のスペクターには刺激的な体験だったと思われます。トワンギー・サウンドの秘密であった水道管やドラム缶をエコーに使用するという一風変わった手法は（そのためシルは何10個もドラム缶を買い、しかも一番響きのいい缶を探したといいます）スペクターが興味を持たなかったはずはありません。

　そのような多彩な録音技術を駆使していた人は、D・エディー・サウンドの製作者＜リー・ヘイズルウッド＞でした（エンジニアはエディー・ブラケット）。ヘイズルウッドといえばナンシー・シナトラとのデュエットやアストロノーツの「太陽の彼方に」の作者として日本ではおなじみですが、エディーのプロデューサーとして最初に評価された人なのです。

～

中したスペクターは、一瞬たりともヘイズルウッドの背後から離れなかった＞と発言しています。

憧れのリーバー＆ストラー

　その後シルは、スペクターをプロデューサーにすべく、今度はニュー・ヨークのリーバー＆ストラーのもとへ送り込みました。’60年代の代表的なコンビがレノン＆マッカートニーとすれば、’50年代はリーバー＆ストラーの時代で、ロック・ビジネスを目指す人々にとっての目標でした。スペクターの学校の先輩でもあった彼らのデビューに一役買っていたのが、これまたレスター・シルでした。シルがマネージャーをしていたコースターズをきっかけに、ドリフターズ、そしてエルビスへの曲提供やプロデュースを行い、初のR&Rにおける独立プロデューサーとしての地位を確立したのがこの二人なのです。

　スペクターにとって、このニュー・ヨークでの修行時代の最大の収穫はベン・E・キングのヒット曲「SPANISH HARLEM」をJ・リーバーと共作できたことでしょう。これはR&Rビジネスへの切符を手に入れた、つまり、お墨付をもらったということ......って、最大の自信となったことは疑う余地はあり.....

　ま....　ドリフターズの「THERE GOES MY BABY」...にストリングスをフィーチャーする手法を....ことも＜スペクター・サウンド＞への引金になったと、私は思います。その手法でプロデュースしたジーン・ピットニーの「EVERY BREATH I TAKE」は、全くドリフターズ調でしたが、すでに＜スペクター・サウンド＞は出来上がっていた、ともいえる、本家を凌ぐ作品でした。＜ゴフィン＆キング＞との最初の作品でしたが、この日のセッションにはリーバー＆ストラーをはじめ、B・バカラック、B・マン＆C・ウェイル、アルドン出版社の代表のD・カーシュナーら、そうそうたる顔ぶれが集まったといいます。そしてこの作品が、ここに集まった全ての人にスペクターの印象を強く与えることとなり、一緒の仕事が始まるわけです。特にこの曲で印象深いのはドラムのフレーズですが、G・ゴフィンの証言によれば、フィルはドラマーのゲイリー・チェスターに指示をして、それが実に的確だった、ということです。

　この修行時代にすでに、J・ニッチェやH・ブレインがいなくても、これだけのものを作っていたことは見落とせません。スペクター・サウンドを作ったのはやはり彼なのです。

　この曲は残念ながら大ヒットにはなりませんでしたが、来たるべき＜スペクターの時代＞の幕開けを飾るにふさわしい素晴らしい曲でした。

　また、この頃、レスター・シルとリー・ヘイズルウッドは共同活動を解消、スペクターは新たなパートナー、いわば後釜としてシルと関係を結び、それが二人の頭文字を合わせた＜PHIL+LES＞の誕生となりました（シルとヘイズルウッドのレーベル名は二人の息子の頭文字から＜GREG＋MARK＞というものでした）。

ガール・グループ

　'60年代初めにシュレルズがキャロル・キングの名作＜WILL YOU STILL LOVE ME TOMORROW＞

....きっかけに、ガール・ Permalink | 記事への反応(0) | 09:24

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■英語学習は絶対に無くならない

「英語の翻訳がAIで高度化すれば英語勉強しなくてよくなるでしょ？」

って言うアホがいまだにはてなーにもいるんだけど

英語学習は絶対に無くならないよ

英語を日本語訳するってのは

「日本語にしたら、一応こんな感じだけど、ただそれは日本語であって英語ではない」

っていう前提が付いてる

例えば物の翻訳ですら困難だ

dogは犬でcatは猫だけど

tunaはマグロでありカツオでもあるから厳密には翻訳できない

brotherやsisterも翻訳できない

これは言語はその土地の文化と密接に関係していてその土地の文化を知らなければ理解できないからだ

日本人はマグロとカツオを明確に分類するが英語圏ではどうでもいいので全部tunaだ

また二本では兄弟はその年齢が大切だが、年齢などどうでも良くて「親戚」ぐらいのニュアンスなのが「brother」だ

こんな感じで全ての動詞や形容詞も簡単に翻訳できるわけではなく

「日本語にしたら一応こんな感じ」

で翻訳してるに過ぎない

だから英語学習はすなわち英語圏の文化を学ぶことであってそれが無くなることはない

Permalink | 記事への反応(3) | 23:46

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■anond:20220902151121

英語だったらlittle brother, little Sisterがあるぞ

Permalink | 記事への反応(0) | 15:47

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■きょうだいという概念の不完全さ

兄弟も兄弟って読むし兄妹も兄妹って読むから音声だけだと区別がつかないし

英語でもBrother, Sisterだから兄なのか弟なのか姉なのか妹なのかもわからねえ

この概念不完全すぎる

Permalink | 記事への反応(2) | 15:11

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■VTuberが好きなおばさん

VTuberが好きなおばさん、10代のころは伺かが好きだった。

まゆらは格ゲーがわからなかったのでダウンロードしてすぐにアンインストールした（後に大後悔することになる）。

奈留かわいーとにやにやし、空とあるゅう先生や人体視願／ヴィイ、月夜のおとぎばなし、マイマイトーカ、WANDERLUST、type01-Mono、話術士、あのみ-My fair sister-……大いにハマった。

さまざまな性格や出自や背景や物語を持つゴーストたちを大いに楽しんだし、ゴーストの作者さんの交流を見るのも楽しみだった。

いまでもときどきデスクトップにヴィイを立たせて楽しんでいる。

10年以上経って、はじめてVTuberというものを見たとき、まず伺かが思い浮かんだ。

ここにもいろんな性格のいろんなバックグランドを持つキャラがいる！しかもしゃべって動く！と大いにハマることになる。

だから、VTuberは認めない勢の「生の人間の臭みがない人工知能」が見たい的な意見には疑問を感じてしまう。

人工知能キャラがどんなものなのかまず想像できないけど、人間の臭みがない、作者（VTuberの場合は中の人）がいないキャラクタって、どこに萌えればいいのか、とっかかりがつかめなくない？

ていうか、キャラの幅狭すぎない？別にキャラの幅が広いほうがえらい、とかは思わないんだけど。

うーむ、謎だ。

Permalink | 記事への反応(2) | 16:29

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■anond:20210714162554

これ原曲が坂本龍一featuring Sister M（坂本美雨）の「the other side of love」なんだよな

日本人が英語曲作って日本人が歌ってたのを日本語訳して日本人が歌うのややこしいわ

Permalink | 記事への反応(0) | 16:27

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■韓国〇女三銃士を連れてきたよ！

悪女 AKUJO：

女暗殺者復讐モノ。

アクションをめちゃくちゃ頑張っておりフィジカルなアクションとしては海外と戦えるレベルのものが見られる。狭い路地を上層階からおっこちながら戦うシーンが好き。冒頭の一人称視点のアクションが持ち上げられがちだけど、映像はちょっと面白いけどアクションとしては別に面白くない。

ただ、映画の作りとしてはマジでヘタクソで時系列がいったりきたりするしそれに何の意味もないしひたすら混乱させられる。作り直せ。

The Witch／魔女：

超能力者脱走モノ。

前半は普通の女の子パート、後半が超能力機関からの攻撃と反撃パートとお手本のような構成になっているが映画としての物語、演出の緩急が巧みで見ごたえがある。アクションに関しては悪女ほどのオリジナリティはないが及第点。見せ方は悪女よりも優れている。

後半パートではおぉっという仕掛けもありエンタメ精神も〇。

こちらは第一部となっており第二部が製作中。

聖女／Mad Sister：

身内誘拐探索暴力モノ。

韓国が大好きなジメジメして陰鬱なモラルどこにおいてきたん？という暗い映画。アクションは地味ながらリアルに「痛い」部類。ノーCG、ノースタントの総合格闘技をベースとしたリアル路線は前二作との違い。

とにかく物語に救いがなく96時間みたいに誘拐された知恵遅れの妹の手がかりを求めてあっちこっちに行くんだけど行く先々で妹がレ〇プされていたことがわかる胸糞展開。せめて知恵遅れの設定なんとかならんかったか。最後はシャブ死ぬほど喰わされるし。

オススメ順としては魔女＞悪女＞＞＞＞聖女

とにかく陰鬱な映画が見たいなら聖女を見たらいいけど、正直、ダラダラしてるし構成もヘタクソ。

オッというアクションが見たいなら悪女。ちゃんとした映画としてみたらイラッとするけどアクションはいい。

映画としての出来なら魔女。普通によくできてる。第一部だけどちゃんと区切りはついてるから安心。

Permalink | 記事への反応(1) | 11:34

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■英訳:Part-time-job to writing moaning voices

英語の勉強傍ら、DeepLでの翻訳をもとに、英文化してみた。

サンキュー増田

-------------

When I was in college, I had a part-time job writing moaning voices incessantly.

It was a part-time job at an erotic game company that I was introduced to by one of my seniors.

The company put a lot of effort into the story of their erotic games, and the writers who worked there were all people who took pride in their writing.

From their point of view, it was a pain to write the moaning voices in the sex scenes, so they decided to leave it to the part-time workers.

Here's what the job was like.

First, I was given the "gist" of the sex scene, such as "unzipping" or "moving hips faster.

2. I would then add my own moaning voices, such as "mmm ......" and "ahhhhhh", in a reasonable amount of salt.

3. the scenario writer checks it and it's done.

That's how it went.

This may sound easy, but it is surprisingly difficult.

First of all, there is a certain length to an sex scene, so it is necessary to make it exciting precisely within that range.

The sounds used must be gradual, so that the audience does not get bored, and the excitement must be gradually increased.

It is also important to adjust the length of the text.

If the text is too short, it won't convey a sexual pleasure feeling, but if it is too long, the voice will become redundant.

In this way, a sense of balance and systematic pacing is required to get a bird's eye view of eroticism.

It was definitely not a job that I could just bang on the keyboard as I pleased.

My first work was a "younger sister" story, and I had a hard time allocating the "a" sound for the second sex scene.

If she said "aaaaah" from the beginning, it would sound like a seasoned whore's moaning voices, but if She said "an", it would not be erotic enough.

I finished it after much effort, but the writer said, "Couldn't you make it faster?” I'm disappointed.

As I was puzzling over what to do with ...... in front of the computer left by my predecessor (only the "A"key on the keyboard was strangely shiny), I noticed the existence of a file.

It was an Excel file titled "moaning-editor.xls," and it was a macro left by my predecessor specifically for making moaning voice.

By entering lines one by one in the vertically aligned cells, the phonetic elements such as vowels and consonants in each line were automatically converted into numerical values.

Furthermore, by adding and subtracting the numerical values, a value called "climax level" was calculated.

This "climax level" make a breakthrough to creating the ideal moaning voice.

If the sentence is constructed in such a way that this value gradually increases from the beginning to the end of the scene, the voice comes ideally.

It seemed that my predecessor had single-handedly created such an amazing and awesome Excel program.

I guess he wanted to share it with me, his successor, while hiding it from his boss as a secret tool.

Thanks to this tool, my work became much easier, and I could continue to make moving sounds with a stable quality.

One day, while I was working, I noticed something.

Theoretically, any text can be entered into the cell where the moaning voice is supposed input.

In other words to that, any text other than a moaning voice could be used to calculate the "climax level".

So I tried to calculate the "climax level" of famous works in the history of literature.

For example, "I have always called him teacher." for exampleis 12, and "He is reckless like his parents and has been doing nothing but losing money since he was a child. " is 30.

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I have always called him teacher.

Kokoro

Author , Natume Soseki

Out , in 1914

Story of distressed man who robbed lover from his friend by lying.

-------------

He is reckless like his parents and has been doing nothing but losing money since he was a child.

Bocchan

Author , Natume Soseki

Out , in 1906

Story that revenge of one teacher, who was naughty boy in youth ,to nasty coworker.

-------------

I hadn't expected this, but as I researched, I found that many of the masterpieces were written on the same principle as my work.

In other words, the degree of "climax" increases toward the end.

The most notable example is Akutagawa's "Nobody knows where the servant" is. The number of climaxes in this story is 367.

-------------

Nobody knows where the servant

Rasho-mon

Author , Akutagawa Ryunosuke

Out , in 1915

Story of one fired servant struggle to survive and he decide throw aside his human conscience.

-------------

The scene in which a drugged married woman faints with the whites of her eyes is at most 330, so you can see how astonishing the number is.

It turns out that "climax" is a universal rule that applies to all kinds of writing.

After realizing this fact, I started to write every sentence as if it were a gasp.

And I have been successful in every aspect of my life.

In job-hunting entry sheets, too, it is the distribution of the "climax level" that is important.

For example, in the education section, if you drop out of the university with the name that has the highest "climax level" and use it as your final education, it will look very different.

(It depends on the name of the university, but in general, "dropped out" has a higher climax level than "graduated.)

As some of you may have noticed, I've been writing this article in such a way as to gradually increase the climax level.

↑The climax level of this sentence is 290.

I'd like to end this sentence here, since it's getting quite high.

Ohhhh!　Aaahhhh!

Permalink | 記事への反応(1) | 16:00

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■anond:20210521220540

ヒッチコック劇場です。

1957年。それより古いのがあるなら教えて下さい。

(166) Alfred Hitchcock's The Older Sister -- LIzzie Borden - YouTube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BX8pvgDS31A

Permalink | 記事への反応(0) | 22:09

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■anond:20210403112832

日本語でも、医者・医師という、建築士・建築家といい、者・士・家の区別はいいかげんです。それと同じように、英語の -er、-ist、-an の区別もそれほど厳密な区別があるわけではありません。

• er は主に動詞について do-er で、person who has to do という意味です。たとえば、singer、player、golfer、worker、ruler、manager、teacher、painter、planner などです。しかし、全ての -er が <動詞 er> であるわけではなく、foreigner、Britisher、などのように<形容詞 er> である場合もあれば、banker、villager、Londoner などのように、<場所 er> の場合もあります。また、mother、father、sister　のように分離して考えることが不可能なものもあります。

• ist はギリシャ語に由来する語尾で、economist、scientist、physicist、evangelist、atheistなどのように語根がギリシャ語源にある場合に、よく用いられます。また、-ist は、誰それの追従者、誰それの信奉者という意味で使われます。たとえば、Buddhist、Marxist、などです。しかし、このようなカテゴリーに入らない、<形容詞 ist>、<名詞 ist>　もあります。journalist、novelist、humorist、florist、artist、pianist、guitarist、violinist などです。

• an は、もともとは、America→American のように名詞から形容詞を作る語尾で、Christian、Mohameddan、historian、barbarian などの言葉は、これに従って作られています。また、ギリシャ語・ラテン語を語源とする形容詞で -ic という言葉には、 - ian を付けます。たとえば、music→ musician、phisic → physcian などです。

Permalink | 記事への反応(0) | 15:58

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■anond:20200930205748

Silver-haired cat-ear maid elder-sister

Permalink | 記事への反応(0) | 21:10

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■ブクマカはナデシコの話題が大好き

「ナデシコのキャラソン名曲しかないから一番決められない問題」が90年台後半に提唱されましたが

僕の一番はELDORADO RELIRULERUです

みんなは何かな？

以下、ブクマカの反応予想です

「I'M NOT A HARD-LUCK WOMANだが？」(はてなブックマーカーは2020年の今日もルリ派とユリカ派で対立するのが大好き)

「エリナさんのキャラソンはないのかしら？」(はてなブックマーカーはエリナさん好きが多い)

「ZMAPファンなのでForever Loveが好きです」(はてなブックマーカーはアニラジが青春)

「(マチアソビで聞いたキングレコードの業界面白裏話を披露する徳島県民)」(徳島県民はマチアソビで聞いた話を披露するのが大好き)

「なないろなでしこの話か！」(はてなブックマーカーは本文を読まないし、ラブゲッCHU 〜ミラクル声優白書〜が永遠に好きだし、Sister×Sistersのメンバーに嫌いな声優が一人もいない)

Permalink | 記事への反応(3) | 08:20

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