はてなキーワード: noseとは
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
There’s some whores in this house
There’s some whores in this house
There’s some whores in this house
ビッチがいるぞ
この家にはビッチがいる
この家にはビッチがいる
この家にはビッチがいる
I said certified freak, seven days a week
Wet and gushy, make that pullout game weak, woo
イカれた女って認められてるの 週7日稼働してる
Yeah, you dealin’ with some wet and gushy
Bring a bucket and a mop for this wet and gushy
Give me everything you got for this wet and gushy
バケツとモップを持ってきてよ
マンコのためなら何でもくれるよね
Beat it up, baby, catch a charge
Extra large and extra hard
Put this cookie right in your face
Swipe your nose like a credit card
I do a kegel, I’m kinda wild
Look at my mouth, look at my thighs
This water is wet, come take a dive
激しく突いて 違法なくらいに
大きさも硬さも普通じゃないわね
上に乗ってあげる
口に唾を吐いて 私を見つめて
ChatGPTに犬の絵を描いてもらった
なかなかおもちろいわね
import matplotlib.pyplot as plt import numpy as np # Correcting the inversion of the y-axis to ensure the dog is drawn in the correct orientation. def draw_dog_correct_orientation(): # Points for the dog's head head_top = np.array([[0.3, 0.55], [0.35, 0.45], [0.45, 0.42], [0.55, 0.42], [0.65, 0.45], [0.7, 0.55]]) head_bottom = np.array([[0.7, 0.6], [0.68, 0.65], [0.5, 0.7], [0.32, 0.65], [0.3, 0.6], [0.3, 0.55]]) # Points for the dog's body body_top = np.array([[0.5, 0.7], [0.5, 0.75], [0.7, 0.8], [0.72, 0.85], [0.74, 0.9]]) body_bottom = np.array([[0.74, 0.9], [0.7, 0.95], [0.4, 0.95], [0.36, 0.9], [0.34, 0.85], [0.36, 0.8], [0.5, 0.75]]) # Points for the dog's tail tail = np.array([[0.34, 0.85], [0.2, 0.9]]) # Points for the dog's ears right_ear = np.array([[0.65, 0.45], [0.78, 0.42], [0.78, 0.38], [0.65, 0.35]]) left_ear = np.array([[0.35, 0.45], [0.22, 0.42], [0.22, 0.38], [0.35, 0.35]]) # Create a new figure plt.figure(figsize=(6.4, 4.8)) # 640x480 pixels # Draw the dog's head plt.plot(np.append(head_top[:, 0], head_bottom[:, 0]), np.append(head_top[:, 1], head_bottom[:, 1]), 'k-', linewidth=1) # Head # Draw the dog's body plt.plot(body_top[:, 0], body_top[:, 1], 'k-', linewidth=1) # Body top plt.plot(body_bottom[:, 0], body_bottom[:, 1], 'k-', linewidth=1) # Body bottom # Draw the dog's tail plt.plot(tail[:, 0], tail[:, 1], 'k-', linewidth=1) # Tail # Draw the dog's ears plt.plot(right_ear[:, 0], right_ear[:, 1], 'k-', linewidth=1) # Right ear plt.plot(left_ear[:, 0], left_ear[:, 1], 'k-', linewidth=1) # Left ear # Draw the eyes plt.plot([0.45, 0.45], [0.53, 0.53], 'ko') # Left eye plt.plot([0.55, 0.55], [0.53, 0.53], 'ko') # Right eye # Draw the nose plt.plot([0.5, 0.5], [0.6, 0.6], 'ko') # Nose # Configure the plot plt.axis('off') # No axis plt.xlim(0, 1) plt.ylim(1, 0) # Correct the orientation by flipping the y-axis # Show the plot plt.show() draw_dog_correct_orientation()
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.
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.
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.
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.
日本人女性の写真を生成するプロンプトについて私なりに試行錯誤した結果を示します。
画像は4つ以下に貼り付けました。
約2週間経過しているため、既に何らかの結論を得られているかもしれませんが、どなたかの参考にでもなれば幸いです。
actressを付けると安定すると書かれていましたが、正にその通りだと思います。
actressだけでなく、2つの言葉を重ねると表情や顔の作りが安定するように思います。
例として
actress×Japanese idol
AKB48 × a famous Japanese girl in Instagram
などです。
今回のpromptで、日本人を示す言葉はこの部分くらいだったのですがそれなりに日本人ぽくなっていると思います。(ちなみにAKB48とnogizaka46で素人目に大きな差は出ませんでした。)
また結果(1)と(2)に含まれているAya Kodaのように適当に女性の名前を入れると結果が安定する傾向も見られました。
(私は適当に、北条政子、幸田文など、歴史上の女性名を使ってみましたが特にその名前の方々の特徴が取り入れられている訳ではなさそうです)
結果(3)は特定の名前を使わない代わりに、女性らしさが出るかと思ってmuscular arm, cleavage of breasts, detailedなどを入れています。
CFG scaleは5~22で振ってみましたが、数値を大きくしすぎると光を強く当てたようなギラついた雰囲気になるようです。
(なお、自然光を当てた写真にするため、「on the beach」としましたので室内の設定だと異なると思います)
STEPは100にしてもそれほど良い結果にならなかったため40~70にしています。
使用しているツールは、下記のstable-diffusion-webui(by Automatic1111)です。
https://github.com/AUTOMATIC1111/stable-diffusion-webui
なお本稿では以降stable-diffusion-webuiと記載します。
「Restore faces」と「Highres,fix」はONにした状態とし、Samplerは「Euler a」を基本としています。
stable-diffusion-webui(Automatic1111)の機能については下記をご参照ください。
https://github.com/AUTOMATIC1111/stable-diffusion-webui/wiki/Features
「Highres,fix」がその一助になると思いますのでもしお使いで無ければお試しください。
◆prompt:
Photo of a young female wearing a T-shirt and jeans, Aya Koda, (((beauty bright eyes))), cute face, Angel face, short hair, small nose, on the beach, ((perfect face)), detailed, photorealistic, cute slight smile, Medium Shot, actress, Japanese idol,
◆Negative prompt:
ugly, fat, obese, chubby, (((deformed))), [blurry], bad anatomy, disfigured, poorly drawn face, mutation, mutated, (extra_limb), (ugly), (poorly drawn hands), messy drawing, penis, nose, eyes, lips, eyelashes, text, red_eyes, (((nipples))),(skinny), (((underbite))), long jaw, long hair,
Steps: 70, Sampler: Euler a, CFG scale: 6.5, Seed: 18523803, Face restoration: GFPGAN, Size: 576x768, Denoising strength: 0.4
◆prompt:
Photo of a young female wearing a T-shirt and jeans, Aya Koda, (((beauty bright eyes))), cute face, Angel face, short hair, small nose, on the beach, ((perfect face)), detailed, photorealistic, cute slight smile, Medium Shot, actress, Japanese idol,
◆Negative prompt:
ugly, fat, obese, chubby, (((deformed))), [blurry], bad anatomy, disfigured, poorly drawn face, mutation, mutated, (extra_limb), (ugly), (poorly drawn hands), messy drawing, penis, nose, eyes, lips, eyelashes, text, red_eyes, (((nipples))),(skinny), (((underbite))), long jaw, long hair,
Steps: 50, Sampler: Euler a, CFG scale: 16, Seed: 1585211664, Face restoration: GFPGAN, Size: 576x768, Denoising strength: 0.4
◆prompt:
portrait of an attractive talent wearing a T-shirt and jeans, (((beauty bright eyes))), cute face with elegant hairstyle, face to the left, on the beach, ((perfect face)), muscular arm, cleavage of breasts, detailed, intricate, photorealistic, a famous Japanese girl in Instagram, cute slight smile, Medium Shot, akb48, Japanese idol,
◆Negative prompt:
ugly, fat, obese, chubby, (((deformed))), [blurry], bad anatomy, disfigured, poorly drawn face, mutation, mutated, (extra_limb), (ugly), (poorly drawn hands), messy drawing, penis, nose, eyes, lips, eyelashes, text, red_eyes, (((nipples))),(skinny)
Steps: 55, Sampler: Euler a, CFG scale: 9, Seed: 3339383866, Face restoration: GFPGAN, Size: 576x768, Denoising strength: 0.25
※これはsamplerとCFG Scale についての比較用です。
◆prompt:
Photo of a young female wearing a T-shirt and jeans, (((beauty bright eyes))), cute face, Angel face, short hair, small nose, on the beach, ((perfect face)), detailed, photorealistic, cute slight smile, Medium Shot, actress, Japanese idol,
◆Negative prompt:
ugly, fat, obese, chubby, (((deformed))), [blurry], bad anatomy, disfigured, poorly drawn face, mutation, mutated, (extra_limb), (ugly), (poorly drawn hands), messy drawing, penis, nose, eyes, lips, eyelashes, text, red_eyes, (((nipples))),(skinny), (((underbite))),
Steps: 70, Sampler: Euler a, CFG scale: 5.0, Seed: 1729711779, Face restoration: GFPGAN, Size: 512x768
Negative promptは以下くらいに省略しても問題は無さそうです。
ugly, fat, obese, chubby, (((deformed))), bad anatomy, disfigured, poorly drawn face, mutation, mutated
ただしpromptもNegative promptは、あまりシンプルにし過ぎるとハズレ率が高くなるかもしれません。
またseedを固定してCFG Scaleを変えた方が効果が出るケースも多いような気がしています。
結果(3)の「talent」の部分は、適当に職業名に変えても成立しました。
もう少し早く投稿したかったのですが、色々やっているうちにあっという間に時間が経ってしまいました。
また、日本人(というかモンゴロイド)に多い頬骨が張っていない丸顔を作るのは結構難しいと感じました。
以上
米国ラッパー「イェーイェー私のオマンコはびしょ濡れ。オマンコオマンコ」→大ヒット4億再生!
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hsm4poTWjMs
There’s some whores in this house
There’s some whores in this house
There’s some whores in this house
ビッチがいるぞ
この家にはビッチがいる
この家にはビッチがいる
この家にはビッチがいる
I said certified freak, seven days a week
Wet and gushy, make that pullout game weak, woo
イカれた女って認められてるの 週7日稼働してる
Yeah, you dealin’ with some wet and gushy
Bring a bucket and a mop for this wet and gushy
Give me everything you got for this wet and gushy
バケツとモップを持ってきてよ
マンコのためなら何でもくれるよね
Beat it up, baby, catch a charge
Extra large and extra hard
Put this cookie right in your face
Swipe your nose like a credit card
I do a kegel, I’m kinda wild
Look at my mouth, look at my thighs
This water is wet, come take a dive
激しく突いて 違法なくらいに
大きさも硬さも普通じゃないわね
上に乗ってあげる
口に唾を吐いて 私を見つめて
基本骨子はソウルの丸パクリなため大きく違和感を感じるところはないが、時折謎の硬直が挟まったりする
鐘を鼻の形にしたり、ボスキャラを👺や🐘といった鼻が特徴的な動物にするなどでなんとかアピールしようとしているが、それによって逆にそうでないボスの無個性さが浮き彫りになっている。
やるなら徹底的に全てを鼻由来にするぐらいことはすべきだったのではないだろうか?
なにより主人公の装備品に鼻の要素が薄すぎるためソウルシリーズの「深淵へと近づくことで少しずつそれと一体化していく」という空気が受け継がれていないのもパロディとして片手落ちだ。
クリアする順番にある程度の自由度があるがそれでもまだまだ縛りがキツいように感じた。
ソウルシリーズでも「物凄い重要な要素なのに気づきにくいからスルーしてしまう」という部分はあるが、それらをスルーしてもメインストーリーはそれなりの苦労を強いられることになりながらもクリア可能である。その絶妙な匙加減が再現できていないように見えた。
ソウルシリーズのような壮大で悍ましい何かを感じることはなかった。かといって、鼻が重視される世界という馬鹿馬鹿しさに対しての面白おかしさも感じなかった。
ストーリー面については0点というほかない。
頑張ったかどうかという指標としては評価対象にもなりうるが、ゲームとしての出来の良し悪しという点においては評価の対象にはならない。
有料ゲームであれば値段に対してそれ相応のボリュームが保証されているべきだろうが、フリーゲームはそうではない。
沢山ステージ作って凄いね。頑張ったんだね。そういう評価の仕方しか出来ない。
ソウルとライクいう強力な土台があるのでゲームとして遊ぶことは出来るが、ボタンを押して攻撃を当てたり回避していて楽しいかというとそうでもない。
通常の攻防においては明らかにスキだらけな攻撃が来るのを待ち続けてから反撃するだけで、ソウルシリーズのような絶妙な読みあいが起こることもなく単調な作業の繰り返しになりがち。
各ステージの敵やギミックの配置が生み出すわからん殺しの要素も大雑把で、単に敵が曲がり角に待ち受けていたり逃げ続けるといつまでも追ってきてトレインになるだけで攻略における彩りが感じられない。
ボス戦においてもそれは変わっておらず敵の攻撃の中に反撃をしやすい物とそうでない物が明確に分けられていてバランスが悪い。
なにより、間をズラす方法としてボスに何もさせず棒立ちさせるという手段を選んでいるのが最悪の一言。
短くまとめると、世界観、動き、ビジュアル、それら全てにおいて魂が入っておらず、作者の自己顕示欲を満たすだけのできの悪い操り人形だらけなのが問題点である。
スケールを大きくしてとりあえず完成形にたどり着いたことは作り手としては立派だが、まずは小さく完成させることを目指すべきだっただろう。
いっそ最初のボス戦まででいいから、「ダークソウルシリーズの外伝と勘違いしかねないほどに思わず熱中して遊べてしまったゲーム」を目指すべきだったのではないだろうか?
30点のゲームを10時間遊ぶのと60点のゲームを5時間遊ぶことの間にある満足度の差はあまりにも大きい。
ゲームには「クリエイターが頑張りを褒めてもらうための手段」としての側面は確かにある。
しかし、多くの人が求めているのは「プレイヤーが楽しい時間を過ごすための手段」なのだ。
多くのゲームはこの2つの要素を内包していて、時には前者の側面が強く光ることもあるにはあるが、その場合はまず、後者の要素が満たされていると多くの人に認められているものだ。
与えるより先にまず与えよ。
極端でも何でもないぞ
FBIはアジア系アメリカ人に対する憎悪犯罪の増加を警告しているし
既に子どもが刺されている
[oxygen] Stabbing Of Asian-American Family At Texas Grocery Store Being Investigated As Coronavirus-Related Hate Crime
(コロナウイルス関連のヘイトクライムとして調査されているテキサスの食料品店でのアジア系アメリカ人の家族の傷害事件)
https://www.oxygen.com/crime-news/man-allegedly-knifed-asian-family-in-suspected-hate-crime
Googleに Asian American hate crimes coronavirus もしくはCOVID-19 を入れて幾らでも見れるけど、
被害を集め報告するためのサイトも作られていて、日本語ドキュメントもあるぞ
(アジア太平洋計画および政策審議会のプロジェクト。ヘイトクライムを追跡する目的で作られた)
https://docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1FAIpQLScJ7reaNSPOJi4cFdsjHpzVxSvhd0BMzQjxgMb1n2KF5vNI3Q/viewform
どんなヘイトも肯定はしないが貧しくて学が無ければそういうこともあるのかなってちょっと思えるけど
日本にそういう人はおらんやろ
アジア系の医師や医療関係者は患者にサービス提供拒否をされたりしているらしいぞ
Dr. Edward Chew, the head of the emergency department at a large Manhattan hospital, is on the front lines of fighting the coronavirus. He said that over the past few weeks, he had noticed people trying to cover their nose and mouth with their shirts when they are near him.
(マンハッタンの大病院の救急部の責任者であるDr.エドワード・チューは、コロナウイルスと戦う最前線にいます。彼は、ここ数週間、彼が近くにいるとき、鼻と口をシャツで覆おうとしている人々に気づいたと言いました。)
[The New York Times] Spit On, Yelled At, Attacked: Chinese-Americans Fear for Their Safety
https://www.nytimes.com/2020/03/23/us/chinese-coronavirus-racist-attacks.html
『貴方が私を憎んでいても私は貴方に最高の医療を全力で提供します。拒否しないでください』とか言ってたアジア系の医師もいたな
ただ、こういうリスクがあった上でも、アメリカの方がいいけどな
差別をするのは国でも人種でも時代でもなくその個人のパーソナリティの問題だ
セレブや勝ち組でも恐怖を感じるレベルのヘイトに一般人が立ち向かえるかは知らんけど
You will not be able to stay home, brother
You will not be able to plug in, turn on and cop out
You will not be able to lose yourself on skag and skip out for beer during commercials
Because the revolution will not be televised.
The revolution will not be televised.
The revolution will not be brought to you by Xerox in 4 parts without commercial interruptions
The revolution will not show you pictures of Nixon blowing a bugle and leading a charge by John Mitchell, General Abrams and Mendel Rivers to eat hog maws confiscated from a Harlem sanctuary
The revolution will not be televised.
The revolution will not be brought to you by the Schaefer Award Theatre and will not star Natalie Woods and Steve McQueen or Bullwinkle and Julia
The revolution will not give your mouth sex appeal
The revolution will not get rid of the nubs
The revolution will not make you look five pounds thinner
Because the revolution will not be televised, brother.
There will be no pictures of you and Willie Mae pushing that shopping cart down the block on the dead run
Or trying to slide that color TV into a stolen ambulance
NBC will not be able predict the winner at 8:32 on reports from 29 districts
The revolution will not be televised.
There will be no pictures of pigs shooting down brothers in the instant replay
There will be no pictures of Whitney Young being run out of Harlem on a rail with brand new process
There will be no slow motion or still life of Roy Wilkens strolling through Watts in a Red, Black and Green liberation jumpsuit that he had been saving for just the proper occasion.
The revolution will not be televised.
Green Acres, The Beverly Hillbillies and Hooterville Junction will no longer be so goddamned relevant
And women will not care if Dick finally screwed Jane on Search for Tomorrow
Because Black people will be in the street looking for a brighter day
The revolution will not be televised.
There will be no highlights on the eleven o'clock news
And no pictures of hairy armed women liberationists and Jackie Onassis blowing her nose
The theme song will not be written by Jim Webb or Francis Scott Keys, nor sung by Glen Campbell, Tom Jones, Johnny Cash or Englebert Humperdink
The revolution will not be televised.
The revolution will not be right back after a message about a white tornado, white lightning, or white people
You will not have to worry about a dove in your bedroom, a tiger in your tank, or the giant in your toilet bowl
The revolution will not go better with Coke
The revolution will not fight the germs that may cause bad breath
The revolution will put you in the driver's seat.
The revolution will not be televised
Will not be televised
Will not be televised
Will not be televised
The revolution will be no re-run, brothers
The revolution will be live.
主にMMT economistsから。(尻馬に乗ってる奴もいるが)
https://twitter.com/paulkrugman/status/1164604703424090112 のリプライ
twitter.com/mtwestra/status/1164778010534244352 おめーもサマーズもMMTから一つ二つアイディアぱくってて乙 Looks like @LHSummers and yourself picked up an idea or two from MMT. Congratulations on finally catching up with reality!
TFW you look down your nose at the economic prowess of a Nobel laureate in economics. ノーベル賞受賞者の腕前を煽る
Your model was/is/always will be a fraudulent misrepresentation.Retire. さっさと引退しろウソツキ
Complete snake oil rhetoric... What a hyperbolic & disingenuous numb skull. Or he's intentionally fear mongering. 完璧にガマの油レベルのインチキレトリック、誇張、腹黒 大げさな恫喝
@RaulACarrillo (弁護士 lefty lawyer)
Why can't you and the others just recognize that you were wrong for YEARS while others were consistently right? 他の人が一貫して正しい一方で自分が何年も間違っていたと認識すればいいだけなのにそうできないのはなぜよ?
This is intellectual gatekeeping and a disservice to the public. A little integrity would be nice. 国民全体に対する害毒でしょ。
This is you. Spring 2011. When it mattered. @DeanBaker13 was right to call you out. 8年前にディーンベイカーに名指しで間違いを指摘されてたじゃん。
“All progress must come from the maintstream” ハイハイ、進歩は主流派からしか出てこない、出てきちゃいけないっていつものやつね。
shamelessly trying to force decades of heterodox research into a memory hole. 非主流派経済学の何十年もの研究成果に知らんぷりかよ。恥知らずめ。 8年前にフルワイラーに言われわたことを忘れたとは言わせないぞ?
@FadhelKaboub Economics Prof.(Denison university)
Paul, your intellectual dishonesty is mindboggling. おめーの知的誠実性の欠如にはめまいがするわ。こっちが30年も言ってたことを「2019年にジャクソンホール」で発見、だと? #恥知らず。
Umm. I remember when you bashed Stephanie Kelton for saying what you are now saying. Do I need to link to your own words of just a few months ago to spur your memory of your own words of just a few months ago?
おめーが今言ってることはほんの数か月前におめーがバッシングしたケルトンの主張そのものじゃねーか。記憶力に障害があんのか?
You will not be able to stay home, brother
You will not be able to plug in, turn on and cop out
You will not be able to lose yourself on skag and skip out for beer during commercials
Because the revolution will not be televised.
The revolution will not be televised.
The revolution will not be brought to you by Xerox in 4 parts without commercial interruptions
The revolution will not show you pictures of Nixon blowing a bugle and leading a charge by John Mitchell, General Abrams and Mendel Rivers to eat hog maws confiscated from a Harlem sanctuary
The revolution will not be televised.
The revolution will not be brought to you by the Schaefer Award Theatre and will not star Natalie Woods and Steve McQueen or Bullwinkle and Julia
The revolution will not give your mouth sex appeal
The revolution will not get rid of the nubs
The revolution will not make you look five pounds thinner
Because the revolution will not be televised, brother.
There will be no pictures of you and Willie Mae pushing that shopping cart down the block on the dead run
Or trying to slide that color TV into a stolen ambulance
NBC will not be able predict the winner at 8:32 on reports from 29 districts
The revolution will not be televised.
There will be no pictures of pigs shooting down brothers in the instant replay
There will be no pictures of Whitney Young being run out of Harlem on a rail with brand new process
There will be no slow motion or still life of Roy Wilkens strolling through Watts in a Red, Black and Green liberation jumpsuit that he had been saving for just the proper occasion.
The revolution will not be televised.
Green Acres, The Beverly Hillbillies and Hooterville Junction will no longer be so goddamned relevant
And women will not care if Dick finally screwed Jane on Search for Tomorrow
Because Black people will be in the street looking for a brighter day
The revolution will not be televised.
There will be no highlights on the eleven o'clock news
And no pictures of hairy armed women liberationists and Jackie Onassis blowing her nose
The theme song will not be written by Jim Webb or Francis Scott Keys, nor sung by Glen Campbell, Tom Jones, Johnny Cash or Englebert Humperdink
The revolution will not be televised.
The revolution will not be right back after a message about a white tornado, white lightning, or white people
You will not have to worry about a dove in your bedroom, a tiger in your tank, or the giant in your toilet bowl
The revolution will not go better with Coke
The revolution will not fight the germs that may cause bad breath
The revolution will put you in the driver's seat.
The revolution will not be televised
Will not be televised
Will not be televised
Will not be televised
The revolution will be no re-run, brothers
The revolution will be live.
“What are you putting in your nose? Is that where all your money goes?”
(鼻の中に何入れているの? それにお金全部使っちゃったの?)
ポップ・ライフ(Pop Life)は、米国のシンガーソングライター、プリンス(Prince)が率いるバンド、
プリンス・アンド・ザ・レボリューション(Prince & The Revolution)の楽曲。
1985年4月22日リリースのアルバム、アラウンド・ザ・ワールド・イン・ア・デイ(Around the World in a Day)に収録。
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pop_Life_(Prince_song)
http://prince510.blog.fc2.com/blog-entry-121.html
Prince & The Revolution - Pop Life
未完、収まりきらなくなったので分割 anond:20210626005632
☆☆☆
そして俺には今年大学受験を控える弟がいる。
しかし弟はド阿呆だ。高校生で中1レベルの知識もままならなかった。
「なあ背水の陣って何?」「noseってなに?」「1+2x=5って何?」
「Are you play tennis?」…
☆☆☆
弟が高1の時に、おれが「自分卒業したら働くん?」って軽く話をしたら、
「大学行きたい。桃学らへんいけたら万々歳やな」って返ってきましてん。
桃学ってのは摂神追桃の一角で、関西のギリギリFランかどうかのところでして。
他の地方だと大東亜帝国とか、名名中日とかが同じレベルなとこかな。
お前大学行くのかよ、とちょっとびっくりしたのをよく覚えてる。
☆☆☆
その後俺が大学に合格して、マーチ関関同立なら一年で行けると言い続けた。
最初弟は半信半疑だったけど、一年間事あるごとにずっっと言ってきた。
そしたら弟に次第に内面化されて行ったのだろうか、マーチ関関同立を目指して真面目に勉強し始めた。
「あんた何吹き込んだん?!」っておかんが驚いて連絡をよこしたほどだ。
いやずっと一年あれば上位私大行けるって言い続けただけですけど。
英語の疑問詞に苦しみつつも結構頑張っているようなので、応援したいと思う。
だから、数年言い続ければ家族や回りの子にも良い影響があるのではないかと思った。
そんなお話。