The-antihero-of-the-story - 「ᴀɴᴛɪʜᴇʀø」

My new hobby is to frame actual language inventories as conlang inventories and watch people say they're unrealistic or unnaturalistic

Tried making some cherry pie. It's not the best, but it's definitely better than my pumpkin pie from yesterday, so that's still a win. The more I look at this, the more I feel that something is missing... 🤔

you know what fuck it, I love you historical spelling. I love you weird fossilised preservations of obsolete alphabets, grasping for something that exists now like mist, like liquid, its true pronunciation lost to time but not quite forgotten, not yet. a ghost remains, a friendly one, comfortable in this old house. I love you repurposed letters for phonemes that neither the old language nor the variety they were borrowed into has any need for anymore. I love you sensible vowel pairings that have grown - improbably - centuries later, into unwieldy diphthongs, quietly thriving in an ever-shifting environment like weeds nestled cosily beneath the shade of grander plants that have long since turned to mulch. I love the word 'diphthong' (the little thicket of consonants in the middle of it, sprouting up from nowhere to trouble tongue and penmanship alike). I love how Phoenician fingerprints remain in a Norman revision of an Anglo-Saxon reworking of a Roman borrowing of a Greek repurposing, all these shapes and signs moulded again and again like clay, like mud, spun like flax to carry all those lovely glides and nasals and obstruents which come and go and come and go over time as the sounds mutate and grow apart, and the people grow and age and die, leaving behind nothing except (sometimes) a page. a poem. a piece of themselves, their voice, rendered in imperfect beautiful scratchings whose contours match the ceaseless flow of time, heavy with all that history and somehow also light with the sheer urgency of being written. look at it, isn't it wonderful? this moment in time that holds within it yet other moments? other echoes calling down through the centuries? this is how we spoke, this is what we sounded like, once. this is how we thought our ancestors would have said it. I love the inconvenience. English is so hard to learn. the spelling is so illogical. so cumbersome. it's frustrating. it makes no sense. it's inconvenient. yes and yes and yes, and yet you too are inconvenient, you too are inchoate and too much and you fail to resolve into a neat and comprehensible order. but look at you. how lovely you are. I treasure you. why should the words you speak be any less lovely.

Beneath a Cherry Sky

If you’ve never stood under a cherry blossom tree in full bloom, you owe it to your soul to live somewhere that lets you.

i'm sorry but language-wise we gotta start moving things along. English has been around for 15 centuries and still barely scrapes a couple hundred irregular verbs. for starters i propose the past form of "slice" should be "sloce"

horsethoughtbarn 5 name

if horses werent called horses what do you think they should be called

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“The worst thing in the world can happen, but the next day the sun will come up. And you will eat your toast. And you will drink your tea.”

— Rhian Ellis

Thanks for the wisdom, sir. I actually needed this right now.