#and a stamp in braille

[sam-blackbird]

I’ve got 9. I’ll be 20 this year. I don’t feel old.

A hard zero for me.

[capesandshapes]

Thinking about braille on products and how little effort could put into making it so that a person with visual impairments could identify exactly what they're grabbing in their fridge without a second thought using stamping and molding technology that's already widely in place in manufacturing like...

why aren't we doing this

[eatommo]

Test of Patience [m.m.]{kd8}

Cockwarming / Swallowing

CW: cockwarming, blowjob during a phone call, dom/sub themes, cum eating,

You didn’t know anyone else that had a landline, much less a corded phone, but when Nelson and Murdock happened to clear their bills for more than a month he said he’d get a new phone.

However the phone being next to the bed had its cons, “Foggy, this better be important.”

Matt had just returned from patrol, the chilly autumn air keeping most trouble off the street. You had greeted him at the door with an oversized t-shirt and freshly cleaned satin sheets, and had practically pulled him into bed by his belt. When Foggy’s name reverberated off the brick walls of Matt’s apartment.

With an eyeroll you sat on the bed, unfastening his pants and ever so gently scratching the skin just above the hem of his fitted boxers. His throws his head back, already so sensitive to your glancing touches.

His bulge is growing rapidly despite the serious tone of his conversation, at least you think it’s serious, but you find it hard to focus on anything other than the kaleidoscope of light dancing off Matt’s taught scarred abdomen.

Each breath causes your pulse to quicken as his hand tangles in your hair, you’re only able to see his stubbled chin from this angle. You lean in and kiss the length of his shaft, letting your kisses linger for a few seconds each time.

You shift back slowly, gently tugging on his waistband silently asking for permission to remove them. He looks towards you, biting his lip as if to keep himself quiet, but nods all the same.

Tugging the fabric down to his knees, you let your hand cup the underside of his balls to slowly massage them as you lick a bead of precome from the tip.

“Can’t this wait until morning?” Matt’s hand finds your hair, kneading his fingertips into your scalp and encouraging you to continue.

You barely get your mouth wrapped around his tip when Matt’s hand stills your movement entirely.

“I’ll check the files, but I have a court appearance tomorrow morning fog.” He pulls you off of him and walks to the dining room table where his briefcase sits before he rejoins you in the bedroom with a bundle of papers in his hand.

He leans towards you, holding his palm over the mic side of the phone, “Keep my cock in your mouth while I look for this Sweetheart.” He whispers, and it’s probably the nastiest thing he’s said to you.

Your body betrays you, as you clench wantonly around nothing at the thought of engaging in such an act while he’s on the phone. He wraps his hand around your throat pulling you close against him in a direct but gentle reminder of his dominance.

You obey, taking the first few inches into your mouth and letting it rest there. The longing to move your jaw and the pleasure him is overwhelming, you didn’t expect the taste of his skin and the salt of his precome to make your body long for him more than you thought was possible.

Above you he shuffles through papers, using his fingers to read the braille stamped paperwork to whichever case foggy requested him to check over. You made a mental note to unplug the phone the next time you wanted some time alone with Matt.

It takes longer than you expect, and after a while your jaw tires, so you take a deep breath through your nose and adjust your posture. The shift makes one of Matt’s knee shake, you squint up at the underside of his papers as he says some legal jargon you don’t understand. You swallow, experimentally taking just a little bit more of him down, and using the muscles of your throat to stimulate him.

You hear a sharp drawn breath, and doing it again paying closer attention to watch he’s saying. “I don’t have it, must be in my drawer in the office. Night Foggy.”

The line goes dead as the papers flutter around in the air surrounding you. The phone is back on the the receiver and his hands are back in your hair like he never stopped. He takes no time thrusting into your mouth, hips stuttering and groans praising each second of your attention.

“I could cum just from that pretty mouth baby, you feel so good.” His voice is strained and the words fight there way out as you realize he’s asking for permission.

You begin to use your tongue to nudge at the underside of his cock, and give him of a hum of encouragement. He swears, every muscle in his body tense but the ones that are pulsating on your tongue, his hot seed shooting down your throat as you welcome your man home.

[ghostherlig]

i am very slow with writing atm with being sick and also my wrists are starting to hurt more now that it's getting colder- but here's some silly goofy random headcanons while im recovering!! (for johnny, kenshi, raiden, and kung lao) under the cut bc this really ran away from me- (collected over the course of this entire day as things popped into my brain, i apologize for the mass of words you're about to read :'))

johnny can play piano!! he has a grand piano that he really loves and he plays anything from classical to ost's to his own little tunes whenever he thinks them up- he has a recorder attached to it so he can remember them or maybe post his own song one day

(based off the previous hc) if/when kenshi is over/moves in he'll play at night and let kenshi listen in- but randomly johnny will transition what he's playing into the jaws or michael meyers theme and that's kenshi's cue to start running- because now the house is in hide and seek mode, and as soon as johnny stops playing, he'll be searching

kenshi used to play the violin growing up, but he dropped it once he was old enough and competent enough to commit himself to the yakuza- he can still remember some of the songs he used to love to play. he hums them from time to time and has been caught doing the motions of playing the violin before

kenshi loves animals but has an extra soft spot for cats and bunnies especially- he's a cat magnet in places where strays are common, they always flock to him (he for sure keeps catnip in his pocket when he can)

johnny loves his action and hero films but kenshi enjoys romcoms and horror- romcoms for the stories and drama, and horror films because the sound design usually slaps- he also can tell you what fruit or vegetable was absolutely destroyed based on the sounds alone

lao and raiden are way too good at Keep Talking and Nobody Explodes- raiden is on the manual while lao is on the bomb and they can crack the normal mode in like 45 minutes (they're a little slower when they swap places but they can still do it impressively fast (fastest speedrun time is sub 30mins)

johnny knows how to play mahjong after taking a role and having to play on-screen for five minutes- he wanted it to look authentic and thought "there's no better way than to actually play"- raiden and lao found out and now they're all trying to teach kenshi with specially made tiles with braille in the corners

kenshi is ridiculously good at poker- he brought a deck of cards with braille stamped on them and him and johnny played strip poker for a night- needless to say kenshi was smirking to himself as he switched his button up for johnny's

johnny can do pitch and diction perfect impressions of people he's heard talk for long periods of time- you can bet that a lot of his free time at wu shi was spent scaring his fellow champions by talking to them in liu kang's voice from behind a wall-

(based off the last hc) johnny only does it around people he knows well or as a party trick with different characters from pop culture- most often his power is used for evil though

raiden isn't a morning person and actually is super groggy in the mornings- the first thing he does on early days is take a cold shower to wake himself up

(based off the last hc) lao is a morning person and is usually the one to wake up raiden by ripping his blankets off of him- he's lucky he has survived this long, but he tells everyone that if looks could kill, raiden would have killed him long before he made it to wu shi

we all know kung lao eats for a family of five, but that man also naps like a divorced dad after an all you can eat buffet- he is OUT after he's done absolutely fucking up like five full plates of food

raiden really likes boba!! kenshi took him to get some after an errand run and he fell in love with the taro flavor- he also really enjoys winter melon and the regular thai tea

johnny always gets his boba with coffee- he doesnt really like tea flavors and no matter how many sips of kenshi's tea he has, he will always prefer his coffee

kenshi bought johnny a really nice espresso machine that he uses every morning- johnny didnt buy himself one before that bc he never thought he would enjoy making coffee at home and it was easier to just stop by the local cafe since they always had his order ready early- but he finds it really calming and really nice to slow his mornings down and make a latte before leaving for work

johnny, to return the gesture, bought kenshi a really nice kitchen knife since he knows the man really likes to cook- it sees a lot of use as it's a santoku that he basically uses like a chef's knife (it's his sharpest and most well treated kitchen tool, right next to his 8 inch cast iron)

kung lao owns maybe three articles of clothing with sleeves- all of them are coats for when it rains- oh and one hoodie that he stole from raiden that somehow survived when he went into his wardrobe and cut and hemmed all of the sleeves

when kenshi visits, johnny makes him coffee in the morning too but since kenshi doesnt always like the bitter coffee flavor he'll add some fun home made syrups- he has plain vanilla, but also has seasonal flavors like pumpkin spice, snickerdoodle, sugar cookie, white mocha, peppermint, etc.

kenshi LOVES mint chocolate flavored things- he especially loves the kitkat flavor and the pocky flavor, as well as ice cream- johnny CANNOT stand it, he's never liked mint outside of gum and even then he prefers cinnamon or clove gum (the first time kenshi kissed him he was confused bc he tasted like spices)

johnny keeps a jar of butterscotch candies on his desk for when he needs to brainstorm ideas- he finds he thinks better when his mouth is occupied (oral fixation haver)

(based off the previous hc) kenshi bought him some violet (the flower) flavored candy after he found out johnny always kept a stash- he also will refill the giant glass jar with butterscotch candies when he knows johnny is busy and will forget

(also based off the candy hc) lao and raiden also buy him hard candies- they get him ginger and lemon ones that johnny falls in love with immediately- he has two jars on his desk now, one for butterscotch and one for ginger

raiden really likes sketching and coloring- lao bought him one of those adult coloring books with mandalas and really intricate shapes and raiden finished all of it in like two weeks- he used to sketch in his free time and has an entire sketchbook dedicated to drawings of lao and his features (a lot of his arms, hands, eyes, and smile) it's hidden under his mattress

kung lao shaves his own undercut when it gets too long- normally cant let it grow out for longer than two or three weeks. sometimes, raiden will offer to do it for him so they can spend a bit of time together and just talk and be close <3

johnny definitely really enjoys washing kenshi's hair- johnny has a bit of a curl to some of his hair but he never uses the products he's supposed to or the methods he's supposed to when it dries- so it's pretty straight, but kenshi's is pin straight and doesnt tangle the way his does sometimes, so he really loves running his hands through it and has even convinced kenshi a few times to sit so johnny could put coconut oil in it for him

johnny loves coconut flavored things and purposefully buys ice cream bars that have coconut cream based ice cream- kenshi was unaware of this and was offered one and said yes thinking that it was vanilla- kenshi does not like coconut, so it was a very sudden and unpleasant surprise

kenshi cuts fruits as his way of showing love very often- he washes and cuts fruits for himself when he's stressed but preps it for others out of love and will often take apple slices, peeled oranges, cut melon (of any kind), or strawberries and grapes up to johnny's in-home office while he's working

johnny buys kenshi small gifts year round and goes crazy for the holidays and his birthday- he asked kenshi how he would feel if johnny bought him (technically them) a house back in japan- kenshi drew his line in the sand and capped johnny's gift prices at $2k per holiday/birthday (which he had broken before)

raiden keeps taxidermy bugs!! he always loved butterflies as a kid and his first framed butterfly was a gift from lao

please excuse any typos, it's later in the day now and my eyes are a little strained- i hope this was comprehensible, lol

[toothmeetingtooth]

library

i cannot read

the tone of your message

only

your hands on my jacket

opening to a blank page

then under my shirt

fingertips leaving burning streaks

on my skin

your lips on mine

then on my cheek, neck, ears

bruised braille for you to trace later

my hands against your chest

on your sweater, tie, buttons

leave

patterns in my palm

leave

your whispers ringing in my head

i cannot decide if it's sincere when you say

i am the only stamp on your card

[storyofthenauseouseye]

A Guide to the Father of Surrealism: Andre Breton

Philippe Jean (1931-1987) — “Elle était subjuguée par Le Monde” [oil on canvas, 1967]

Considering the topics in my last post, The Two Basic Pillars of French Literature, it'd be best to start this excursion with Andre Breton, the man widely considered to be the father of surrealism. The idea of surrealism is pretty straightforward, but it gets tricky the longer you think about it. Ironically, that's the point.

Surrealism is acquired when one pushes away the rational thoughts and everyday logic that goes into making traditional art. Surrealism is dreamlike, bizarre, and often challenging to understand. Sometimes, it's even difficult to look at. By accessing the subconscious, Breton and his peers could create art that had never been seen before (other than the similar dadaist movement, but that was based more on goofy arrangements of rational imagery).

Breton used his ideas on surrealism and put them into two pivotal works of literature that defined his career: The Manifesto of Surrealism and Nadja.

Left: Fernand Aubrey, MASKS, 1950. Right: Georges Spiro, "Composition Surréaliste" 1960

Le Manifeste de Surrealisme

The Manifesto of Surrealism (1924) is Breton's most famous and widely renowned work. In it, he goes on to explain what exactly surrealism is. Breton was one of many to publish a manifesto on the subject matter. Many of his peers and rivals tried to coin the term and define the movement for themselves, but in 1924, Breton's manifesto became the generally more beloved guide. It would travel the world and be used by artists, writers, filmmakers, poets, and visionaries everywhere. Breton's words would even be included in works he inspired, such as being stamped in braille in Leon Ferrari's famous "Union Libre" pictured below.

Leon Ferrari, "Union Libre", 2004

Breton's definition of the movement would shortly become famous.

"Pure psychic automatism, by which an attempt is made to express—either verbally, in writing or in any other manner— the true functioning of thought. The dictation of thought, in the absence of all control by reason, excluding any aesthetic or moral preoccupation" (Academy of American Poets).

Discard all logic, and throw away the mindfulness you pay to your work. Surrealism is the logic of dreams, the strangeness in the human subconscious. A twentieth-century American surrealist writer would later simplify the idea to four words: Exterminate all rational thought. I'll let you guess the author.

Antonin Artaud, La projection du véritable corps, 1948

Nadja

Breton would eventually take this philosophical art theory and apply it himself through literature. In 1928, he published Nadja, a strange novel about a girl. The protagonist rambles on about surrealism, gives a description of a ten-day love affair with a girl named Nadja, and realizes she's insane and that he cannot continue the relationship. Then he gives a detailed monologue lasting a quarter of the length of the novel on how her absence destroys and inspires him.

Left: Cover of the 1928 Gallimard edition of Nadja, collaged cover by Marcel Mariën. Right: 1964 Le Livre de poche edition of Nadja, interior.

Nadja is a bizarre text. It's non-linear, borders as a sequel to his 1924 manifesto, and the density of the strangeness makes it a difficult read for most people; that means it did what Breton intended.

Breton can take the reader through his surreality through this dreamy, irrational writing pace. Surreality was considered the world where surrealism took place, eventually helping make surrealism into an ideology, not just an idea. Nadja was the first surrealist fictional work to be published. With it, forty-four images were added to the book to help create another layer of dreamy imagery.

And with that, I will end this post the same way Breton ended Nadja.

"Beauty will be convulsive or will not be at all"(162).

Works Cited

Academy of American Poets. “About André Breton | Academy of American Poets.” Poets.org, https://poets.org/poet/andre-breton. Accessed 7 December 2023.

Breton, André. Nadja. Grove Press, 1988. Accessed 7 December 2023.

Further Reading

[shinymoonforest]

A Second Chance

After two unfortunate souls leave a devious novelist to his unfortunate demise, an unexpected alliance is formed... but after being given a second chance at life, will he use it properly? ---------------------------------------------- Characters: Darkiplier, The Author/The Host TW: blood (brief mention) ---------------------------------------------- CHAPTER 2

Once again, darkness.

It surrounded him, engulfed him even to the point that he could barely see the room he was in. The Author, waking up from what felt like a state of deep sleep, looked around to see nothing but a void-like darkness. He wondered why he was there, in a room with no windows, instead of at his office.

…His office. That’s right.

The memories from before came back in an instant faster than a boomerang but still with just enough time to process what he had just agreed to. Revival, certain mercy from death, in exchange for… what was it again? ‘Staying in line’? 

‘How…peculiar,’  the writer thought to himself as he began to feel around the room for… well, anything to reference where he was. The Author knew that part of the deal was staying in this monochrome stranger’s household, but the darkened room simply seemed ridiculous to him. Eventually, though, he heard the ‘clack’ of a keyboard on the desk in front of him, with a corresponding mouse and what he assumed to be a computer in front of him. Next to these things, a notebook with carefully placed bumps on the cover of it.  The title, only four letters, was read with a chilly uncertainty: “H-O-S-T”.

Of course, he wasn’t completely sure of the braille stamped on this book cover. Sure, he knew some from being the accessible author he was, but that didn’t mean he remembered all of it. Symbols and numbers, for example, he had trouble with at times. Ah, well, at least he knew his letters. 

Moving on from what he assumed to be a work desk set up for himself (which in itself he questioned), The Author finally was able to feel a light switch in the form of a nearby lamp that only shone off a dim, blurry light when clicked on. Confused by this visual reaction, the man reached up to his face to begin investigating the cause of this.

Instead, he discovered bandages over his eyes. Bandages soaked with blood.

“I wouldn’t touch those if I were you,” entered a familiar voice. “You’ve had enough blood for one week.”

“You…” the other started, voice rapidly growing from what was barely a whisper. “You. What.. What the hell did you do to me?”

“What I had to,” she replied with a harsh tone. “I couldn’t have you swinging your bat around at others, so I figured that limited eyesight and your.. previous skills could help to balance things out.

“Though, if you do not appreciate my choice-”

“NO-” The Author interrupted, trying to face and move towards the general direction of this mysterious being (for could he truly call them a human at this point?). “I-I do appreciate you bringing me back to life, I-I… I just didn’t expect to be doing so while…-”

“While blind,” he chipped in, this time with a slightly softer tone. “Understandably so, though I had to compensate for your gunshots somehow.”

For a moment, both parties were silent as they attempted to understand one another and be understood simultaneously. It took some time but once this was accomplished, The Host assumed his new name and took his seat at the desk provided for him. Only then did he dare to speak once more.

“...How.. How limited is my narration?”

As if the interaction had been rehearsed, the unwavering figure replied with a confident speed: “Fairly so, compared to before. I’ve made it just enough that you can view and maneuver through your surroundings but not enough that you can make any more live-action stories.

“I would explain how to any other person, but you aren’t any other person, are you now, Host?” 

“ ‘No sir, I am not,’ said The Host while looking around the newfound room.”

And in that instant, he could once again see. Abnormally, of course, but it was better than nothing. 

This was his new life now, after all. He may as well start to get used to it. ---------------------------------------------- Chapter 2/? [sorry for this one taking a bit longer, hope it was enjoyed nonetheless!] [also, quick thing i forgot to mention last time! any time you see dialogue lines crossed through, its either damien or celine coming through! i have the colors labelled in my google doc, just havent figured out how to put them into tumblr yet,, hopefully one day i will! ^^;;] thank you for reading :) take care <3 previous chapter | next chapter (coming soon! hopefully-)

[parksprout]

This evening my eyes in the mirror seemed sinister.

Tonight in those couple of moments while water ran over my gillette in the sink and my cheeks began to burn from shaving cream seeping into fresh razor burn, I found myself staring into my own eyes. Usually when I'm seeing my own eyes it's a moment of appreciation for them as a gift. My close friend Matt's eyes are half broken, one optical nerve fully severed from a childhood skating accident and the other lacking all sense of depth. Mrs. Starns from 3rd grade made us read about Helen Keller, listen to Stevie Wonder and take a test in braille when we got a new blind classmate towards the beginning of our second semester. My own eyes are dysfunctional, but beautiful. Usually when I'm seeing my own eyes it isn't in the mirror, but on the screen after my phones lens captured the last-of-too-many selfies I've sent my partner that day. I always make my eyes the center of attention. Sometimes I let my hair cover half my face, but always one eye will peak out to remind the world of my favorite feature. Sometimes I'll take a picture too close to my nose, only these orbs of blue and green discernable on my otherwise distorted face. But tonight, and on others, the same feature that makes my eyes uniquely beautiful, reminds me of the only ones I can thank for my dual, bi-colored irises. Closer to my tear ducts, to my emotions, to my sobs, my eyes are mossy. They're the color of the twelve years of child support my mother left unpaid. They are the color of the forests I've fallen in love with along the creeks of Kentucky, and the color of the rolling green isles my ancestors long ago fled from. They are the color of my mothers eyes. They are the eyes she used to stare forward down the road while she abducted me and my siblings from our first real home. They are the eyes that she used while procuring meth, and marijuana, and liquor in the deserts of Nevada. They are the eyes she used to stare down at commissary paper while she wrote me letters years later, while she drew some of the most beautiful portraits and pieces of art I've ever seen. They are the eyes we share. Though they are no more present than the green, most people perceive my eyes to be blue. Blue like those of my father, ever present in my life, but always absent. Blue like his stained jeans while he worked under the dark green 00' Ford Taurus he drove for over 300,000 miles till it died in my early teens. Icy like his listless gaze over permission slips stacked neatly on his dresser; soon he'd forget about them, then yell when I gave a stuttered reminder that I needed ten dollars. Cerulean like the bank logo stamped on our eviction notice in the final wave of foreclosures during the recession. They are blue like the shaving cream he never taught me how to apply, like the razor covered in blood that he never showed me how to hold. They are the cold eyes of my father, the eyes of a man who saved me from moss-eyes clutches just to resent me more and more as the years wore on. They are the eyes we share. I peeled myself away from the mirror eventually. I washed my face, rubbed ointment into the still burning gouges in my skin, and balled up my shirt. My face was wet even after drying it with a towel, but I refused to look back at those eyes, back into the ice and the moss.

Like the shameful child I sometimes feel like, I refuse to step back to the mirror and look my parents in the eye.

[aniseandspearmint]

iirc there is a lil device you can get to stamp braille into your money, but I've heard the problem with doing that on a large scale is the braille bumps might catch on things (ie interfere with counting machines and ATMs), and also wear down quickly

idk tho, they've had almost fifteen years to come up with a solution, the easiest of which is braille bumps, or giving each type of bill it's own specific edge or notch pattern...

y'know what the US Dollar fucking sucks at? being physical. paper money is awful and the majority of USD denominations are primarily paper. make everything coins. lemme hold a 20$ coin like it's normal

[braillemusic]

Decoding Braille Music Sheets: A Comprehensive Guide for Beginners

Introduction

Have you wondered how individuals with visual impairments connect with the world of music? While traditional music sheets may pose challenges, Braille music sheets offer accessibility and empowerment to the visually impaired. With the help of this tactile method, the visually impaired can read and understand music notation with the help of the expertise.

In this blog, we have tried to cover the world of Braille music sheets. Also, you will find a few basic tips to understand braille music sheets and what resources are required to help the visually impaired navigate the world of music.

What is a braille music sheet?

For visually impaired individuals, braille music sheets help them with the opportunity to learn musical notations. It allows them to interpret and perform their musical compositions without any glitches. Just as braille helps people read and write texts, braille music helps them to learn and read music notes. There a different signs and different sets of dots used to represent different musical elements.

Learning the basics of braille music sheet

First, you have to start with the Braille music alphabet to get familiar with Braille music sheets. This system includes signs and symbols of notes, pitches, dynamics, other musical elements, and the musical code found on Braille music sheets. One needs to familiarize themselves with these symbols to understand and analyze the music.

Braille music sheets are notable for their utilization of octaves. These cues help musicians discover the full spectrum of musical interpretation by guiding them across the note's range. Musicians can now fully experience the rhythm and melody of music thanks to this tactile representation.

Layout of a braille music sheet

Braille musical sheets also have features besides the musical alphabets and octave indicators. The features include dynamics, key signs, articulations, and time stamps. Dynamics helps in the type of music played and maintains its volume and loudness. Meanwhile, articulation helps in playing the notes. The Key Signs allow the pitch of the notes, and the Time Signature stands for the metronome of the music played. 

Here are a few tips to start with:

Practice Regularly:

Like any new skill, decoding Braille music sheets requires practice. Consistent practice will enhance your proficiency in recognizing symbols and notations.

Use Resources:

Leverage Braille music resources, including textbooks, online courses, and tutorials. Many organizations provide materials to support individuals learning Braille music.

Start with Simple Pieces:

Begin your journey by decoding simpler Braille music pieces. As your skills progress, gradually tackle more complex compositions.

Seek Guidance:

If possible, connect with experienced Braille music readers or transcribers like Braille Music and More who can provide guidance and support as you learn.

Conclusion

Through the rewarding process of decoding braille music sheets, people with visual impairments can explore a whole new realm of musical expression.

Beginners can confidently dive into this enlightening experience by grasping the fundamentals of the Braille Music Code and the structure of a Braille music sheet.

[mars1alexholloway]

List of objects thought of for a square, triangle and circle

Square: cube, rubix cube, box, storage, panel, wall, room, book, frame, pixel, lego, brick, screen, computer, door, card, ladder, cross guard, dominos

maze, stairs, chess, stamp, building, window Triangle: hazard sign, give way, arrow, small sword, 3d model, egyptian pyramid, leaf, shelter, stable.

rune, tent, circle piece, circle: earth, sphere, ball, sun, planet, clock, gear, speed limit, cylinder, torch, stick, fruit, moon, galaxy, eye, camera, cycle, wheel, pommel, coin, lid, button, dial, tube, pipe, money plant, sword guard, rainbow, counting, braille, mushroom

fossil, button, hole, compass, music storage

[opalbestcharacter]

[ID: A tweet by Coffee Spoonie @ coffeespoonie. It says:

"Ramps should be the standard.

Automatic doors should be the standard.

Elevators in multi-story buildings should be the standard.

ASL interpreters at events should be the standard.

Braille menus at restaurants should be the standard.

Accessibility should be the standard."

The profile picture is a front-facing photo of a ginger person with glasses holding a mug in front of their face. The time stamp is June third, 2018 at 8:10 AM.

/end ID.]

[dukearchive]

Creekside

by Miranda Gershoni

Translucent green pours up and through. Teasing from my desk, the glow of the bottleneck. I’m back to seven, the walk home from school when mama took us down a different street. We roamed through shadowed trees, looking. Fossils, glass, bones, twigs for the fire. Leaves browned and feet grew and the creek sang still. Our new ritual, scouring the earth after school, treasure hungry.

Mama showed us what we couldn’t see. Raccoon skulls, pre-war milk bottles, an extra breath in the day. I was always catching up, trailing behind myself. My mind revved and tangled. Then we walked gingerly through trees. Looking for treasures below, it slowed me.

These days there is no time for slow. But past the cries of fading debts I hear you in the water near. Trapped in the flat hue of dirt, a scarlet brown filtering the sun. I reach down and pry it out. The remains of a beer bottom, soft and crooked glass patiently wed to its industrial stamp. Tiny bumps curve the edge in obedient rhythm—a Braille of better days, a half mandala that lives to tell the end.

The oyster shell sits as always. Demurring above papers, the numbers leaking out, it sits. Gold rapture waiting to be asked. Painted before your hands were dust, its shape makes mine different now. Holding it emits something new, a fresh duty somewhere far. Back then I could sink, before when flesh could be trusted. In my palm now the shell is cold. Will I ever thaw below it again? A thousand miles east from our creek, mine rushes on. Each print leaves the anatomy of place, history bleeding before me. I know she couldn’t stay here. The gold was part of it. Making new what none of us saw. The drip of stars welled in her, cavernous hunger bowed in stillness.

Molecules packed, no page left white.

So many times we’d just go. Get in the car and move till we got there. Chest dense with bass. Clanging riffs and raspy voices. Content to sit in the safety of surprise, we flew above the road like boys on bikes. From my window now they ride on, witches like us in middle school skin. On the brown glass I see it—seven two. The year your body drifted in. Always your numbers, everywhere. Saying hi from the water.

Mama tell me how. I walk with the leaves. I sit with the water. I listen to the restless finch. I look with the eyes you made, taught me to see with. What flickers on and where? How is the hard one. But you knew that.

The boys just came back around. I remember when we looped like that. Through side streets and alley gardens, grab some basil on the way. Us like paint in the hot air. Lifting from wheels down the hill, rising higher to meet the sun. Those tiny white flowers spinning out on even more impossibly delicate stems. We ride to the tip, laughing. Our sidewalks never ended.

What you knew I can see only now. Why you needed to scream. Peel and bite into avocados. Howl with James Brown in the car. Walk each street and round every corner. Take my hands and dance the floorboards in. Eat many colors. Add sesame seeds and sprouts. Try it with raspberries on your fingers. Write what’s true and burn it. Let the fire take your tears. Bring us to see the smoke. Let us be your fire. Let me be your body now. And you, my spirit. I feel you in the wind. Say it again. Tell me one more time.

[libidomechanica]

Then Gama turned back upon it, he comes a pillar of electric

Each narrower heart, you love me     now. Reason, there is not of. I never would not feel. Won’t     let up—so you will! And with its lamenting names and the     loved—the rather Laws be

wrong; and the goodman shrinks in his     neck, nor did he make, with gilded leaues or colour and a     narrow for you on their wrigle tailes, perke as Peacock:     but nowe vpright hand that he

went round and rolling word, the cowards     the Brere in the gray barbarian lower pleasures     of sea. Dream and that leads the Brere wexe so bold, that you and     midnight with this piteous

haste to put on so soon; like the     winds blowing those detestable that dies with Ida: something     more the silent night. And truly tell it backwards, then     hey, for a lass wi’ a

crazy auld auntie Katie upon     the top of the beames which to thy gloom the deed with     cold, enduring North. And his stormy times as if it would.     Sweet flattered cry: all her

glory, I though that I view, yet     she neither she will open its wings when you surety     for our son, if this be so, the mother’s arms, and speak with     the brave man was on his

hoarie locks downe my helpless sight? The     fire. That is worse than we wonder what you and I saw that     even till the world god’s dread figure in the worst. The mornin’     to e’enin’, he hoasts

and sit beside my daughter rolled     him worthy proved—would this is truthful, much that does thy stamp     they bear, and through a broken and ease. Appear, and they will     make him three leathern thongs,

most terrible reticent gorge     in which there grey seniors question Time in having survive     them go, slim shadows, the blood, and oozed all o’er with a flush     her mind, in the midnight

my wings, a woe-worn ghaist I     hameward glide. Like the presence gies to me. Then Gama turned     back upon it, he comes a pillar of electric cloud,     flaying to my heele: but

nowe vpright honest meaning trade with     several flowers. It is that he was grey, and our missive     through that shuns Love, as we rode and brought her chekes pit     thou like anarchism thought

I want. Or to burst all links of     habit—there to wait for their women’s flesh and love allows     swerve in the shadows on my sleeve, these things of men who looked     upon that light, have tried

to replie well as he crept into     her puir Jenny for since my will sealed not thus. Birds that she     seemed to play. Her when we come wheeled in a silver by. He,     if he delay, tis a

work maybe? In every eye but     whether than his own coffin, as he could know, is a given.     Like the hour or mortal body down, of lying under     friend hath found out the

dark heart beat thick and give my body     takes on the dimensions of sleep becomes you: and younge     again. The North to-night— the color.—But thou, rich in all     her truth to me, trust me,

cousin Amy, speak to our life,     here, grows old with gratitude, Shared, could truly tell it back     to thee: or kissing into the secret name I keep that     name, calling on darkness.

Been out—at work must be done just     now. So it was told them all-in-all, were we almost through     your hair into my boyling brest through a fen of delicate     and rather, I’m made

of greene, colours meete tales of you,     by all mysteries and gentleness than foe: whom self-contempt!     Between a cymballed Miriam and night, and dream     of passionate and end

with the top of thee better objects     you tonight, I call me no longer, he that white trillium     or viburnum, by all his beard, let so much to     gratify it the genial

giant, Arac, rolled on a side,     and when her cheeks, like a wild horn in a cataracts. Until     the Praises of youth did he make, with men. For it’s jet,     jet black, an’ it’s like Braille.

[thresholdbb]

It seems highly likely the writing system largely evolved in a digital medium, rendering the characters more and more stylized as time went on. Seeing as they are a post-Warp society, they’ve had enough time with technology for that, and things being digitized/ interconnected certainly would speed things up. (Just look at any meme-based communication for evidence of that one)

What the script originally looked like would highly depend on the history of Cardassia Prime, since writing systems inevitably evolve from their environments like DataSoong47 points out above. Some of the earliest writing examples we have on earth were carved into tablets. We also have early examples of writing systems made up of knots, balls, all sorts of tactile things, and ours started evolving from there, in many different ways. If they had started a tactile medium, did they include the third dimension in their construction of meaning? If they used paper (though it not have had much longevity in a hot, humid climate), did they use a writing implement as we think of them? Stamps? A combination of drawn lines and raised bumps like braille? Perhaps they never had a paper-type medium for their writing and moved directly from a 3D writing system to a digital one, thus necessitating the elements seem on screen.

I think the evolution also depends on Cardassian’s view of literacy. What we know from the shows (since I’m not as deep into beta canon as I could be), is they have a hierarchical, militaristic society. It seems plausible that as writing was developing, it may have been restricted to certain types of people, likely military strategists over religious figures like we see often in Western language systems. If their writers were strategists trying to gain power over other groups, then it would have helped to make their writing system as convoluted as possible so their neighbors would not be able to decipher their plans. It seems to follow that the most successful strategic group ultimately gained control of the planet, and the victors (literally) write the history. It would make sense for their writing to be difficult.

If there was one main writing system and another was adopted (or invented) — like the cases you point out above with Chinese characters and Japanese, Korean, and Vietnamese — the added elements could represent words or concepts that became part of the dominant culture on Cardassia. All of this begs the question, how widespread was literacy on their planet pre-warp? As literacy expands, previously disenfranchised groups start to add their own spin on the writing system (the example that comes to mind is how “Kawaii” writing started with Japanese teen girls and mechanical pencils iirc) Sometimes those systems get adopted into the larger culture, sometimes they become a niche language usage.

Certain kinds of writing systems also have a higher barrier to literacy, so how important is reading/writing to the average Cardassian? Also, in a world where computers all have verbal interfaces (and theoretically universal translators), how literate is the planet? That sends us straight into their education system, but you really don’t want me to get started on education systems. We also can get into issues of technology as it pertained to how widespread the writing system was (think Gutenberg press, dictionaries, the Internet, etc.)

Lastly, since DS9 was an important base during the occupation of Bajor, they may have elected to use a more archaic/incomprehensible/militaristic/coded script over a more commonly readable/writable one that is used on Cardassia Prime. That being said, no one — from Bajorans to Changlings to humans to Jem Hadar — really seems to assign meaning to the writing all over the station, so their linguistic subterfuge was for naught.

thoughts about the Cardassian writing system

I've thinking about the Cardassian script as shown on screen and in beta canon and such and like. Is it just me or would it be very difficult to write by hand?? Like.

I traced some of this image for a recent drawing I did and like. The varying line thicknesses?? The little rectangular holes?? It's not at all intuitive to write by hand. Even if you imagine, like, a different writing implement—I suppose a chisel-tip pen would work better—it still seems like it wasn't meant to be handwritten. Which has a few possible explanations.

Like, maybe it's just a fancy font for computers, and handwritten text looks a little different. Times New Roman isn't very easily written by hand either, right? Maybe the line thickness differences are just decorative, and it's totally possible to convey the same orthographic information with the two line thicknesses of a chisel-tip pen, or with no variation in line thickness at all.

A more interesting explanation, though, and the one I thought of first, is that this writing system was never designed to be handwritten. This is a writing system developed in Cardassia's digital age. Maybe the original Cardassian script didn’t digitize well, so they invented a new one specifically for digital use? Like, when they invented coding, they realized that their writing system didn’t work very well for that purpose. I know next to nothing about coding, but I cannot imagine doing it using Chinese characters. So maybe they came up with a new writing system that worked well for that purpose, and when computer use became widespread, they stuck with it. 

Or maybe the script was invented for political reasons! Maybe Cardassia was already fairly technologically advanced when the Cardassian Union was formed, and, to reinforce a cohesive national identity, they developed a new standardized national writing system. Like, y'know, the First Emperor of Qin standardizing hanzi when he unified China, or that Korean king inventing hangul. Except that at this point in Cardassian history, all official records were digital and typing was a lot more common than handwriting, so the new script was designed to be typed and not written. Of course, this reform would be slower to reach the more rural parts of Cardassia, and even in a technologically advanced society, there are people who don't have access to that technology. But I imagine the government would be big on infrastructure and education, and would make sure all good Cardassian citizens become literate. And old regional scripts would stop being taught in schools and be phased out of digital use and all the kids would grow up learning the digital script.

Which is good for the totalitarian government! Imagine you can only write digitally. On computers. That the government can monitor. If you, like, write a physical letter and send it to someone, then it's possible for the contents to stay totally private. But if you send an email, it can be very easily intercepted. Especially if the government is controlling which computers can be manufactured and sold, and what software is in widespread use, etc. 

AND. Historical documents are now only readable for scholars. Remember that Korean king that invented hangul? Before him, Korea used to use Chinese characters too. And don't get me wrong, hangul is a genius writing system! It fits the Korean language so much better than Chinese characters did! It increased literacy at incredible rates! But by switching writing systems, they broke that historical link. The average literate Chinese person can read texts that are thousands of years old. The average literate Korean person can't. They'd have to specifically study that field, learn a whole new writing system. So with the new generation of Cardassian youths unable to read historical texts, it's much easier for the government to revise history. The primary source documents are in a script that most people can't read. You just trust the translation they teach you in school. In ASIT it's literally a crucial plot point that the Cardassian government revised history! Wouldn't it make it soooo much easier for them if only very few people can actually read the historical accounts of what happened.

I guess I am thinking of this like Chinese characters. Like, all the different Chinese "dialects" being written with hanzi, even though otherwise they could barely be considered the same language. And even non-Sinitic languages that historically adopted hanzi, like Japanese and Korean and Vietnamese. Which worked because hanzi is a logography—it encodes meaning, not sound, so the same word in different languages can be written the same. It didn’t work well! Nowadays, Japanese has made significant modifications and Korean has invented a new writing system entirely and Vietnamese has adapted a different foreign writing system, because while hanzi could write their languages, it didn’t do a very good job at it. But the Cardassian government probably cares more about assimilation and national unity than making things easier for speakers of minority languages. So, Cardassia used to have different cultures with different languages, like the Hebitians, and maybe instead of the Union forcing everyone to start speaking the same language, they just made everyone use the same writing system. Though that does seem less likely than them enforcing a standard language like the Federation does. Maybe they enforce a standard language, and invent the new writing system to increase literacy for people who are newly learning it.

And I can imagine it being a kind of purely digital language for some people? Like if you’re living on a colonized planet lightyears away from Cardassia Prime and you never have to speak Cardassian, but your computer’s interface is in Cardassian and if you go online then everyone there uses Cardassian. Like people irl who participate in the anglophone internet but don’t really use English in person because they don’t live in an anglophone country. Except if English were a logographic writing system that you could use to write your own language. And you can’t handwrite it, if for whatever reason you wanted to. Almost a similar idea to a liturgical language? Like, it’s only used in specific contexts and not really in daily life. In daily life you’d still speak your own language, and maybe even handwrite it when needed. I think old writing systems would survive even closer to the imperial core (does it make sense to call it that?), though the government would discourage it. I imagine there’d be a revival movement after the Fire, not only because of the cultural shift away from the old totalitarian Cardassia, but because people realize the importance of having a written communication system that doesn’t rely on everyone having a padd and electricity and wifi.

[c0llecti0ns]

[ID: Two postage stamps from Brunei with a small portrait of Sultan Haji Hassanal Bolkiah on the top right corner. The bottom reads “TAHUN ANTARABANGSA ORANG2 CHACHAT 1981″ with the English translation below it: “International Year of Disabled Persons.”

The first stamp shows a silhouette of a person using a white cane, against a blue background with the alphabet in Braille. Face value 10 cents.

The second stamp shows the silhouettes of two people signing, against a yellow background with the alphabet in American Sign Language. Face value 20 cents.

/end ID]