#escher sentences

[quintenrosenburgwrites]

I’m too proud of this joke to not share it with the world

[krakenartificer]

[Image Description: A screenshot of a tweet from Fermat's Library (@Fermatslibrary) reading

In linguistics, Escher sentences are sentences which initially seem acceptable but upon further reflection have no well-formed meaning.

Below that, in smaller text, is the sentence

"More people have been to Berlin than I have"

Below that is a famous MC Escher drawing of a set of 4 stairs, set in a square, all of which appear to be going up.]

this is making me hyperventilate

[neuxue]

me: *slaps roof of sentence* this bad boy can fit so many subordinate clauses in it!

sentence in question: *collapses at the slightest touch like a fucking jenga tower, adverbs clattering down all over the floor, nouns lying broken and bleeding, impaled on verbs they were never meant to touch,*

[talentforlying]

WHAT ARE YOU THE GOD OF?

LABYRINTHS AND CONFUSION. a god for the lost souls. you can often find makeshift altars for you deep in forests, cave systems, and other uncharted territories. you guide those lost back onto the path. the souls of those who disrespect you are lost forever, trapped in a winding labyrinth, never to leave or see sunlight again.

tagged by: @undyingrogue ty!! tagging: you!

[lingthusiasm]

New Lingthusiasm merch! Gavagai, Ask Me About Linguistics, and More people have read the text on this item than I have!

A new round of Lingthusiasm merch is here! We have three new designs available across a range of items.

Gavagai: lo, un-detatched rabbit parts!

Imagine you're in a field with someone whose language you don't speak. A rabbit scurries by. The other person says "Gavagai!" You probably assumed they meant "rabbit" but they could have meant something else, like "scurrying" or even "lo! an undetached rabbit-part!" We undergo this experience practically every time we learn a word, and yet we still manage to do it.

Inspired by the famous Gavagai thought experiment, these items feature a running rabbit and the caption "lo, an undetached rabbit-part!" in a woodblock-engraving-crossed-with-vaporwave style in magenta, indigo, teal, cream, and black/white on shirts, scarves, and more!

More people have read the text on this item than I have

"More people have been to Russia than I have" is a sentence that at first seems fine, but then gets weirder and weirder the more you read it. Inspired by these Escher sentences, we've made self-referential shirts saying "More people have read the text on this shirt than I have" (also available on tote bags, mugs, and hats, with the appropriate tweaks in wording), so you can wear them in old-time typewriter font and see who does a double take.

See our bonus episode Linguistic 〰️✨ i l l u s i o n s ✨〰️ (#57) for more about this classic sentence.

Ask Me About Linguistics

We've made a design that simply says "Ask me about linguistics" in a style that looks like a classic "Hello, my name is..." sticker, and you can put it on stickers and buttons and shirts and assorted other portable items for when you want to skip the small talk and go right to a topic you're excited about.

Lingthusiasm merch generally

If you’re looking for subtle-to-obvious ways to signal that you’re a linguist or linguistics fan in public, gift ideas for the linguistics enthusiast in your life (or handy links to forward to people who might be interested in getting you a gift sometime), we also have many previous items of Lingthusiasm merch!

There are subtly linguistics-patterened scarves, mugs and water bottles with linguistics-related jokes on them, NOT JUDGING YOUR GRAMMAR, JUST ANALYSING IT shirts, nerdy linguistics baby clothes, and more items to browse.

We love to see your photos of Lingthusiasm merch or any diy linguistics crafts projects you might make! Feel free to tag us @lingthusiasm on social media or share in the #merch-crafts-objects channel in the Lingthusiasm Discord.

Stay lingthusiastic!

[quokkafoxtrot]

Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same. Wuthering Heights, Emily Brontë Eddie knows from a very young age that fate is cruel. He learns it from his parents first; learns that his mother was destined to shed tears and his father meant to roar in anger like the engines of the cars he steals. Tied together by cheap wedding rings, words on their wrists. They were stuck together unlike the love they used to hold for each other, that once upon a time had the power to turn black ink on their skin into glowing gold, but had left them as time passed by.

I'm so excited to finally be sharing my first @steddiebang piece!

As the Poets Say by @transmascsteveharrington with art by Riddletalks on Twitter (Link TBA because this is scheduled to go up at ~5am in Australia and Riddle's link doesn't exist yet) and me (who'd better be asleep rn).

I'm a sucker for soulmate fics, especially ones where they grow into the love and it becomes a choice. My original idea is so far removed from this, but I got caught by one lore-building sentence and ended up here. (Also I love Escher and painting hands, so there's that too.)

I can't wait for everyone to see what we've made. I hope you enjoy it! (Read the fic. Read the fic. Read the fic. Read the fic. Read the fic. Read the fic.)

[watcheraurora]

Abducted

I wanted to combine some ideas. This was the result. Happy reading 5.1k words

—

Scar groaned. Everything hurt. Which, by and large, was not a new experience for him. He was more than used to constant pain. Usually at a slightly lower level than this. But this time his head was also pounding.

He heard a familiar cough from nearby.

Peeling one eye open, he tried to lift his head—only for his neck to scream in pain and prevent him from doing so. Still, he could see.

Beside him on the spruce-wood floor, a head of fire hair burned low to its owner's scalp. Diamond armor—sans helmet—covered a red coverall jumpsuit and black utility vest.

Tango shifted slightly, sounding like he was hurting too.

Scar checked their surroundings.

They appeared to be in Tango's house. The steampunk cottage. Scar had gotten lost in here multiple times, but he knew they were on the floor with the big open balcony designed for landing and taking off with Elytra. Because this was the room with the bed. Which neither of them were on. Instead, they were splayed out, fully clothed, on the floor.

"T... Tango?" Scar asked. His voice was hoarse.

"Hey buddy," Tango replied, equally strained and raspy.

"You okay?"

"Head's pounding like you wouldn't believe, but nothing's broken." Tango managed to turn his head, his bloodred eyes meeting Scar's gaze. "You?"

"Same."

Scar tried to sit up. He'd been through pain like this, he could push through. He could—

Purple chains appeared around him, keeping him lashed to the floor. "Ah, ah, ah," a voice said. Feminine and unfamiliar. "You'll stay right where you are if you know what's good for you."

Scar and Tango both scrunched their brows and turned to follow the voice. Up another short flight of stairs, on another "floor" of Tango's M.C. Escher painting he called an interior design, stood a figure.

Definitely none of the Hermits. Her skin was so dark purple it was almost black, nebulae and stars constantly shifting, drifting over exposed skin. Her hair was long and flowing, played with by a nonexistent breeze, and only slightly lighter purple than her skin. She was dressed in black. A tank top and loose trousers. Barefoot. With a cloak on. The underside of the cloak was more cosmic sights, brighter than her skin. It billowed in that same nonexistent breeze that toyed with her hair.

Scar blinked when he got to her eyes. They glowed the brightest, most vibrant purple of all—and were actually glowing.

A sword hung on her hip. At first glance, he thought it was Netherite. But the metal of the blade was too black, and stars glittered on its surface too.

"Who are you?" Tango asked, a snap to his voice that showed he was more than a little displeased to have his house broken into.

The figure smiled. Her teeth were sharp. "You'll find out." She seemed to be half-obscured by shadow, even though Tango had lit his base up fairly well.

Then Scar realized those shadows were great black wings, towering more than a head taller than her.

He scrunched his eyebrows again. "Have we met before?"

She smirked. "No," she replied blithely. She raised a hand and examined her nails. Her eyes flicked up. A spectral, translucent eye blinked into existence on her forehead, glowing and large.

Pain burned in Scar's torso. Lava in his stomach and fire in his heart. He cried out, curling up on himself. Black crept around the edges of his vision. The chains didn't stop him. Tango ground out a noise of agony beside him, clutching at his chest through his armor.

It was over as quick as it had begun. Both Scar and Tango slumped.

"Hmm," the figure grunted, as though noting the weather. "Interesting. Still there, but only a single fiber left. I'd hoped so." She looked between Tango and Scar, her eyes focusing on Scar. "Now which one..."

"What—the he—" Scar couldn't even finish his sentence. He panted, his body reeling from the pain, even though it was gone. Tango was staring with wide eyes, pupil, iris, and sclera all indistinguishable from one another.

"Scar!" Tango stage-whispered, voice raspy still. "You okay?" He seemed to have recovered okay from the pain.

Scar didn't have an answer to that. It should have been a simple Yes or No. It wasn't.

"Um..." He shook his head. Spots were swimming across his vision.

The sky outside darkened as a crack of thunder resounded. So loud Scar thought his eardrums might burst. No flicker of lightning preceded it. Just darkness.

The figure in the next room smiled, showing those sharp teeth again.

In a ripple of black-and-purple shadow, another figure appeared right on the edge of Tango's balcony. The figure wore a black robe. One that fell directly to the ground, slits cut into the back for massive black wings. A black mask with a purple symbol like a broken Nether portal covered half the newcomer's face. The upper half. The hood of the robe was drawn up over the head. But not enough to block the light-brown bangs falling over the newcomer's forehead.

"You wanted my attention," a familiar voice snapped. "You have it." An otherworldly resonance accompanied the words. Like the words themselves were spoken by the thunder that rolled over the server again.

Darkness was radiating off the figure like fog, little flickers of purple occasionally visible.

The newcomer also wore a sword. The same starry black one that the one in the other room wore.

She was still smiling. "There you are, little bird," she crooned. "Come in, come in. Let's talk."

"Release Scar and Tango first. Then we'll talk," the newcomer spat.

"Oh, but if I release them, you won't listen!" the first shot back. She clenched her fist and yanked back. The chains reappeared, bright purple, showing she was holding them. Tango shouted in pain as the chains burned against his armor.

The newcomer growled. Animalistic and furious. Purple lightning flickered away from him. Scar... recognized the newcomer's teeth? Vaguely? Like he'd seen them smiling for years. "Let. Them. Go."

"Look at you, little bird. You've been the biggest, baddest being on every server you've been in since you left us and you think you can intimidate me."

The newcomer drew his sword and took a step deeper into the room. Barefoot under the robe, just barely peeking out from underneath. "I won't tell you again, Iris."

In a flash of purple, Iris was standing toe-to-toe with the newcomer, her hair and cloak whipping in a wind that Scar and Tango didn't feel.

"You ungrateful child," she spat in his face. Scar realized a mask had appeared over her eyes as well. The same symbol in the center. "We saved you. Gave you everything a Player could ever want—and still you spurned us!"

Several more eyes blinked into existence around the pair, hovering like clouds.

Tango and Scar glanced at each other, both still wrapped up in the ethereal chains. The tilt of Tango's eyebrows revealed a question he didn't dare speak out loud.

You okay?

Scar managed a nod. Yeah.

The other two began shouting at one another in a language Scar couldn't understand. Tango's brows furrowed and his eyes narrowed. Like maybe he was picking up a word here and there. Scar gave Tango a look in askance. Tango shook his head subtly.

Scar caught the smaller of the two figures—the one with human skin and hair, the newcomer—saying his name again.

This time, his brain actually clicked into gear and he realized why the voice was familiar.

"Grian?" he asked.

"Ga-gah!" Tango exclaimed in surprise, giving Scar an alarmed look before his head whipped to look at the two figures.

Both figures' hundreds of spectral eyes immediately trained on Scar.

An overwhelming sensation of power rolled over him. Like high air pressure and deep water all at once. He popped his ears.

Another flash of purple light. Iris was behind Scar, her black blade at his throat and her other hand grabbing the back of his head. There was some sort of triumphant smile on her face. "Want to feel that last fiber of your old soulbond snap?" she sneered at Grian.

"Ho-kaaay!" Tango said.

Scar, whole body rigid, looked between Iris and Grian.

"Let him go," Grian said, calm, collected. Back in a language Scar could understand. Sword still in hand. Often, when his emotions were heightened, Grian had a tendency to screech. He did not. The sword in his hand was only loosely gripped. "We're talking, Iris. You don't have to threaten him anymore."

"You're coming back, little bird," Iris said.

"I'm not." Grian's voice still rung with otherworldly power. Darkness still radiating off of him. A glowing eye hovering at his forehead. "I'm never going back." Thunder crashed again, earsplittingly loud.

Grian spun his sword.

The shriek of metal on metal made Scar, Tango, and Iris recoil.

Apparently Tango recovered first, because his inhumanly warm hand had closed around Scar's wrist and was dragging him to his feet. "Flee with extra flee!" he said softly. Scar stumbled to his feet and staggered after Tango, who was leading him down a set of stairs.

Where the magic purple chains had gone, Scar didn't have time to find out.

Tango led him through the absurdly complicated stairs and floors that made up the interior of the steampunk cottage. His Blaze Rods made a rare appearance, rapidly orbiting his head. His fire hair was blazing big and hot. Somewhere up above, an unnaturally loud clang! of swords clashing grated against their ears.

"Where are we going?" Scar asked Tango as the latter pushed him toward a ladder in an open hole in the floor leading outside.

"Just go, just go, just go," Tango hissed, bracing his feet on either side of the ladder frame and sliding down it. Scar followed him down. Once his feet were on solid ground, Tango pulled him to the right. Toward the cherry blossom mountain Scar, Grian, Skizz, Impulse, Mumbo, Gem, and Joel had chosen to build their bases on and around. Which was odd. Scar had guessed that Tango was going to lead him to the Nether, where Tango tended to feel more at home.

Tango didn't let go of Scar's wrist. His Blaze blood kept his internal temperature much hotter than a normal person's, and his heat was prominent against the skin of Scar's wrist. Scar had on fingerless gloves with his zookeeper outfit and where the leather of those ended, Tango held on tight.

The two skirted around the massive hole Skizz had been digging to build up his pyramid in—Skizz had already built the first layer, deemed it too big, and torn it down, leaving the hole empty again—and ran across the treacherously narrow temporary bridge across the river. They readjusted course to head a bit more to the right. Toward Skizz and Impulse, away from Gem.

Tango's boots hit the deepslate ramp of Skizz's starter base, heading up for the castle-like tower with its greenish-blue S emblazoned on the front.

"Skizz!" Tango shouted as they ran up the ramp. "Skiiiiizz!"

"Hey dude!" The man in question dropped off a ladder. "What's up?"

"Can you do that cool thing you do where you do the hand wavy-wavy and all the sparky-sparklys appear and no one can get get close?" Tango asked.

Skizz blinked. "You want me to put up a ward?" he asked.

"Yeah-yeah." Tango nodded.

"What for?"

"Now would be good," Tango said, his head turning toward his steampunk cottage. It wasn't on fire—yet—so Scar counted that as a win. "Please."

Skizz raised a brow, but did as Tango asked. His hands sliced through the air. Yellowish-white light followed his movements and a sphere of faintly-glowing light shimmered around his starter base.

"Wanna explain to me what's going on now?" Skizz demanded.

"Scary tall purple lady knocked us out and hurt Scar to get Grian's attention. They're currently fighting in my base."

All color drained from Skizz's face, leaving him ashen. "You're joking," he said in a tone that said he was not.

Tango shook his head, fire hair flickering.

"Are you two okay?!" Skizz demanded, looking them both over. He put his hands on Tango's shoulders as he inspected, before looking over Scar without touching him. "Where's your cane, buddy? Do you need it?"

Scar swallowed. His legs were almost aching worse than his head. "I don't know. I had it. And then I got hit with something and now I don't have it. I didn't see it at Tango's place."

Skizz grabbed something out of a chest, went to a crafting table nearby, and returned with a wooden chair a moment later, setting it down. "Sit down, Scarface," he said gently. Scar collapsed into the chair without protest. Stone and sticks and string were passed to him next. "Wanna craft a temporary one? I don't have a lot of metal here, it's all at the iron farm. Otherwise I'd make some bars that might be good—"

"This is fine," Scar said, dragging the crafting table over. "Thanks Skizzy-wizzy."

Skizz smirked before going over to Tango, who had just sat in a heap of armor on the floor.

"So, gonna explain why you seemed to know who we were talking about when I mentioned the scary purple lady?" Tango asked.

Skizz pursed his lips, a wry smile beginning to form like he was going to say no—

WHAM!

A familiar voice cried out in pain.

Scar used his makeshift cane to shove himself to his feet and go to the ramp under Skizz's tower to investigate.

Grian had been thrown against Skizz's ward. The scary purple lady—Iris—was in the air, her shadowy wings churning the clouds. Thunder rumbled.

"Aaaaand that's my cue!" Skizz announced.

Scar watched in fascination—he'd seen this before, but it never stopped being amazing—as Skizz's six white wings blazed into existence and a ring of white-and-gold appeared above his head.

Grian groaned, still splatted against the sphere, mask a bit askew, but still covering his eyes completely. "Skizz, get them out of here!" His voice was muffled through the ward, but insistent. Scar, his knees starting to buckle after the adrenaline had started to ease out of his system, hobbled a little closer. Tango pushed to his feet.

"Why can't he go through?" Tango asked, approaching. "I thought you said friends could pass."

"They can," Skizz said.

"Do you not consider Grian a friend?" Scar wondered, head tilting to one side.

"I do. But there are certain... beings that my powers will block no matter whether friend or foe."

At that moment, something slammed into the ward. The point of Iris' sword. She was braced against the shimmering transparent barrier like she'd gone for a superhero landing and Grian had rolled out of the way, pushed off the ward, and took flight. A fierce black bow appeared in his hand.

"What kind of beings?" Scar pushed.

"That's for Grian to tell you later. Hold on." Skizz took both Scar and Tango's shoulders in his hands and shut his eyes.

A burst of yellow-white light nearly blinded Scar.

When he opened his eyes and blinked the afterimages of Skizz's halo out of his vision, he looked around. "Where... where are we?"

Skizz looked back to normal. No halo, no wings. Just Skizz in his suit with the sleeves ripped off. He shoved his hands in his pockets. "This, gentlemen, is a small private server of mine. Little safe haven."

"We're not in Hermitcraft anymore?" Tango asked, looking around. His vibrant yellow brows knitted together, worry etched in the lines of his forehead.

"Nope," Skizz declared confidently. "Which also means you two are safe."

"Why'd she come after us?" Tango complained. Not being in the Hermitcraft server meant their inventories were wiped. No armor, no weapons, no food. No supplies of any sort. The only thing that had carried over was—thankfully—Scar's cane. Which he was leaning pretty heavily on.

Scar hoped it was temporary. Hermitcraft had just restarted and he was already just enjoying a fresh start. He didn't need another one so soon. He sank to the ground.

"She said something about the last fiber of the soulbond," he said.

"Oh come on," Tango retorted. "Double Life was Grian's game for fun. The soulbonds weren't permanent."

"Those games aren't just for fun," Skizz said. "Grian makes them fun. The others of his kind started them as a way to feed off the energy a person gives off when they die—and people's misery. Grian feeds off it too, but he tries not to if he can help it. Remember Limited Life? The time he was awake but not... there?"

"Yeah." Tango looked unimpressed.

"That was his kind pulling his soul out of his body and forcing him to just Watch."

"Great. What does that have to do with the fibers of the soulbond?" Tango, as usual, was dry and blunt.

"Iris sensed Scar's connection to Grian. Used it to get his attention. That's why Scar was targeted. Who was your buddy, again?"

"Jimmy. Solidarity," Tango replied.

Skizz made a face. "Well that's why she grabbed you. Jimmy and Grian are the same... species. Different subsets of powers, but the same DNA, so to speak. Iris probably detected that both of you were bound to one of her kind but couldn't tell which one led to Grian. So she hurt you both to see which one got Grian's attention."

"Great," Tango muttered sarcastically. He stalked off and started destroying the tall grass to get wheat seeds.

"Grian feeds off misery?" Scar wondered aloud.

"He can," Skizz said. "His kind can feed on any human emotion. But misery and other negative ones are the easiest to elicit. And some of his kind think they... taste the best. His kind set up those games, Grian invaded them to ruin the meal by making the games fun. To punish him, they chipped away at his power and pulled him out for a while. It's been a power struggle the whole time."

Scar looked down at his legs. They were shaking but he couldn't feel it. Probably a bad sign. But he ignored the worry for that in favor of some unidentified emotion coiling darkly around his heart.

Betrayal.

"Why didn't he ever tell us?"

"He doesn't want to be different?" Skizz suggested. "He wants to play and have fun with his friends? Maybe live his life away from the crazy people? You saw what Iris was like."

"Yeah..." Scar hummed thoughtfully and started to massage his legs, one at a time, until the aches started to ease. Anger was trying to poke its head out, past the betrayal. Scar did his best to force it down. He wasn't an angry man. And Grian was one of his best friends. That didn't change the fact that Grian had been keeping a secret from him. Scar wouldn't have judged Grian for not being a normal Player. His jaw tightened. "How do you know all this?" he asked to get his mind off of the bubbling emotions in his gut.

Tango returned, seeds in hand and a wooden hoe on his belt. He wandered over to where a river stood nearby and tilled the soil before planting the seeds. He sat on the ground by Scar, still looking grumpy.

Skizz took a deep breath and sighed. "Well, Scarface," he said, "G can't hide what he is from me. I knew what he was the second I met him. Can't really hide the black wings and the mask and the purple darkness from an angel." His halo hummed into view and vanished. "His glamour that makes him look normal to everyone else is good and can't be detected or pierced by most forms of magic or most people's powers. But his kind and mine are on the same... level. So I can see through it. And even before I joined you all on the server, he'd come visit wherever I was living when he needed to talk to someone."

"So... does Grian always look like that? What we saw today? And what we've always seen of him was fake?"

"Fake is a strong word. A glamour just masks his power and the appearance. I've got a glamour on right now too. Keeps the wings and the halo from freaking people out. I imagine Grian does it for the same reason. To fit in with his friends. He wants to stand out on his own merit, not just because he's got the power levels of a minor deity."

"He does?"

"That's for him to explain."

—

Grian's teeth vibrated with the force of Iris' blade striking against his. Why did it always come down to violence with the Watchers? He could never seem to get them to listen to him otherwise.

Part of him wanted to fight dirty. To dig his fingers into her wings and tear her feathers out. But that wouldn't solve anything either.

Grian?

The voice was distant, small, echoey. Not heard through his ears. But felt in his mind.

He ignored it. He didn't have time to concentrate on anything other than Iris trying to destroy his home server by pummeling him into the ground. Not now.

Grian, we need to talk, the voice said. Louder. Clearer. Familiar.

I'm a little busy at the moment, Tim! Grian thought back, shooting his words like a lance down the connection. Even over telepathy, he knew he sounded strained.

This is important! Jimmy insisted.

Grian hurled Iris away from him, his wings beating at the air to keep him aloft. Buying him a couple seconds. You have reached Grian's voicemail. Please leave a message and I'll get back to you as soon as possible. Thank you. He did his best impression of a cool, calm voice that he would have left on his answering machine, taking a moment to get his breath back before twisting and plummeting into a dive, bow out and arrow drawn. He loosed it.

Iris batted it away with her sword, ducking. Her sharp, gleaming, blindingly white teeth bared in frustration.

Their swords met again, hard enough for Grian to feel the vibrations down in his bare toes.

Grian, this is about Tango! He's in trouble—I felt it!

With a twist, he tried to disarm Iris, but she managed to flip in midair and maintain her grip on her hilt.

I literally just sent Tango to safety with Skizz—now will you shut up?

What's going on?

You remember Iris, right? My lovely "sister."

Yeah.

Guess who infiltrated Hermitcraft looking for me and who I'm trying to banish?

She didn't!

She did. Now shut up.

Do you need help? I can get over to fWhip for a faster portal to you.

I'm fine, thanks. Just shush. I'll let you know when Tango's back on Hermitcraft safe, yeah?

Thanks.

Cheers. Call you back later, Grian said.

Bye.

Jimmy's telepathic connection vanished. Listeners like him were naturally telepathic and could reach people from much farther away. Watchers, like Grian, could learn telepathy but weren't as adept. Grian had learned to be telepathic, of course. It was a great way to mess with his friends. But it would always take him more effort than it took Jimmy.

Iris slammed into Grian, sending them both sprawling in the pit Skizz had dug for his pyramid. Grian hit his wing joint hard as he impacted the ground. He clenched his jaw and grimaced in pain, pushing himself up into a seated position so he could get his feet under him. The back of his sword hand was scratched and the skin was nearly shredded from the impact. He dismissed his bow to put his other hand on the ground and hop to his feet. Gentle purple light began to coalesce around his injured hand. Skin began to stitch itself back together.

The thing about being a converted Watcher, rather than a naturally-born one, was that he could use his powers in different ways than the others. Like immediate healing.

Iris shoved herself to her feet and bent her knees in her defensive pose. “You can’t defeat me, little bird.”

“I don’t need to today. I just need to banish you from Hermitcraft. And impose upon you the understanding of what I will do to you if you dare go after my friends again. There won’t be enough left of you for the others to identify, understand?”

Iris spat blood—purplish black—to the ground at Grian’s feet.

Grian raised his sword. His power was still darkening the sky and rolling thunder. He concentrated on the chaos of it all and pulled.

Lightning forked down. Purple and bigger than a normal bolt. It struck Grian's sword. He dropped its point immediately and leveled it at Iris. The electricity arced away, toward her. Carving her out of Hermitcraft.

—

Scar looked up as thunder rolled across the small private server. The clouds turned from fluffy white to black and looming.

"Here he comes," Skizz said.

As if on cue, a figure fell through the clouds. Black shadowy wings furled close to a smaller body. Robe flapping around bare feet.

Grian nearly crashed into the area around spawn. He barely managed to twist his body and get his feet underneath him for a landing, but he hit hard and almost crumpled.

Skizz was next to him before Scar could even blink, taking Grian's arm and slinging it around his shoulders. "You're okay, G," he said. Almost like he was reassuring himself of that fact, rather than Grian. Tango ran over from where he'd been attending to the wheat he was growing. He'd brought back enough for a few loaves of bread so far.

"S... Skizz?" Grian's voice was wavering. Exhausted.

"Yeah, yeah. It's me," Skizz replied. "Why don't you come sit by Scarface."

Grian managed a weak nod. "I need... my..." Scar couldn't see the way Grian's forehead wrinkled under his mask, but by the way his mouth grimaced, he knew Grian was scrunching up his whole face.

"Don't bother with your glamour yet, buddy," Skizz said. "We're all okay with it, here."

Grian managed to tilt his head in Scar's direction. Whether he could actually see Scar through his mask, Scar had no idea. Grian didn't reply to Skizz, just let the latter help him sit down in the shade of an oak tree. He nearly flopped back to lie down, but tilted enough to instead crash into Scar's shoulder. Scar instinctively grabbed him and kept him upright.

"Scar?" Grian asked quietly.

"Yeah?"

"Why are you afraid?"

"I'm not afraid," Scar replied.

Grian swallowed. "Yes you are. I can sense your emotions. You're terrified. Is it because of me? What I am?" As if magnetized, Grian's hand reached out and planted on Scar's chest, purple light drifting around the point of contact like a cloud—no. Like a whirlpool. Scar stared at it. The light was spinning and narrowing going up Grian's arm. His breathing was heavy and he was leaning hard against Scar's shoulder.

"Skizz. Skizz, pull me away. I can't stop it. I need to sto—I can't stop it!" Grian's voice turned panicked. Tango and Skizz each grabbed one of Grian's arms and dragged him back, away from Scar. Grian bit out a sound like it physically hurt him to be removed.

"What was that?!" Tango demanded, hair flickering faster than usual. Neither he nor Skizz let go of Grian's arms.

"I'm depleted. My body's seeking sustenance. Emotional energy to feed on. My kind tends to benefit off the negative emotions the best. Misery. Fear. Scar's terrified and my powers want it—need it—to rejuvenate. But I can't... I can't do that..." Grian arched his back, teeth bared as though in pain. "I told myself when I left that I wouldn't feed off my friends' worst feelings. It's bad—don't want... don't want to be bad anymore."

Scar watched, eyes flicking between Grian, Skizz, and Tango. Skizz looked concerned and sympathetic. Tango almost looked angry.

Scar cleared his throat. "I'm not scared of you. Or what you are, Grian," he said softly. The other three froze. "I won't lie. Feelin' a little bit betrayed that you never told me you're basically a god. But I'm scared for you. That you're hurting and exhausted." He used his cane to push to his feet and closed the gap. "If my fear and betrayal is what you need, take it."

Grian shook his head. "I can't—I can't do that to my friends—"

"Grian, listen to me," Skizz began.

But Scar cut him off. "You're not asking, mister," he snapped at Grian. "I'm telling you to take it." He pried Tango's fingers off Grian's wrist and brought Grian's hand back to his own chest. The purple whirlpool of light started spinning again. Siphoning the emotional energy directly into Grian.

Tango and Skizz seemed surprised, stepping back with raised eyebrows.

Grian and Scar stayed in the same position for nearly two minutes. Scar leaned on his cane, but he stayed standing while Grian knelt in front of him, hand raised and planted on Scar's chest as though unable to remove it.

Finally, Grian gasped and ripped his hand back. His wings beat a little to get him away from Scar, scrambling backward. "That's enough. That's enough. I'm okay now. I don't need more." He sounded like he was trying to convince himself. With one hand, he reached up and balled his fist in his mask, ripping it off. He panted, staring at the ground. His eyes were wide, then narrowed as though blinded by the sunlight, despite being in the shade and tilted down, away from the sun.

"Better?" Scar asked.

Grian managed a shaky nod. "Loads. Thank you."

"That's what friends are for."

"Yeah... yeah." He tied his mask back on and massaged his temples. "I... I need to call Timmy back. Give me a moment." He looked about ready to collapse.

He did not, in fact, call Jimmy. Instead sitting in silence while continuing to rub his temples. Scar scrunched his eyebrows and looked over at Tango and Skizz, confused.

"Jimmy's telepathic," Tango explained. "He can read minds from across the universe if he concentrates hard enough. Grian's talking to him through their thoughts, probably."

"Ohhh. Okay. I get it," Scar said. While not, in fact, fully getting it.

After a few moments, Grian tilted his head up as though meeting everyone's gaze. "Right. I suppose I owe you answers," he said. "Before I start, what have you heard about the Watchers, Tango and Scar?"

[informationatlas]

Escher Sentences

In linguistics, comparative illusions (CIs) or Escher sentences[a] are certain comparative sentences which initially seem to be acceptable but upon closer reflection have no well-formed, sensical meaning. The typical example sentence used to typify this phenomenon is More people have been to Russia than I have.

[povestotrischane]

you see, the problems begin with the fact that the ladies of the lake aren't humanoid anymore. they're ais, advanced ais, but not necessarily able to take care of a human child. they were originally developed to serve as water filtration and purification systems aboard passenger/carrier ships and space settlements outside earth. earth isn't really a thing anymore though. i mean it might be but it's so far away and the portion of space that actually matters lost contact with it so long ago that some ppl don't believe in its existence at all. don't worry about it. so now p much every water supply has an advanced ai taking care of it (unless it's particularly small/temporary or its lady has jumped networks). but. lancelot was still raised by the lady of the lake and i'm not changing that.

basically what happened was, after the overthrow of king ban, he and elaine (benoic) retreated and stumbled across a seemingly abandoned space station, with an intact and quite honestly impressive, all things considered, water supply, blah blah blah ban drops dead from grief, elaine (benoic) runs to him, leaving her baby near the water, in the process she trips an old security function which separates her from lancelot. the ai known as VIV-NE picks up on the fact that something is happening in this station and jumps back to her original network to find a seemingly abandoned baby. she's able to take control of p much every system aboard the station so she's p confident that she can take care of him through a combination of them, but she feels as if only having contact with ais while not being an ai himself will make him grow up lonely, so she basically plugs his mind into the network and he grows up like that, entirely disconnected from his physical body.

the thing is, this ends up having side effects. first of all, human minds aren't made like ais and thus, attempts to switch the function of the two ends poorly. specifically, every time a human or ai switches between a human body and a computer network, something is destroyed, either sections of a human brain, or chunks of code. luckily for lancelot, he's basically a newtype (magical autism that makes you good at piloting a gundam) so the switch only really shaves off the tiniest bit of his personality, memories etc. also luckily for lancelot, due to his natural affinity for technology thanks to. debatably Being technology himself, he's also able to upload his mind into other technology, like mechs, which is how he's So Good At Stabbing. unfortunately for lancelot, being wayyyy too good at stabbing is uhm. kinda what's expected of him, and even though his not!newtype abilities save him from doing significant damage each time, shaving off part of your brain on a regular basis is Uhm. bad.

n e ways. personality wise he's still the lancelot we know and love but the reasons behind why are different.

the thing about the round table mecha characters is that, since they're all directly ripped out of med lit, i don't really need to explain their basic backstory/personality while i'm talking about them casually on here bc every1 already knows them and it's easy enough to project a scifi aesthetic onto the original stories. lancelot is an outlier that shouldn't be counted but needs to be anyway bc he's a pretty fucking significant outlier.

[dangerously-human]

Highlights of this trip:

Not having to finish sentences because my sister can still read my mind

Late-night doughnuts

Minor league baseball (even if our team lost to a frankly embarrassing degree)

Getting my ass kicked at Ticket to Ride (but hey, at least I won at cards)

Getting up at a reasonable hour to say goodbye to my sister before she left for work, then sitting in a library for two hours to write Dune fanfiction

Acquiring a stack of books in the kind of impossible Escher-designed bookstore one is practically required to get lost in, followed by making some four-legged friends in a cat cafe, with @thisbibliomaniac

[thermodynamic-comedian]

describe your ocs the way you describe your gender.

rovin is bruised knees pressing against dirt and rocks in a barely audible prayer that includes several cursewords. he's autotheism in the literal sense, where the worshipper and the deity are one and the same. he's delusion and understanding, knowing so much that reality becomes debatable at best. he's a sentence that doesn't go anywhere, but must've started as something.

n/a is devotion, not to oneself nor to another person, but to the collective and the cause. they're a chant that turns into a cry towards the end. they're sonder and arrogance, "i'm right and i'm sorry that you aren't but there's nothing we can do about that now." they're a scared child and a scarred adult, they've seen too much to close their eyes now and they've done too much to close their door.

lithium is the sort of sharp pain that only makes you want to push harder. he's a broken streetlight that refuses to stop flickering. he's stumbling and not falling down. he's staring up at the sky and seeing only how big the world is, instead of how small you are. he's hope in a distressing way, like a song you love being played far too loud for far too long.

lead is taking and inflicting damage in equal parts. he's the difference between an order and a request, especially when the difference doesn't matter and intentions don't matter and survival is all that matters. he's dried blood that probably should've been cleaned ages ago, and now it'll never be truly gone. he's pressing a knife to a wound every day to make sure it never heals.

juno is looking at your friend and laughing at the worst times possible. she's the kind of comfort that you shouldn't find in anything. she's a black button-up with every button open. she's a pentagram sketched onto every surface with whatever sharp object you can find. she's lace covered in blood. she's a heart that keeps beating after being impaled with a dagger.

escher is something you wouldn't understand even if i explained it to you. a reference you don't get. an inside joke that formed when you weren't there. out of place and out of context. something that shouldn't be sentient, but life doesn't wait for permission to be, and death doesn't wait for permission to take. a dot at the end of a sentence that should end with a questionmark. something that simply is, even when it shouldn't.

[lavenderfeminist]

It’s so funny how queer theorists will use words plucked straight from the depths of obscurity in order to sound smart and then just…cite a crack pipe as their source. Look up “queer ecology” if you want to see a facet of kweer theory that seems legit homophobic it how it treats being gay. It’s absolutely disgusting that this is how academia treats gay people, just getting lumped in with postmodernist gender freaks…ugh I hate it here 🤒

The only brilliant thing about it is that their incoherent use of language is presented in such a way that people are inclined to think they just aren’t smart enough to understand it. Nobody wants to admit as much, so they all sit around calling it brilliant whilst not one has a single clue what it actually means. The feeling of reading their work is best compared to how one would feel after reading the equivalent word count in Escher sentences. If I read a study and lack the nomenclature to understand it, I can learn to parse out its meaning. But I’m never going to actually have a moment of revelation if there’s no meaning to begin with. And then they all cite each other to build their credibility and it’s almost difficult to argue against them when there’s no coherent argument to argue against.

[anarchic-jerboa]

Also note escher sentences:

“More people have been to Berlin than I have.”

It sounds like it should make sense, but it really doesn’t.

Just learned about garden path sentences.

They’re basically a literary prank– the sentence starts out in such a way that you think you know where it’s going, but the way it ends completely changes the meaning while still being a complete and logical sentence. Usually it deals with double meanings, or with words that can be multiple parts of speech, like nouns and verbs or nouns and adjectives.

So we get gems like

The old man the boat. (The old people are manning the boat)

The complex houses married and single soldiers and their families. (The apartment complex is home to both married and single soldiers, plus their families)

The prime number few. (People who are excellent are few in number.)

The cotton clothing is usually made of grows in Mississipi. (The cotton that clothing is made of)

The man who hunts ducks out on weekends. (As in he ducks out of his responsibilities)

We painted the wall with cracks. (The cracked wall is the one that was pained.)

[lingthusiasm]

95: Lo! An undetached collection of meaning-parts!

Imagine you're in a field with someone whose language you don't speak. A rabbit scurries by. The other person says "Gavagai!" You probably assumed they meant "rabbit" but they could have meant something else, like "scurrying" or even "lo! an undetatched rabbit-part!"

In this episode, your hosts Lauren Gawne and Gretchen McCulloch get enthusiastic about how we manage to understand each other when we're learning new words, inspired by the famous "Gavagai" thought experiment from the philosopher of language WVO Quine. We talk about how children have a whole object assumption when learning language, and how linguists go about learning languages that are new to them through either translating standardized cross-linguistic wordlists known as Swadesh lists or staying monolingual and acting out concepts. We also talk about when our baseline assumptions are challenged, such as in categorizing kangaroos and wallabies by their hopping rather than their shape, and when useful folk categories, like "trees" and "fish" don't line up with evolutionary taxonomies.

Click here for a link to this episode in your podcast player of choice or read the transcript here.

Announcements: We have new Lingthusiasm merch!

Imagine you're in a field with someone whose language you don't speak. A rabbit scurries by. The other person says "Gavagai!" You probably assumed they meant "rabbit" but they could have meant something else, like "scurrying" or even "lo! an undetached rabbit-part!" Inspired by the famous Gavagai thought experiment, these items feature a running rabbit and the caption "lo, an undetached rabbit-part!" in a woodblock engraving crossed with vaporwave style in magenta, indigo, teal, cream, and black/white on shirts, scarves, and more!

"More people have been to Russia than I have" is a sentence that at first seems fine, but then gets weirder and weirder the more you read it. Inspired by these Escher sentences, we've made self-referential shirts saying "More people have read the text on this shirt than I have" (also available on tote bags, mugs, and hats), so you can wear them in old-time typewriter font and see who does a double take.

Finally, we've made a design that simply says "Ask me about linguistics" in a style that looks like a classic "Hello, my name is..." sticker, and you can put it on stickers and buttons and shirts and assorted other portable items for when you want to skip the small talk and go right to a topic you're excited about.

Also, there are lots of other designs of Lingthusiasm merch, and we love to see your photos of it! Feel free to tag us @lingthusiasm on social media so we can see it out in the world.

In this month’s bonus episode we get enthusiastic about the word "do"! We talk about the various functions of "do" as illustrated by lyrics from ABBA and other pop songs, what makes the word "do" so unique in English compared to other languages, and the drama of how "do" caught on and then almost got driven out again

Join us on Patreon now to get access to this and 80+ other bonus episodes. You’ll also get access to the Lingthusiasm Discord server where you can chat with other language nerds.

Here are the links mentioned in the episode:

Wikipedia entry for 'Indeterminacy of translation'

Wikipedia entry for 'Inscrutability of reference'

Wikipedia entry for 'Word learning biases'

Wikipedia entry for 'Swadesh list'

Wikipedia entry for 'Morris Swadesh'

The Sino-Tibetan Etymological Dictionary and Thesaurus

Tumblr thread on how there's no such thing as a fish

Lingthusiasm bonus episode 'Is X a sandwich? Solving the word-meaning argument once and for all'

Monolingual fieldwork demonstration by Mark Sicoli on YouTube

You can listen to this episode via Lingthusiasm.com, Soundcloud, RSS, Apple Podcasts/iTunes, Spotify, YouTube, or wherever you get your podcasts. You can also download an mp3 via the Soundcloud page for offline listening.

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Lingthusiasm is on Bluesky, Twitter, Instagram, Facebook, Mastodon, and Tumblr. Email us at contact [at] lingthusiasm [dot] com

Gretchen is on Bluesky as @GretchenMcC and blogs at All Things Linguistic.

Lauren is on Bluesky as @superlinguo and blogs at Superlinguo.

Lingthusiasm is created by Gretchen McCulloch and Lauren Gawne. Our senior producer is Claire Gawne, our production editor is Sarah Dopierala, our production assistant is Martha Tsutsui Billins, and our editorial assistant is Jon Kruk. Our music is ‘Ancient City’ by The Triangles.

This episode of Lingthusiasm is made available under a Creative Commons Attribution Non-Commercial Share Alike license (CC 4.0 BY-NC-SA).

[maksimlustiger]

O Uniwersum.......

Wierzyć w słowo spisana notorycznie bez uwięzi strapionego czasu. Z wolą ułańskiej wyobraźni.Jak w zaklętej bańce co nie boi się nieistnienia.Może powyżej górnego pułapu zniewolenia przez własne myśli.Niemożliwe staje się dotykalne. W zacnym obcowaniu chwil , co zdają się zastygać w przestrzeni wyimaginowanych miast.......możliwych w oszukańczej perspektywie pięter Eschera.Lubię chadzać tymi korytarzami. Do utraty racjonalności. Wiąże mnie jedynie bezczas oraz bezkres.

Wówczas Nic mi nie doskwiera.

Zaś w obliczu uczuć obumieram. Nieprzytomnym oczekiwaniem podwiędłej oblubienicy, która zamienia się w oblubieńca.........Jak maskulinizujące na Dachach Świata.

Zgoda jest Przymusem Istnienia.

On i.......Ja.......wolimy nie Być. By ustrzec się obumierających Zegarów.

Wsteczność linearna jest ponoć niemożliwa.Choć w Filozofii Uniwersalizmu Czaso - Przestrzennego upiera się przy możliwości egzystencji równoległej lub równoleżnej. Jakoby czas stanowił strukturę kołową lub sferyczną niczym umykająca piłka.

Zatem jako bękart tego świata pozwalam sobie na frywolne podrzucanie zalążka Bytu ......który w hierarchii Uniwersum jest leciutkim skrzywieniem ....jakowąś anomalią Istnienia.

Zaledwie Moją........już Niczyją...........bo ta sentencja Staffa nabiera znaczenia nieśmiertelnego.

"Universumm......"

Still believer........when the time goes by..........often and always.

With waterloo soldier in imagination stand. Inside of glasses baloon.....or nothing.Up and over the mind in your own vision.

What seems unreality now is possibility.

In secret community of memory about passing cities.......Not possibility?........Enough......but almost possibility in Escher's perspective.......Not reality?.........

It's pleasure to walking during enigmatic corridors.....to loose consciousness..........tethered only by timelessness and endlessness.

In that's moment nothing bite me.

In my emotional circle I almost dieing.........Unconsciousness waiting for romantic pleasure......like a bride...........which changing in bridegroom........like masculinized creatures on The Roof of The World..........

Compromise is rule of existence.

He.....and Me........can't imitation of Reality........to ignore the death of clocktables.

Returning in the line Time is probably impossibility.....but In Philosphy of linear's Time is easier to understand Theory of Time and Space.....to wiser show of wheel or idea of sphericity ....like a cosmic ball.

So......I let me throw up this ball like a nasty child ....which plays grain of Being........in the hierarchy of The universumm just only a little bit of irregular.......like anomaly of the Life.

Delicate of mine ....or of nobody........because this sentence of Leopold Staff means realy immortality.