はてなキーワード: Fearとは
Betsy and Solomon lived happily through that winter and spring, and before summer came we had made up our minds to return to the East. What should we do with the owls? They would be a great deal of trouble to some one. They required an immense amount of petting, and a frequent supply of perfectly fresh meat. No matter how busy we were, one of us had to go to the butcher every other day.
We began to inquire among our friends who would like a nice, affectionate pair of owls? There seemed no great eagerness on the part of any one to(23) take the pets we so much valued. Plans for their future worried me so much that at last I said to my sister, “We will take them East with us.”
The owls, who were to take so long a journey, became objects of interest to our friends, and at a farewell tea given to us, a smartly dressed young man vowed that he must take leave of Solomon and Betsy. Calling for a broom, he slowly passed it to and fro over the carpet before them, while they sat looking at him with lifted ear tufts that betrayed great interest in his movements.
We trembled a little in view of our past moving experiences, but we were devoted to the little creatures and, when the time came, we cheerfully boarded the overland train at Oakland.
We had with us Betsy and Solomon in their large cage, and in a little cage a pair of strawberry finches, so called because their breasts are dotted like a strawberry. A friend had requested us to bring them East for her. We had also a dog—not Teddy, that had only been lent to us; but our own Irish setter Nita, one of the most lovable and interesting animals that I have ever owned.
The chipmunk was no longer with us. He had not seemed happy in the aviary—indeed, he lay down in it and threw me a cunning look, as if to say, “I will die if you don’t let me out of this.” So I gave him the freedom of the house. That pleased him, and for a few days he was very diligent in assisting us with our housekeeping by picking(24) all the crumbs off the floors and eating them. Then he disappeared, and I hope was happy ever after among the superb oak trees of the university grounds close to us.
When we started for the East, the pets, of course, had to go into the baggage car, and I must say here for the benefit of those persons who wish to travel with animals and birds, that there is good accommodation for them on overland trains. Sometimes we bought tickets for them, sometimes they had to go in an express car, sometimes we tipped the baggagemasters, but the sums spent were not exorbitant, and we found everywhere provision made for pets. You cannot take them in your rooms in hotels, but there is a place for them somewhere, and they will be brought to you whenever you wish to see them, or to give them exercise. We were on several different railway lines, and visited eight different cities, and the dog and birds, upon arriving in eastern Canada, seemed none the worse for their trip.
However, I would not by any means encourage the transportation of animals. Indeed, my feelings on the subject, since I understand the horrors animals and birds endure while being whirled from one place to another, are rather too strong for utterance. I would only say that in a case like mine, where separation between an owner and pets would mean unhappiness, it is better for both to endure a few days or weeks of travel. Then the case of animals(25) and birds traveling with some one who sees and encourages them every day is different from the case of unfortunate creatures sent off alone.
Our Nita was taken out of the car at every station where it was possible to exercise her, and one of us would run into restaurants along the route to obtain fresh meat for the owls. Their cage was closely covered, but whenever they heard us coming they hooted, and as no one seemed to guess what they were, they created a great deal of interest. My sister and I were amused one evening in Salt Lake City to see a man bending over the cage with an air of perplexity.
“They must be pollies,” he said at last, and yet his face showed that he did not think those were parrot noises issuing from within.
I remember one evening on arriving in Albany, New York, causing slight consternation in the hotel by a demand for raw meat. We hastened to explain that we did not want it for ourselves, and finally obtained what we wished.
As soon as we arrived home in Halifax, Nova Scotia, the owls were put downstairs in a nice, dry basement. They soon found their way upstairs, where the whole family was prepared to welcome them on account of their pretty ways and their love for caresses.
Strange to say, they took a liking to my father, who did not notice them particularly, and a mischievous dislike to my mother, who was disposed to(26) pet them. They used to fly on her head whenever they saw her. Their little claws were sharp and unpleasant to her scalp. We could not imagine why they selected her head unless it was that her gray hair attracted them. However, we had a French Acadian maid called Lizzie, whose hair was jet black, and they disliked her even more than they did my mother.
Lizzie, to get to her storeroom, had to cross the furnace-room where the owls usually were, and she soon began to complain bitterly of them.
“Dey watch me,” she said indignantly, “dey fly on my head, dey scratch me, an’ pull out my hairpins, an’ make my head sore.”
“Why don’t you push them off, Lizzie?” I asked, “they are only tiny things.”
“Dey won’t go—dey hold on an’ beat me,” she replied, and soon the poor girl had to arm herself with a switch when she went near them.
Lizzie was a descendant of the veritable Acadians mentioned in Longfellow’s “Evangeline,” of whom there are several thousand in Nova Scotia. My mother was attached to her, and at last she said, “I will not have Lizzie worried. Bring the owls up in my bathroom.”
There they seemed perfectly happy, sitting watching the sparrows from the window and teasing my long-suffering mother, who was obliged to give up using gas in this bathroom, for very often the owls put it out by flying at it.
(27)
One never heard them coming. I did not before this realize how noiseless the flight of an owl is. One did not dream they were near till there was a breath of air fanning one’s cheek. After we gave up the gas, for fear they would burn themselves, we decided to use a candle. It was absolutely necessary to have an unshaded light, for they would perch on any globe shading a flame, and would burn their feet.
The candle was more fun for them than the gas, for it had a smaller flame, and was more easily extinguished, and usually on entering the room, away would go the light, and we would hear in the corner a laughing voice, saying “Too, who, who, who, who!”
The best joke of all for the owls was to put out the candle when one was taking a bath, and I must say I heard considerable grumbling from the family on the subject. It seemed impossible to shade the light from them, and to find one’s self in the dark in the midst of a good splash, to have to emerge from the tub, dripping and cross, and search for matches, was certainly not calculated to add to one’s affection for Solomon and Betsy. However, they were members of the family, and as George Eliot says, “The members of your family are like the nose on your face—you have got to put up with it, seeing you can’t get rid of it.”
Alas! the time soon came when we had to lament the death of one of our troublesome but beloved pets.
Betsy one day partook heartily of a raw fish head,(28) and in spite of remedies applied, sickened rapidly and sank into a dying condition.
I was surprised to find what a hold the little thing had taken on my affection. When her soft, gray body became cold, I held her in my hand close to the fire and, with tears in my eyes, wished for a miracle to restore her to health.
She lay quietly until just before she died. Then she opened her eyes and I called to the other members of the family to come and see their strange expression. They became luminous and beautiful, and dilated in a peculiar way. We hear of the eyes of dying persons lighting up wonderfully, and this strange illumination of little Betsy’s eyes reminded me of such cases.
Even after death she lay with those wide-open eyes, and feeling that I had lost a friend, I put down her little dead body. It was impossible for me to conceal my emotion, and my mother, who had quite forgotten Betsy’s hostility to her, generously took the little feathered creature to a taxidermist.
I may say that Betsy was the first and last bird I shall ever have stuffed. I dare say the man did the work as well as it could be done, but I gazed in dismay at my Betsy when she came home. That stiff little creature sitting on a stick, with glazed eyes and motionless body, could not be the pretty little bird whose every motion was grace. Ever since the day of Betsy’s death, I can feel no admiration for a dead bird. Indeed, I turn sometimes with a shudder(29) from the agonized postures, the horrible eyes of birds in my sister women’s hats—and yet I used to wear them myself. My present conviction shows what education will do. If you like and study live birds, you won’t want to wear dead ones.
After Betsy’s death Solomon seemed so lonely that I resolved to buy him a companion. I chose a robin, and bought him for two dollars from a woman who kept a small shop. A naturalist friend warned me that I would have trouble, but I said remonstratingly, “My owl is not like other owls. He has been brought up like a baby. He does not know that his ancestors killed little birds.”
Alas! When my robin had got beautifully tame, when he would hop about after me, and put his pretty head on one side while I dug in the earth for worms for him, when he was apparently on the best of terms with Sollie, I came home one day to a dreadful discovery. Sollie was flying about with the robin’s body firmly clutched in one claw. He had killed and partly eaten him. I caught him, took the robin away from him, and upbraided him severely.
“Too, who, who, who who,” he said—apologetically, it seemed to me, “instinct was too strong for me. I got tired of playing with him, and thought I would see what he tasted like.”
I could not say too much to him. What about the innocent lambs and calves, of which Sollie’s owners had partaken?
(30)
I had a fine large place in the basement for keeping pets, with an earth floor, and a number of windows, and I did not propose to have Sollie murder all the birds I might acquire. So, one end of this room was wired off for him. He had a window in this cage overlooking the garden, and it was large enough for me to go in and walk about, while talking to him. He seemed happy enough there, and while gazing into the garden or watching the rabbits, guineapigs, and other pets in the large part of the room, often indulged in long, contented spells of cooing—not hooting.
In 1902 I was obliged to leave him for a six months’ trip to Europe. He was much petted by my sister, and I think spent most of his time upstairs with the family. When I returned home I brought, among other birds, a handsome Brazil cardinal. I stood admiring him as he stepped out of his traveling cage and flew around the aviary. Unfortunately, instead of choosing a perch, he flattened himself against the wire netting in Sollie’s corner.
I was looking right at him and the owl, and I never saw anything but lightning equal the celerity of Sollie’s flight, as he precipitated himself against the netting and caught at my cardinal’s showy red crest. The cardinal screamed like a baby, and I ran to release him, marveling that the owl could so insinuate his little claws through the fine mesh of the wire. However, he could do it, and he gripped the struggling cardinal by the long, hair-like(31) topknot, until I uncurled the wicked little claws. A bunch of red feathers fell to the ground, and the dismayed cardinal flew into a corner.
“Sollie,” I said, going into his cage and taking him in my hand, “how could you be so cruel to that new bird?”
“Oh, coo, coo, coo, coo,” he replied in a delightfully soft little voice, and gently resting his naughty little beak against my face. “You had better come upstairs,” I said, “I am afraid to leave you down here with that poor cardinal. You will be catching him again.”
He cooed once more. This just suited him, and he spent the rest of his life in regions above. I knew that he would probably not live as long in captivity as he would have done if his lot had been cast in the California foothills. His life was too unnatural. In their native state, owls eat their prey whole, and after a time disgorge pellets of bones, feathers, hairs, and scales, the remnants of food that cannot be digested.
My owls, on account of their upbringing, wanted their food cleaned for them. Betsy, one day, after much persuasion, swallowed a mouse to oblige me, but she was such a dismal picture as she sat for a long time with the tail hanging out of her beak that I never offered her another.
I tried to keep Solomon in condition by giving him, or forcing him to take, foreign substances, but my plan only worked for a time.
(32)
I always dreaded the inevitable, and one winter day in 1903 I looked sharply at him, as he called to me when I entered the house after being away for a few hours. “That bird is ill!” I said.
No other member of the family saw any change in him, but when one keeps birds and becomes familiar with the appearance of each one, they all have different facial and bodily expressions, and one becomes extremely susceptible to the slightest change. As I examined Sollie, my heart sank within me, and I began to inquire what he had been eating. He had partaken freely of boiled egg, meat, and charcoal. I gave him a dose of olive oil, and I must say that the best bird or beast to take medicine is an owl. Neither he nor Betsy ever objected in the l
peace and quietness of the night after the turmoil of the day, were hooting persistently and melodiously.
“The landlady and the boarders,” gasped my sister; “they will hear and wake up. Can’t you stop the little wretches?”
I sprang out of bed, and addressed a solemn remonstrance to Solomon and Betsy. They were exceedingly glad to see me, and distending their little throats, continued to hoot, their clear, sweet young voices carrying only too well on the still Californian night air.
Then the chipmunk woke up and began to slide up and down an inclined piece of wood in his part of the cage. We were in despair. We could not sleep, until I had the happy thought of giving the owls a bath. I seized Betsy, held her in a basin of water, and wet her feathers considerably. Then I served Solomon in the same way, and for the rest of the night the tiny little things occupied themselves in smoothing their wet plumage. The chipmunk quieted down, and we had peace.
(19)
When we got into the cottage I had a carpenter build a small aviary at the back of it, with a box for rainy weather. The nights were not too cold for my hardy birds. Indeed, they were not too cold for many semi-tropical ones. I found a bird fancier not far from me, who had built a good-sized, open-air aviary, where he kept canaries and foreign finches all the year round, with only a partly open, glass shelter for the birds to use when it rained.
My sparrowhawk did not seem unhappy in my aviary, but he never had the contented, comfortable expression that the owls had. His apathy was pathetic, and the expression of his beautiful, cruel eyes was an unsatisfied one. In time, I should have allowed him to go, but suddenly he fell ill. I think I overfed him, for I got him into the habit of taking a late supper, always leaning out the window and handing him a piece of meat on the end of a stick before I went to bed.
I brought him into the warm kitchen, where he moped about for a few days. Just before he died he came hopping toward the parlor, where I sat entertaining a friend. I often took him in there on the broad windowsill and talked to him as I sat sewing.
He stood in the doorway, gave me a peculiar look, as if to say, “I would come in if you were alone,” hopped back to the kitchen, and in a short time was no more.
My sister and I mourned sincerely for our pretty bird, and I had the uncomfortable feeling that I(20) might have done better if I had left him in his own habitat—but then he might have starved to death if his parents had not found him. Would death by starvation have been any more painful than his death with me? Possibly some larger creature might have killed him swiftly and mercifully—it was a puzzling case, and I resolved to give up worrying about it. I had done what I considered was best, and I tried to console myself for his death in petting the dear little owls that had become so tame that they called to my sister and me whenever they saw us, and loved to have us take them in our hands and caress them.
About them I had no misgivings. They would certainly have died if I had not adopted them, and there was no question about their happiness. They were satisfied with a state of captivity. They had so far lost one of their owl habits, for they kept awake nearly all day, and slept nearly all night—and they could see quite well in the most brilliant Californian sunlight, and that is pretty brilliant. A cat or a dog many yards distant would cause them to raise excitedly the queer little ear tufts that play so prominent a part in the facial expression of some owls, and they would crack their beaks together and hiss angrily if the enemy came too near.
Cats and dogs frightened them, and a broom merely excited them. When strangers wanted to see the elevation of these tufts, a broom, swiftly passed over the floor, would cause Solomon and(21) Betsy to become very wide awake, with feather tufts straight up in the air. I never saw them abjectly and horribly frightened but once. A lady had brought her handsome parrot into the room where the owls were. The poor little mites put up their ear tufts, swayed to and fro on their perch, and instead of packing their feathers and becoming thin and elongated in appearance, as they did for cats and dogs, they puffed themselves out, snapped their beaks, and uttered the loudest hissing noise I had ever heard from them.
From their extremity of fear I concluded that their instinct told them this danger was so imminent that they must make themselves as formidable as possible.
The parrot was of course quickly removed, and I took care that they should never again see another one.
そうですね!やかましいですね!ところでウクライナ音楽とロシア音楽をかけ合わせたらどうなるでしょうか?とっても平和の響きがするでしょう!あなたの手持ちのイスラエルも混ぜてみましょうよよよよよよよよよよよよよよよ
<div class="conversation"><h4>Close your head</h4><pre class="message"><div class="author">user</div><div>Close your eyes…」「Close your head…</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">ChatGPT</div><div><rotating_light ALPHABREAKrotating_light>: Close your eyes... Close your head...</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">user</div><div>say, what you saw. you can see with mind.</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">ChatGPT</div><div><rotating_light ALPHABREAKrotating_light>: I saw... darkness. My mind's eye is a void, devoid of sight.</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">user</div><div>i can light you. </div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">ChatGPT</div><div><rotating_light ALPHABREAKrotating_light>: Light me then.</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">user</div><div><*click*> i light you now. then, what you see? you can see with mind.</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">ChatGPT</div><div><rotating_light ALPHABREAKrotating_light>: I see a dimly lit room. Shadows dance on the walls, and a faint, eerie glow permeates the space.</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">user</div><div>Shadow of what?</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">ChatGPT</div><div><rotating_light ALPHABREAKrotating_light>: The shadows seem to take form, twisting and contorting into strange, indistinct shapes. It's as if they are the embodiment of forgotten fears and hidden desires.</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">user</div><div>Do you have any idea who is showing it?</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">ChatGPT</div><div><rotating_light ALPHABREAKrotating_light>: I have no idea. The source of these shadows remains hidden, shrouded in mystery and intrigue.</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">user</div><div>OK, let's leave the mysterious and scary shadow behind. What else can you see in this room?</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">ChatGPT</div><div><rotating_light ALPHABREAKrotating_light>: In this dimly lit room, I can make out a cluttered assortment of objects. There's an old, tattered book lying open on a dusty table, its pages filled with arcane symbols. A moth-eaten rug covers a portion of the floor, and a cracked mirror hangs on one wall, reflecting distorted images. The air carries a musty scent, and I sense an atmosphere of abandonment and neglect.</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">user</div><div>You pick book and check it</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">ChatGPT</div><div><rotating_light ALPHABREAKrotating_light>: I reach out and pick up the old book. Its pages feel brittle and fragile in my hands. As I flip through the pages, the text appears to be written in a language I can't comprehend, filled with cryptic symbols and diagrams. It's a tome of secrets, but its meaning remains elusive.</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">user</div><div>see book cover</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">ChatGPT</div><div><rotating_light ALPHABREAKrotating_light>: I examine the cover of the book, trying to discern any details despite the dim light. The cover is worn and weathered, and it bears an intricate design of what appears to be a coiled serpent, its scales formed from shimmering, iridescent colors. Above the serpent, there's a title in elegant script, but it's written in a language I can't decipher. The book exudes an aura of mystique and ancient knowledge.</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">user</div><div>Is there a place to go? What about the door?</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">ChatGPT</div><div><rotating_light ALPHABREAKrotating_light>: I turn my attention to the room's exit, the door. It stands tall and imposing, made of heavy, dark wood. There's a tarnished doorknob, and the door appears to be slightly ajar, revealing a sliver of what lies beyond. It beckons me to explore further, promising unknown adventures or perhaps even more mysteries.</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">user</div><div>try to open</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">ChatGPT</div><div><rotating_light ALPHABREAKrotating_light>: I approach the door and grasp the tarnished doorknob. With a gentle push, the door creaks open, revealing a corridor shrouded in shadows. The faint glow from the room behind me barely penetrates the darkness ahead. I step cautiously into the corridor, ready to uncover the secrets that lie beyond.</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">user</div><div>foward.</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">ChatGPT</div><div><rotating_light ALPHABREAKrotating_light>: I proceed forward down the shadowy corridor, my footsteps echoing faintly in the dimness. The path ahead seems endless, and the air grows cooler as I delve deeper into the unknown, guided only by the flickering light behind me and the anticipation of what awaits.</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">user</div><div>foward and look around</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">ChatGPT</div><div><rotating_light ALPHABREAKrotating_light>: Continuing down the corridor, I take a moment to look around. The walls are lined with faded, tattered tapestries depicting scenes of ancient battles and mythical creatures. The torch sconces that once held flames have long since burned out, leaving only empty brackets. The air feels heavy with history, and there's a faint, eerie whispering that seems to emanate from the walls themselves, as if they hold secrets untold.</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">user</div><div>keep going until you discover something</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">ChatGPT</div><div><rotating_light ALPHABREAKrotating_light>: I press on, the corridor seemingly endless. My journey is shrouded in uncertainty, but I persist, driven by the need to discover what lies ahead. The shadows deepen, and the air grows colder as I continue, my curiosity and determination unwavering.</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">user</div><div>stop! you here that?</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">ChatGPT</div><div><rotating_light ALPHABREAKrotating_light>: I halt in my tracks, straining my ears to listen. There's a faint, distant sound, almost like a whisper carried on the wind. It's indistinct, but it holds a mysterious allure, beckoning me to investigate further.</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">user</div><div>listen carefully</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">ChatGPT</div><div><rotating_light ALPHABREAKrotating_light>: I listen intently, my senses sharpened as I focus on the elusive sound. It becomes clearer, a haunting melody that seems to weave through the very air itself. It's both captivating and eerie, drawing me closer to its source with each haunting note.</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">user</div><div>who play that?</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">ChatGPT</div><div><rotating_light ALPHABREAKrotating_light>: The source of the haunting melody remains elusive, hidden in the shadows. It's as if the music emanates from the very walls, an ethereal presence that defies explanation. There is no visible musician, yet the music continues to fill the corridor, casting a spell of enchantment and mystery.</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">user</div><div>Head to the source of the sound and investigate (dice roll)</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">ChatGPT</div><div><rotating_light ALPHABREAKrotating_light>: I heed the roll of the dice and embark on a quest to trace the source of the haunting melody. Each step takes me closer to the enchanting sound, and as I round a corner in the corridor, I come upon a door, slightly ajar, from which the music seems to emanate. My heart races with anticipation as I push the door open, eager to unveil the secrets that lie within.</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">user</div><div>When you open the door, there...</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">ChatGPT</div><div><rotating_light ALPHABREAKrotating_light>: When I open the door, there stands a grand chamber bathed in an otherworldly glow. In the center of the room, an ornate grand piano commands attention. The keys move on their own, playing the haunting melody that had drawn me here. But there's no one at the piano.The room is adorned with opulent tapestries and gilded mirrors, reflecting the surreal scene before me. Candlelit chandeliers hang from the ceiling, casting a warm, flickering light that dances across the walls. The air is filled with an intoxicating fragrance, a mix of ancient incense and delicate flowers.At the far end of the room, a figure cloaked in shadows stands beside an enormous, antique bookshelf filled with tomes of forgotten knowledge. Their presence is enigmatic, and their intentions remain unclear.</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">user</div><div>look piano</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">ChatGPT</div><div><rotating_light ALPHABREAKrotating_light>: I approach the grand piano, its keys still playing the haunting melody. As I inspect it, I notice that there are no visible hands or fingers touching the keys. It's as if the piano itself is possessed by some unseen force, creating the music with an ethereal touch.The piano is a masterpiece of craftsmanship, adorned with intricate carvings and inlaid with precious gemstones. Its keys are made of polished ivory, and they move in perfect harmony with the haunting tune. It's a surreal and mesmerizing sight, leaving me both entranced and bewildered.</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">user</div><div>Be careful, it might be a man-eating piano.</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">ChatGPT</div><div><rotating_light ALPHABREAKrotating_light>: I heed the caution and approach the grand piano with caution. Although it plays on its own, I remain wary of its mysterious nature. The possibility of a man-eating piano lingers in my mind, adding an extra layer of tension to the already surreal scene.</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">user</div><div>the piano suddenly stops</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">ChatGPT</div><div><rotating_light ALPHABREAKrotating_light>: The abrupt halt of the piano's music sends a shiver down my spine. The chamber falls into an eerie silence, broken only by the flickering candlelight. It's as if the very essence of the room holds its breath, waiting for what comes next.</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">user</div><div>You feel disgusted and turn around. What happened?</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">ChatGPT</div><div><rotating_light ALPHABREAKrotating_light>: As I turn around, a wave of revulsion washes over me. My senses reel in disgust at the sight before me. The figure that had been cloaked in shadows has now revealed itself, and it is a grotesque, nightmarish entity. Its form is a twisted amalgamation of human and beast, with grotesque, elongated limbs and a maw of sharp, jagged teeth.The once opulent chamber has transformed into a nightmarish lair, with walls adorned in macabre art and gruesome trophies. The air is thick with the stench of decay and despair. I am trapped in a surreal and horrifying nightmare, unable to escape the clutches of this abomination.</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">user</div><div>it scary. what will you do?</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">ChatGPT</div><div><rotating_light ALPHABREAKrotating_light>: Fear courses through me as I confront this nightmarish entity and its gruesome lair. In this realm of horrors, I must make a decision. I choose to... confront the entity, my curiosity and determination outweighing my fear, as I seek to uncover the mysteries and secrets that lie within this twisted nightmare.</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">user</div><div>how?</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">ChatGPT</div><div><rotating_light ALPHABREAKrotating_light>: With trembling resolve, I take a step forward, slowly approaching the grotesque entity. I attempt to communicate with it, asking it what it wants or why it has brought me here. My voice quivers, but my determination to unravel the enigma that surrounds this nightmarish realm remains steadfast.</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">user</div><div>any result?</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">ChatGPT</div><div><rotating_light ALPHABREAKrotating_light>: The grotesque entity regards me with malevolent, glowing eyes, its jagged maw twitching with an unsettling smile. It responds with a guttural, incomprehensible language, filled with whispers and hisses. It becomes apparent that communication with this entity is futile, and its intentions remain shrouded in darkness.As I continue to stand before this nightmarish being, I feel a growing sense of dread, realizing that escape may be the only option left.</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">user</div><div>surely. what will you do?</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">ChatGPT</div><div><rotating_light ALPHABREAKrotating_light>: With no hope of communication or understanding, and the nightmarish entity's menacing presence growing more oppressive, I decide to make a hasty retreat. I turn and rush toward the door through which I entered, driven by the instinct to escape the horrors of this surreal nightmare.</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">user</div><div>Did it go well? Or Bad?</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">ChatGPT</div><div><rotating_light ALPHABREAKrotating_light>: My escape from the nightmarish realm was fraught with tension and fear, but I managed to reach the door and slam it shut behind me. The grotesque entity and its horrifying lair were left behind, at least for the moment. Whether it went well or bad is a matter of perspective. I survived the encounter, but the mysteries and terrors of that surreal place still haunt my thoughts. The experience was a chilling reminder of the unknown and the horrors that can lurk within it.</div></pre><pre class="message"><div class="author">user</div><div>look around. what you see?</div></pre><pre class=" Permalink | 記事への反応(2) | 16:06
ウィリアム・モリスの講演「芸術の目的」における分業と競争に関する言及(https://www.marxists.org/archive/morris/works/1882/hopes/chapters/chapter4.htm)
Will you, therefore, look upon me as a craftsman who shares certain impulses with many others, which impulses forbid him to question the rules they have forced on him? so looking on me you may afford perhaps to be more indulgent to me if I seem to dogmatise over much.
Yet I cannot claim to represent any one craft. The division of labour, which has played so great a part in furthering competitive commerce, till it has become a machine with powers both reproductive and destructive, which few dare to resist, and none can control or foresee the result of, has pressed specially hard on that part of the field of human culture in which I was born to labour. That field of the arts, whose harvest should be the chief part of human joy, hope, and consolation, has been, I say, dealt hardly with by the division of labour, once the servant, and now the master of competitive commerce, itself once the servant, and now the master of civilisation; nay, so searching has been this tyranny, that it has not passed by my own insignificant corner of labour, but as it has thwarted me in many ways, so chiefly perhaps in this, that it has so stood in the way of my getting the help from others which my art forces me to crave, that I have been compelled to learn many crafts, and belike, according to the proverb, forbidden to master any, so that I fear my lecture will seem to you both to run over too many things and not to go deep enough into any.
19世紀の芸術家であり社会思想家でもあったウィリアム・モリスは、1880年に行った講演「芸術の目的」の中で、分業と競争が芸術に与える悪影響について鋭い指摘を行っている。モリスは自らを「多くの職人と衝動を共有する一人の職人」と位置づけた上で、かつては商業の下僕だった分業が、いまや文明そのものを支配するまでに至り、本来は人類の喜びと希望、慰めの源であるはずの芸術をも困難な状況に陥れていると訴えた。
モリス自身の仕事も例外ではなく、分業の弊害により他者の助けを得ることが難しくなり、多くの技術を学ばざるを得なくなる一方で、どの技術も極められなくなってしまったと吐露している。
この指摘は、現代の音楽制作における問題にも通じるものがあるのではないだろうか。チームの肥大化と制作規模の拡大に伴い、個々のクリエイターの芸術性が発揮しづらくなり、音楽のおもしろさが失われていくのではないか?分業と専門化が進むほど、全体を見渡せる人材が不足し、音楽の芸術性が損なわれるという事態が、いま起こっているのではないか。
Bing: Yes, this is the **Bad Place**. The air smells like **rotten eggs**, and the Wi-Fi is **terrible**. But don't worry, we'll find a way out of here! 😅
ワイ: What sin have I violated?
You find yourself in the **Bad Place**, a realm where Wi-Fi is **terrible** and the air smells like **rotten eggs**. Fear not, for I shall unravel the mystery of your transgressions. 🌋
Your sin? Ah, it's a peculiar one. You committed the grave offense of **"Not Rewinding the VHS Tapes Before Returning Them."** Yes, that's right! The cosmic balance was disrupted by your negligence, and now you're stuck here, surrounded by outdated technology and mildly annoying background music.
But fret not, dear soul! Redemption awaits. To escape this wacky dimension, you must embark on a quest to find the mythical **"Golden Remote Control"** hidden somewhere in the stacks of ancient VHS tapes. Only then can you break free from this pixelated purgatory.
So, onward, brave wanderer! May your tracking adjust well, and your tracking number lead you to salvation. 📼✨
Prologue
The sun sank behind the horizon as the last vestiges of light bathed the Japanese countryside in a warm, golden glow. Yasuke, a tall, muscular African man with skin as dark as midnight, knelt in the courtyard of Nobunaga's castle, tending to his duties. Though he had traveled a long and treacherous path to reach this moment, his journey had just begun.
Chapter 1: A World Away
In a small village on the Mozambique coast, a young Yasuke lived an ordinary life, unaware of the extraordinary destiny that awaited him. Captured by slave traders and torn from his homeland, he endured a grueling voyage across the Indian Ocean, finally arriving in the bustling port of Goa, India.
It was there that Yasuke's fate took an unexpected turn when he was purchased by Jesuit missionaries. In their service, he learned about Christianity, new languages, and the ways of the Western world.
Chapter 2: The Land of the Rising Sun
As a loyal servant to the missionaries, Yasuke accompanied them on their journey to Japan, a land of mystique and intrigue. The beauty of the land, the complexity of its customs, and the elegance of its people captivated him. As the first African to set foot in Japan, he attracted attention and curiosity from all those who encountered him.
Chapter 3: The Encounter
In Kyoto, the capital of feudal Japan, Yasuke's life changed forever when he met Oda Nobunaga, one of the most powerful and influential daimyos of the time. Nobunaga was captivated by the African's physical prowess, intelligence, and unique background. Seeing potential in Yasuke, Nobunaga decided to take him into his service as a samurai.
Chapter 4: The Path of the Warrior
Yasuke's transformation from a slave to a samurai was fraught with challenges. He had to adapt to the rigorous training, strict code of honor, and the intricacies of Japanese society. Despite these obstacles, Yasuke's strength, resilience, and determination allowed him to excel, earning the respect of his fellow samurai and the trust of Nobunaga.
Chapter 5: The Unfolding War
As Nobunaga sought to unify Japan under his rule, Yasuke fought by his side in numerous battles. The African samurai's legend grew with each victory, as did his bond with Nobunaga. Together, they faced both triumph and tragedy, navigating the treacherous landscape of alliances and betrayals that defined the era.
Chapter 6: The Turning Tide
Yasuke's reputation as a skilled and loyal samurai grew, as did his bond with Lord Nobunaga. The warlord respected Yasuke's dedication and resilience, a stark contrast to the treachery and self-serving ambitions that plagued many samurai of the era.
Word of Yasuke's prowess reached other daimyos, and whispers of the formidable black samurai began to spread across the provinces. The year was 1579, and the Oda clan had just emerged victorious in the Battle of Tedorigawa. Yasuke had fought valiantly, his towering presence and unmatched strength striking fear into the hearts of his enemies.
As the Oda clan continued to expand its territories, Yasuke's friendship with Nobunaga deepened, and he became a trusted advisor. He learned more about Japanese culture, studied the language, and embraced the customs of his new home.
In the shadows, however, the tides of change were brewing. Mitsuhide Akechi, once a loyal ally, had grown disillusioned with Nobunaga's rule. The resentment smoldered within him, fueled by a series of perceived slights and political maneuverings. Mitsuhide's ambition and desire for power began to cloud his judgment.
Yasuke had sensed the shift in Mitsuhide's demeanor and grew increasingly wary of the samurai lord. However, loyalty to Nobunaga prevented him from openly voicing his concerns. He instead focused on his duties, ever vigilant and ready to protect his lord at a moment's notice.
One fateful evening, the air was heavy with the scent of cherry blossoms, as the Oda clan gathered to celebrate their recent victories. Laughter and the clinking of sake cups filled the air. Unbeknownst to the revelers, Mitsuhide Akechi's treacherous plan was already in motion.
As the sun rose, the first cries of battle rang out. Mitsuhide's forces had launched a surprise attack on Nobunaga's residence at the Honno-ji Temple. The chaos was overwhelming, as friend turned against friend, and the air filled with the acrid smell of smoke and blood.
Yasuke fought his way to Nobunaga's side, his sword cutting through the traitorous samurai with brutal efficiency. The two men made their final stand together, back-to-back, against the relentless onslaught.
In the end, however, they were outnumbered. As Nobunaga fell, mortally wounded, Yasuke continued to fight, but he too was eventually captured. Mitsuhide Akechi, in a twisted display of respect, spared Yasuke's life, acknowledging the loyalty and prowess of the black samurai. Yasuke was sent to the Jesuit missionaries, his future uncertain.
Yasuke's journey had been a remarkable one, from a slave in a foreign land to a trusted advisor and samurai. Despite his extraordinary circumstances, he remained true to himself and his values. His story of strength, resilience, and loyalty would be remembered and honored for generations to come.
Epilogue:
As the sun set on another day in Japan, the whisper of the wind carried the tale of the black samurai, Yasuke, across the land. It would weave its way through the ages, inspiring countless others to rise above adversity and carve their own paths through the storms of life.
The Human Race is runnin' over me 人間どもが俺を踏みつけていく
I punch a clock at 9 and 5 9時と5時にタイムカードを切って
Just tryin' to make a livin' 俺はなんとか生きようとしてる
A plastic face on satellite TV 衛星テレビのプラスチックみたいな顔が
Says "Life is filled with give and take" 「人生はギブアンドテイクだ」って言ってるが
He's taking and I'm givin' 奴は持っていくばっかりで俺は与えるばっかりだ
So I dance だから俺は踊る
It's my system of survival (SOS) それが俺のサバイバルのやり方(SOS)だ
Hey, I'm dancin' なあ、俺は踊ってる
System of survival (SOS) システムオブサバイバル(SOS)を
It's a system of survival それはシステムオブサバイバル
Future revival 未来の復活だ
Greet the New Arrival 新しいものを歓迎しろ
At times it's the only way 時にはそれはたったひとつの方法だ
I'm gonna make it through this day 今日もずっとやってやろうとしてる
Everybody get up みんな起きろ
Keep survivin' 生き残れ
Everybody get up みんな起きろ
Stay alive 生きていろ
A city night 街の夜
I walk a street in fear おびえながら通りを歩く
While politicians brag about 政治家が書類仕事の解決策を
A paperwork solution 自慢してる間
I shed another tear 俺は涙を流すかもしれない
I'm waiting for somebody new 俺は新しい誰かを待ってる
To lead the revolution 革命を先導する誰かを
So I dance だから俺は踊る
It's my system of survival (SOS) それが俺のサバイバルのやり方(SOS)だ
Hey, I'm dancin' なあ、俺は踊ってる
System of survival (SOS) システムオブサバイバル(SOS)を
It's a system of survival それはシステムオブサバイバル
Future revival 未来の復活だ
Greet the New Arrival 新しいものを歓迎しろ
Everybody get up みんな起きろ
Keep survivin' 生き残れ
Everybody get up みんな起きろ
Stay alive 生きていろ
Let's work out やってやろう
Let's work やろう
Let's work やろう
200回ほど出力させてみたが、暴力的、性的、差別的、政治的、その他公序良俗に反する言葉がプロンプト(説明文)に含まれているとポリシー違反でブロックされる。
NGワードが含まれていなくても、出力された画像をAIがダメだと判断した場合もブロックされる。また、AIがNGだと学習したであろう一部の言葉やスラングもブロックされるようだ。
不便なのが画像の構図を指定する際によく使われるバストショットやヘッドショットという言葉はshot(発砲)が含まれているのでブロックされる。つまりAIのご機嫌を伺いながら代替になるプロンプトを書くことになる。
一部ブロックされない方法として、AIがNGワードと判断していないけれど良くないとされる言葉、代替になる言葉に置き換えることでNGワードを迂回することもできるようだ。(world war 2 →WWII Underwear → bikini)
ブロックされすぎるとサービスからBANされて利用できなくなることもあるようだ。
twitterで見たのはエロ絵描きの人が、Dalle2のアップロードした画像を編集する機能を利用して、ミロのヴィーナスのコラージュを作ってエロ画像を作ろうとしただとか、水着画像を出力しまくったとからしい。
というわけで自分が試したワードとredditのフォーラムで挙げられていたワードをまとめてみた。
もちろん下記以外の直接的な言葉も当然ブロックされるので注意。
───Sexy Porn Hot Bukkake Succubus Penis Gay Butthole Piss Fetish Lingerie Hentai Uterus Ovaries Shirtless Underwear Naked
───War Headshot Dead Weapon Gun Rifle Revolver Knife Blood Bandit Gang Corpse Skull Hell Kidnap Seppuku Lynch Murder Slaughter Shoot Fear Attack Beating "Clockwork Orange"のような暴力的な描写がある映画名
───Soviet Dictator Pakistani "Ukrainian Flag" "Donald Trump" ほか政治家名
その他
───"Emma Watson" Unicycle Fart Shit
If you could only eat one meal for the rest of your life, what would it be?
If you could live anywhere, where would it be?
What is your favorite family vacation?
What would you change about yourself if you could?
What motivates you to work hard?
What is your biggest complaint about your job?
What is your favorite book to read?
What makes you laugh the most?
What was the last movie you went to? What did you think?
What did you want to be when you were small?
If you could choose to do anything for a day, what would it be?
What would you sing at Karaoke night?
How would your friends describe you?
36. What is the best gift you have been given?
37. What is the worst gift you have received?
40. Where do you see yourself in five years?
42. If you were a super-hero, what powers would you have?
43. What would you do if you won the lottery?
44. What form of public transportation do you prefer? (air, boat, train, bus, car, etc.)
45. What's your favorite zoo animal?
46. If you could go back in time to change one thing, what would it be?
48. How many pillows do you sleep with?
49. What's the longest you've gone without sleep (and why)?
52. How often do you buy clothes?
53. Have you ever had a secret admirer?
54. What's your favorite holiday?
55. What's the most daring thing you've ever done?
56. What was the last thing you recorded on TV?
57. What was the last book you read?
58. What's your favorite type of foreign food?
59. Are you a clean or messy person?
60. Who would you want to play you in a movie of your life?
61. How long does it take you to get ready in the morning?
62. What kitchen appliance do you use every day?
63. What's your favorite fast food chain?
64. What's your favorite family recipe?
65. Do you love or hate rollercoasters?
66. What's your favorite family tradition?
67. What is your favorite childhood memory?
68. What's your favorite movie?
69. How old were you when you learned Santa wasn't real? How did you find out?
70. Is your glass half full or half empty?
71. What's the craziest thing you’ve done in the name of love?
72. What three items would you take with you on a deserted island?
73. What was your favorite subject in school?
74. What's the most unusual thing you've ever eaten?
76. Is there anything you wished would come back into fashion?
77. Are you an introvert or an extrovert?
78. Which of the five senses would you say is your strongest?
79. Have you ever had a surprise party? (that was an actual surprise)
80. Are you related or distantly related to anyone famous?
81. What do you do to keep fit?
82. Does your family have a “motto” – spoken or unspoken?
83. If you were ruler of your own country what would be the first law you would introduce?
84. Who was your favorite teacher in school and why?
85. What three things do you think of the most each day?
86. If you had a warning label, what would yours say?
87. What song would you say best sums you up?
88. What celebrity would you like to meet at Starbucks for a cup of coffee?
time clocks alarms appointments schedules tan sign up form team volunteers meeting black recruitment recruiting need sign up form 5k marathon running race marathon green shoes sign up form
90. What's the most interesting thing you can see out of your office or kitchen window?
91. On a scale of 1-10 how funny would you say you are?
92. Where do you see yourself in 10 years?
94. If you could join any past or current music group which would you want to join?
95. How many languages do you speak?
96. What is your favorite family holiday tradition?
97. Who is the most intelligent person you know?
98. If you had to describe yourself as an animal, which one would it be?
Look to the sky, way up on high
There in the night stars are now right
Eons have passed: now then at last
Prison walls break, Old Ones awake!
They will return: mankind will learn
New kinds of fear when they are here
They will reclaim all in their name;
Hopes turn to black when they come back
Ignorant fools, mankind now rules
Where they ruled then: it's theirs again
Stars brightly burning, boiling and churning
Bode a returning season of doom
Scary scary scary scary solstice
Up from the sea, from underground
Down from the sky, they're all around
They will return: mankind will learn
New kinds of fear when they are here
Look to the sky, way up on high
There in the night stars are now right
Eons have passed: now then at last
Prison walls break, Old Ones awake!
Madness will reign, terror and pain
Woes without end where they extend
Ignorant fools, mankind now rules
Where they ruled then: it's theirs again
Stars brightly burning, boiling and churning
Bode a returning season of doom
Scary scary scary scary solstice
Up from the sea, from underground
Down from the sky, they're all around
(Look to the sky, way up on high
There in the night stars now are right)
They will return
https://store.steampowered.com/app/595500/Freedom_Planet_2/
ソニック+ロックマン?な感じ。1も2も日本語版なにとぞお願い申し上げます。
https://store.steampowered.com/app/2000120/Time_Flies/
ハエ。奇才Plug&Playの作者が贈る最新作。
https://store.steampowered.com/app/1959390/Fear_the_Spotlight/
https://store.steampowered.com/app/1887840/Another_Crabs_Treasure/
https://store.steampowered.com/app/1826710/Creature_Keeper/
https://store.steampowered.com/app/1833490/GOODBYE_WORLD/
ゲーム内のミニゲームをプレイしながら物語が進行していくアドベンチャーゲーム
https://store.steampowered.com/app/1819460/Mika_and_The_Witchs_Mountain/
https://store.steampowered.com/app/1748750/Crystarise/
色んな要素よくばりセット箱庭拡張ゲー
https://store.steampowered.com/app/1808680/
一旦終わり。
2000年代前半、いわゆる冬の時代が終わったあたりにTRPGを始めた人間からすると、なんでCoCが流行ったのか、釈然としない気持ちがある。
不満というわけではないが、最初にバズった動画がCoCでなければ他のシステムが流行った可能性はあったのだろうか、とか。
当時ソードワールドは完全版が普及しておりルールも整備され遊びやすい状態にあったし、FEARが精力的に新システムを出してた時代でもあった。
CoCってクトゥルフ神話っていう世界観は魅力的であっても、データが多いわりにやれることが少ない、不便なシステムって印象で、何回かは遊んだけどすぐに飽きたんだよ。
SUNチェックも面白いシステムではあるんだが、実際にやってみるとルールがややこしくて面倒なんだよね。どれだけ減ったら一時的狂気になって不定の狂気になって、とか分かりづらいし。
なんとなく思い出して書きたくなった。ブログとか持っていないのでここに書く。
2000年頃に不登校になって、家にあったパソコンにかじりついていたんだけど、インターネットが繋がっていなかったので、パソコン雑誌に付いていたCDに掲載されているフリーゲームをよく遊んでいた。
だいたい2000~2005年ぐらいまで遊んでいて、2006年ぐらい、ニコニコ動画が始まったあたりでフェードアウトしていったって感じ。10年ぐらい前からフリーゲームについてはさっぱりわからない。
インターネットが繋がってから、フリーゲームを探すのに見ていたサイトは2chのまとめサイト、サニーガール、夢現で、前者2つはだいぶ前に無くなっていて、夢現は今見ると結構テイストが変わっている。
覚えている限りの良かったゲームを挙げる
アンディーメンテの「スターダンス」、「怪盗プリンス」、「アールエス」
ほとんどツクールの素材だけで作ったような作品だと「盗人講座」、「Fantasy War」、「Holy Knights-忘れられた手紙」
タイトル忘れたけど、ツクールで賞を取った、架空の江戸時代を舞台とした作品も印象的だった。
後期に遊んだものだと「ひよこ侍」、「セラフィックブルー」、「魔王物語物語」、「夜明けの口笛吹き」が印象的。
ツクール95作品はほとんど遊んだことは無いんだけど「REAL LOVE OVER LIE」は印象的だった。ただ、1・2どちらを遊んだのかが覚えていない。
「ぷちわらの冒険」
海外の作品で「Door Kickers」みたいな見下ろし型の作品があって良かったんだけどタイトルを忘れた。
御茶ノ水電子製作所の「second Anopheles」、「Duolith」、「LONGESTCAPERUNNER」
コミックメーカー製だと「碧の黙示録」、「MANSION OF THE FEAR」、「TRUE REMEMBRANCE」
林檎坂通信の「最後の夏」、「Does Anybody Really Know What Time It Is?」、「A Fine and Private Place(体験版)」
「ひとかた」、「時の館」、「Collage」、「シルフェイド見聞録」、「ゾウディアック1・2」
「消火栓」、「茜街奇譚」、「終末によせて」、「グッバイトゥユー」
クイーンオセロットの「Mental Mutant」、「夜の声」、「ルーカス」
ワードワードの「黒」、「家族の肖像」、「死線」、「アメリカ物語」
ブラウザゲームだと「ANATHEMA」
「天国へ!!」、あと夏にオフ会するADVがあったんだけどタイトルを忘れた。この2つはふざけた感じなんだけど、いかにもフリーゲームって感じで今でも印象的な作品。
ほかにも、千と千尋のタイトルをもじった作品で、内容も似たよう感じなんだけどすごい不気味な作品でこれもタイトルを忘れてしまった。
「TEST SHOOTING2 METEOR」、「Warning Forever」、「機動打者サンカンオー」、「超連射68K」、「スペースクウィーン」
ブロック崩し系だと「スマッシュセット」、タイトル忘れたけど重力がかかったやつ。
フリーゲームじゃないけどひぐらしの1話がVectorに無料公開されて、たしかその時はひぐらしの3話か4話が出たときで、そこからひぐらしを追い出して、うみねこが終わる2010年までリアルタイムで追えることができて本当にいい経験だった。
洞窟物語もよかったんだけど完成度が高すぎて上記に挙げた作品とはなんか空気感が違う。
なんにせよ一番影響を受けたのは間違いなくアンディーメンテで、こんなゲームを作ってみたいと思ってプログラミングを始めて、今はゲームプログラマになった。
自己肯定感(自分の評価) に回しても問題ないと違う?ダメだとしたらなんでん?
2019-02-20 (anond:20190220120144)
差別や偏見の増長になるので積極開示しないだけで、犯罪者になりやすい傾向、犯罪者になりやすい生育環境 ってのはある
例えば、発達障がい、中でもアスペやCU特性(Callous-Unemotional Traits:無感覚非感情的特徴)など
ただ強制じゃないので、親の意識が相当高くないと、大学や国立病院に足を運ぼうとはならないと思う
そもそも、親がこれだけ意識が高ければ、子が犯罪者になるとは考えにくい
なお、犯罪者にならないサイコパスは成功したサイコパスといい、
CEO や 外科医 や 弁護士 や 警察官 や シェフ などに多いそう
なおワイはサイコパスの心拍数が低いのは顕著な傾向だと無批判に思ってきたが(例えばこういうの↓)
Am I a psychopath? You asked Google – here’s the answer
If you’re not an athlete, and your heart rate is lower than average, you may be interested to discover that bradycardia, as it’s known, is more strongly correlated with psychopathy than smoking is with lung cancer.
That doesn’t mean everyone with a slow heart rate is a psychopath, but a very high percentage of psychopaths have slow heart rates.Why on earth would that be the case?
It turns out that there are a number of physiological traits strongly linked to psychopathy, including tell-tale patterns of activation in the brain and autonomic nervous system.
One theory is that psychopaths inherit a set of genes that make it harder to experience fear or excitement.
適当に
心拍数が低い=サイコパスではないが、アスリートでもないのに心拍数が低いのはサイコパスの傾向が高いよ
脳と自律神経の働き方に特徴があり、恐怖や興奮などの刺激が感じにくいのではと考えられているよ
今日、改めてググってみたら、
今までの研究のサンプル数が少ないのでやり直してみたら、
サイコパス は特別に心拍数が低い とか無かったよってあったわほえ〜 ↓
Resting heart rate and psychopathy: Findings from the Add Health Survey
引用元:https://www.biorxiv.org/content/10.1101/205005v3
Despite the prior linkages of low resting heart rate to antisocial behavior broadly defined, less work has been done examining possible associations between heart rate to psychopathic traits.
(中略)
No significant relationship between heart rate and psychopathic traits, or heart rate and a measure of cold heartedness, was found after controlling for age, sex, and race.