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はてなキーワード: SUMMERとは
Bob the First, at the head of my long list of robins, having been killed by my pet owl, I very soon bought another. This one was not so gentle nor so handsome as Bob the First, his wings and his tail having their ends sawed off by contact with the wires of too small a cage.
Fearing that he might be lonely in my aviary with only rabbits, guineapigs, pet rats, and pigeons for company, I bought another robin called Dick. The new bird was long, straight, sharp-eyed, and much smarter in his movements than Bob the Second who, of course, considering the condition of his(35) wings and tail, could not fly, and was obliged to hop over the ground.
It was very amusing to see the two robins stare at each other. Both had probably been trapped young, for at that time the law against the keeping of wild birds in captivity was not enforced, and boys and men were perniciously active in their depredations among our beautiful wild beauties.
Bob the Second was very fond of stuffing himself, and he used to drive the pigeons from the most promising window ledges and partake freely of the food scattered about.
Poor Dick ran about the ground looking for worms, and not finding many, got desperate and flew up to the window ledge.
Bob lowered his head and flew at him with open bill. Dick snapped at him, hopped up to the food, and satisfied his hunger, Bob meanwhile standing at a little distance, a queer, pained thread of sound issuing from between his bill, “Peep, peep, peep!”
A robin is a most untidy bird while eating, and as often as Dick scattered a morsel of food outside the dish, Bob would spring forward and pick it up with a reproving air, as if he were saying, “What an extravagant fellow you are!”
Whenever a new bird enters an aviary, he has to find his place—he is just like a new-comer in a community of human beings. Bob, being alone, was in the lead when Dick came. Dick, having the stronger bird mind, promptly dethroned him. They were(36) very amusing birds. Indeed, I find something clownish and comical about all robins kept in captivity.
The wild bird seems to be more businesslike. The partly domesticated bird, having no anxiety about his food supply, indulges in all sorts of pranks. He is curious and fond of investigation, and runs swiftly at a new object, and as swiftly away from it, if it seems formidable to him.
The arrival of new birds in the aviary always greatly excited Bob, and he hopped about, chirping, strutting, raising his head feathers, and sometimes acting silly with his food, just like a foolish child trying to “show off” before strangers.
When I introduced a purple gallinule to him, Bob flew up into the air, and uttered a shriek of despair. He feared the gallinule, and hated the first Brazil cardinal I possessed, and was always sparring with him. One day I put a second cardinal into the aviary. Bob thought it was his old enemy, and ran full tilt at him. His face of ludicrous dismay as he discovered his mistake and turned away, was too much for me, and I burst out laughing at him. I don’t think he minded being made fun of. He flirted his tail and hopped away.
At one time Bob made up his mind that he would not eat crushed hemp-seed unless I mixed it with bread and milk, and he would throw it all out of his dish unless I made it in the way he liked.
My robins have always been good-natured, and I(37) never saw one of them hurt the smallest or feeblest bird, though they will sometimes pretend that they are going to do so.
When Bob took a sun-bath, any member of the family who happened to be near him would always be convulsed with laughter. He would stretch his legs far apart, stick out his ragged plumage, elevate his head feathers till he looked as if he had a bonnet on, and then half shut his eyes with the most ludicrous expression of robin bliss.
All birds look more or less absurd when taking sun-baths. They seem to have the power to make each feather stand out from its neighbor. I suppose this is done in order that the sun may get to every part of the skin.
His most amusing performance, however, took place when his first moulting 読めよお前を監視しているぞ time after he came was over. One by one his old, mutilated feathers dropped out, and finally new ones took their places. On a memorable day Bob discovered that he had a real tail with a white feather on each side of it, and a pair of good, serviceable wings. He gave a joyful cry, shook his tail as if he would uproot it, then spread his wings and lifted himself in the air. Hopping time was over. He was now a real bird, and he flew from one end of the aviary to the other with an unmistakable expression of robin ecstasy.
Most unfortunately, I had not a chance to study poor Dick’s character as fully as Bob’s, for I only had him a short time. Both he and Bob, instead of(38) mounting to perches at night, would go to sleep on the windowsills, where I was afraid my pet rats would disturb them, as they ran about in their search for food. Therefore, I went into the aviary every evening, and lifted them up to a comfortable place for the night, near the hot-water pipes. I would not put robins in a warm place now. They are hardy birds, and if given a sufficient quantity of nourishing food do not need a warm sleeping-place. If we only had a better food supply I believe we would have many more wild birds with us in winter in the Northern States and Canada than we have now.
Late one evening I went into the aviary to put my robins to bed. I could only find Bob—Dick was nowhere to be seen. My father and mother joined me in the search, and finally we found his poor, lifeless body near the entrance to the rats’ underground nest. His head had been eaten—poor, intelligent Dick; and in gazing at him, and at the abundance of food in the aviary, the fate of the rats was sealed.
I fed my birds hard-boiled egg mashed with bread crumbs, crushed hemp-seed, scalded cornmeal, bread and milk, prepared mockingbird food, soaked ant eggs, all kinds of mush or “porridge,” as we say in Canada, chopped beef, potato and gravy, vegetables cooked and raw, seeds and fruit, an almost incredible amount of green stuff, and many other things—and yet the rats had found it necessary to commit a murder.
(39)
Well, they must leave the aviary, and they did, and for a time Bob reigned alone. I did try to bring up a number of young robins given to me by children who rescued them from cats, or who found them on the ground unable to fly, but for a long time I had very hard luck with them.
Either the birds were diseased or I did not feed them properly. I have a fancy that I half starved them. Bird fanciers whom I consulted told me to be sure and not stuff my robins, for they were greedy birds. As long as I took their advice my young robins died. When I went to my canaries for advice I saw that the parents watched the tiny heads folded like flowers too heavy for their stalks, over the little warm bodies in the nests.
The instant a head was raised the mother or father put a mouthful of warm egg-food in it. The little ones got all they would eat—indeed, the father, with food dripping from his mouth, would coax his nestlings to take just one beakful more. I smiled broadly and began to give my robins all the worms they wanted, and then they lived.
The bringing up of young birds is intensely interesting. I found that one reason why early summer is the favorite time for nest-making is because one has the short nights then. Parents can feed their young quite late in the evening and be up by early daylight to fill the little crops again. Robins are birds that like to sit up late, and are always the last to go to bed in the aviary.
(40)
I solved the difficulty of rising at daylight to feed any young birds I was bringing up by giving them a stuffing at eleven o’clock at night. Then I did not have to rise till nearly eight.
This, of course, was for healthy birds. If I had a sick guineapig, rabbit, or bird, I never hesitated to get up many times during the night, for I have a theory that men and women who cannot or will not undertake the moral responsibility of bringing up children, should at least assist in the rearing of some created thing, if it is only a bird. Otherwise they become egotistical and absorbed in self.
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
大変申し訳ございませんでした。
フェミニストの皆様の名誉を毀損したこと、誠に申し訳ございません。
その方法は、中国より古来から伝わる「三跪九叩頭の礼」をもってして深き謝意を表させて頂きます。
なお、表記を簡潔にするためにプログラミング言語で記述させていただきます。
The Prostration and Obeisance
Act I: The Ritual.
Scene I: The Preparation.
[Enter The Counter and The Inner Counter]
The Counter:
You are as brave as the sum of your fat little stuffed misused dusty old rotten codpiece and a beautiful fair warm peaceful sunny summer's day. You are as healthy as the difference between the sum of the sweetest reddest rose and my father and yourself! You are as cowardly as the sum of yourself and the difference between a big mighty proud kingdom and a horse. Speak your mind!
[Exit The Inner Counter]
Scene II: The First Prostration.
The Counter:
You are as brave as the sum of your fat little stuffed misused dusty old rotten codpiece and a beautiful fair warm peaceful sunny summer's day. You are as healthy as the difference between the sum of the sweetest reddest rose and my father and yourself! You are as cowardly as the sum of yourself and the difference between a big mighty proud kingdom and a horse. Speak your mind!
Let us return to Scene II.
[Enter The Inner Counter]
The Inner Counter:
You are as vile as the sum of a cursed old rotten buried smelly half-faced plague-infested contaminated toad and a beautiful healthy honest trustworthy noble golden-hearted angel. Speak your mind!
You are as cowardly as the sum of yourself and a pig. Speak your mind!
You are as vile as the sum of a stinking foul infected curse and a beautiful healthy honest trustworthy noble golden-hearted angel. Speak your mind!
Let us return to Scene II.
[Exit The Inner Counter]
Let us return to Scene II.
Scene III: The Second Prostration.
[Repeat Scene II, replacing "First" with "Second"]
Scene IV: The Third Prostration.
[Repeat Scene II, replacing "First" with "Third"]
Scene V: The Rising.
The Counter:
You are as good as the sum of a happy brave sweet gentle peaceful honest trustworthy noble golden-hearted king and a rose. Speak your mind!
[Exeunt]
御清聴の程有難く存じます。
大変申し訳ございませんでした。
その方法は、中国より古来から伝わる「三跪九叩頭の礼」をもってして深き謝意を表させて頂きます。
なお、表記を簡潔にするためにシェイクスピア言語で記述させていただきます。
The Prostration and Obeisance
Act I: The Ritual.
Scene I: The Preparation.
[Enter The Counter and The Inner Counter]
The Counter:
You are as brave as the sum of your fat little stuffed misused dusty old rotten codpiece and a beautiful fair warm peaceful sunny summer's day. You are as healthy as the difference between the sum of the sweetest reddest rose and my father and yourself! You are as cowardly as the sum of yourself and the difference between a big mighty proud kingdom and a horse. Speak your mind!
[Exit The Inner Counter]
Scene II: The First Prostration.
The Counter:
You are as brave as the sum of your fat little stuffed misused dusty old rotten codpiece and a beautiful fair warm peaceful sunny summer's day. You are as healthy as the difference between the sum of the sweetest reddest rose and my father and yourself! You are as cowardly as the sum of yourself and the difference between a big mighty proud kingdom and a horse. Speak your mind!
Let us return to Scene II.
[Enter The Inner Counter]
The Inner Counter:
You are as vile as the sum of a cursed old rotten buried smelly half-faced plague-infested contaminated toad and a beautiful healthy honest trustworthy noble golden-hearted angel. Speak your mind!
You are as cowardly as the sum of yourself and a pig. Speak your mind!
You are as vile as the sum of a stinking foul infected curse and a beautiful healthy honest trustworthy noble golden-hearted angel. Speak your mind!
Let us return to Scene II.
[Exit The Inner Counter]
Let us return to Scene II.
Scene III: The Second Prostration.
[Repeat Scene II, replacing "First" with "Second"]
Scene IV: The Third Prostration.
[Repeat Scene II, replacing "First" with "Third"]
Scene V: The Rising.
The Counter:
You are as good as the sum of a happy brave sweet gentle peaceful honest trustworthy noble golden-hearted king and a rose. Speak your mind!
[Exeunt]
御清聴の程有難く存じます。
アラフォーなんだけどコロナ前辺りから、邦楽の新譜を全然聞かなくなったのに気づいて今年はじめからサブスクでガンガン聞いて楽しかったのでここに残しとく。
だいたい2020前後から直近の曲までビビッと来たものの感想と昔の曲を添えて。あ、下記は全部自分が好きになった曲になります。リピ確定な。
・mabataki / Vaundy
むぉしきみぃぐあー、好き。テンポを早くしたCreep(レディオヘッド)。コード進行もほぼ同じ(厳密だと3小節目がsus4)。
Vaundyの別曲、踊り子って曲も同じような進行。ばらの花(くるり)感があるのはストリングス8分刻みのスタッカートのせいかもかも。
サビ４小節目の転調すばらしい(0:56あたり)。大サビ(2:39あたり)のメロがきれいに一旦終了してカタルシス。
AメロのGlitch Hopリズムや雰囲気はCloser / Lemaitreをめっちゃ意識してると思う！(当たって！)
ヒゲダンのコード進行のキレイさってKANっぽくて整理されてて文句言えない隙がない。ヒゲダンの息子だったら生きにくいよな。
・The Diamond Four / ももいろクローバーZ
ももクロはココ☆ナツと走れが好きなんだけど、このラップも好き。
ファンキートラックはリップスライムのFUNKASTICを思い出す。
・the Moment / Ryohu(呂布カルマではない)
Harfby味あるゴスペルサンプリングをベーシックにしたトラックに何言ってるかわかんねえけどカッコいいラップ曲。
増田がゴスペル好きだったので。appleのCMに使われてた思われるんだわ。
アコギのリズム・ギターとタム回しがきもちい。Aメロ終わりのコードD♭が予定調和崩壊のキモ。
声質はとにかく今旬の量産型だけど女の子の歌がYUIの歌をR&B風にした感じと男女で歌ってるのが好き。
・DOGLAND / PEOPLE1
サビで爆発&マリリン・マンソン(デスメタ)ぽいダーク感。ぬーさん(king gnu)風味もある。
ヴィジュアル系追っかけゴスバンギャに大人気！(おらバチボコしたんぞダウナー系女子に大人気！)
こういう三連符メロ＆リズムは今の主流だと思うけど、水戸黄門テーマソング「あゝ人生に涙あり」のタンタタタタン、
コード進行がD♭M7 →EM7 →B♭m/E♭ この3コードだけ(アウトロは変わる)なのでシンプル。
アウトロはサンダーキャットぽい動くベースがキモい、いや気持ちいい。この質感は音楽のモンクレールや！
Youtubeでよく聞くLo-fi hip hopサウンドを表現しつつ自らのファン層に「やっぱりおしゃれなんです、僕」をちゃんと伝えてて好き。
こういう打ち込みはDJ Mitsu the beats(gagle)が心地いいので良かったらぜひ。
声質のせいか星野源の歌ってメロディーが聞こえにくい曲が多いんだけどこれはよく聞こえる。そうそう、喜劇はまさに星野源やないかーい。
・ただ君に晴れ / ヨルシカ
令和夜シリーズ(YOASOBI ずとまよ)の一角ヨルシカ。ゆるく歪ませたサウンドとペンタトニック地獄、最近には珍しくギターソロがある、うまい。
ギターヒーローはまだ死んでなかった。良かった、太陽がまた輝くとき 矢を射るよ。
サビ４小節目のディミニッシュコードがオサレ&エモでキュン死。ジャケもムチムチ死。
1サビ終わり(1:10~)からギターでいとしのレイラ/クラプトンを弾いている。私より先に弾くとわ気に食わないけど愛しい。
・踊 / ado
最近の曲、"唄"はいいんだけど"踊"より大衆に迎合した感があってウルトラソウル透。
どどどど(1:43)が好き。
トラックはダブステップ〜ラテン〜しゅわしゅわハウス〜みたいに飽きのこないアレンジ。
・ビビデバ / 星街すいせい
Vの事は何も知らんがadoライクの唄&音。PVも面白い。トラックの中でずっと117時報が鳴ってて□□□の00:00:00を思い出した。
ひとつだけ残念なのはトラックがプロいので完成されていて予定調和なところ。でもPVがかわいい♡からまあいいか！ってなる。
・グッドな音楽を / ねぐせ。
シンプルなバンドサウンド。ほんと何も考えなく聞ける。あ、ウルフルズ!それな。
1回聞けば覚えるサビメロが好き。
・およげ！たいやきくん / MONO NO AWARE
「たいやきの尻尾を集めてCome togetherで煮込みました。ね、面白いでしょ？」感がすごく、ウザ過ぎて好き。
・dasu . Hikage no onna / Otoboke Beaver
・あふれる / tricot
イントロからポップなんて大嫌いっ！感あふれる三和音sus2コードのギターリフというかカッティングが印象的。
今っぽくない透明抜けするボーカルが心地良い。
ハイパーポップの代名詞(でいいよね)。サビはDubstepからの派生。Bメロからのリズムがサビで半分になって
アホほど気持ちいシンセアルペジオとトゥントゥン降りてくるタムもからまって、
・Still in my heart / PSYQUI ぷにぷに電気
これもハイパーポップ(だと思う)。このあたりのぶつ切り感(1:30)とかおもいっきりテレビですわ。
・OPENING / KMNVERS
二人のラップバランスが好き。ラップの言葉の置きどころがHALCARI風で今っぽくはないがそこがいい。
トラックがドラム、ベース、SE、ブラスサンプルぐらいなのでシンプル。そのせいか声が聞きやすいぜよお疲れSUMMER。
・WurtS / Talking Box
「こんな夜中に卓球でもしてんのかお前」みたいな速さで、ゆるふわピッチベンド全開シンセが気持ちいいイントロ。
イントロのフレーズ待ち構成がこの曲のカタルシス。サビで倍速リズムになればどの曲も大抵楽しい。
歌は何言ってるかわかんねえけど…山嵐の未体験ゾーンも何言ってるかわかんなかったわ。何言ってるかわかんねえくらいでいいんだわ。
・New Jeans / New Jeans
ほんと2STEPガラージHOUSE。2000年くらいにM-floもよくこのリズムを取り入れててcome againのサビなんか2STEP。
K-POPって生バンドサウンド文化が少ないから打ち込み文化なんだろね。クラブサウンドを昇華させて耳障り良くするのがうまいよね。
2024は2STEPの流行くるかなー過去二回失敗してるからこねえだろなー。
・Away With Me / Tomggg, raychel jay
テイ・トウワっぽくもありPOPうううううう。渋谷を思い出す。この雰囲気は悪いこと起きない
・救われ升 / ポップしなないで
月曜AM4:00くらいに小便で起きまして。中年の中途覚醒まっしぐらですわっはっは！
そんでもって変な曲だなとおもったらサビの歌詞が良くて、ああいいなあなんて思いながらまた寝ちまったんです。
で朝起きたら私、透明になってたんですね。。もとい、この曲ベースが無いから粋で好き。
・エナジー風呂 / U-zhaan, 坂本龍一, 環ROY, 鎮座Dopeness
教授のenergy flowをベーシックに、U-zhaanのタブラとラップがうまく融合した作品。
とにかくラップがいい。1:23~からの"たぶん"と"ざぶーん"の応酬がもうきもちいい。
むかしリゲインのCMに使われてたと思うんだけどあの頃はリラックスとかブームだったねえ。
”禅問答なのかこれは”と意識させられそうなディアンジェロもほっこりシンプルなイントロ。こういうの好きマジ大トロ。
寝起きで歌ってんかおまえ的な声はBONNIE PINK好きならマストバイ。さよならバイバイ、元気でいてね
・あわいに / TOMOO
「畠山美由紀のような声を持った聖女は転生して歌手になる！」みたいな曲。
アレンジは、ほぼ恋 / 星野源なので安心して聞ける。フルートや他の管楽器も聞こえてほっこりするね。
大好きな人はいると思うけど、まじ嫌いな人を作らなそうな声と歌詞。Presentっていう曲もよかたよ。
■総評
最近の曲の歌は言いたいことが多く、説明も多い。本当に多い。(←まじ老害)
これはSNSや映像コンテンツの歌詞文字の影響なのか。また、一曲の長さが２分台はザラ。時間節約でまじタイパ。
コード感ていうのはマッキー「どんなときも」でいうとイントロからシンセピアノが鳴るんだけど、よく聞くとAメロやサビでもずっと鳴ってて曲を通して和音がわかりやすく全体を支えてる感じ。
あと楽器は歌の裏でクリーントーンのエレキが一人で遊んでたりベースがうねってる。ジュディマリみたいにやんちゃ。
そうそう、ベースの音量大きいよね。リズムも。DTMやダンスの影響かな。
あれかな、2000年くらいに管楽器ブームがあってエゴラッピンとかスカパラとかWhat's Loveとか流行ったけど(あの時は椎名林檎すらエゴラッピンに寄せてたよね)あんな流れと似てる。
いうても実は響けユーフォニアムの影響なんですけどね。３期もたのしみ。
さいごに、、、歳をかさねても新しい文化にちゃんと浸れるのはうれしい！たのしい！大好き！
他サイトからの引用だからURLそのまま貼り付けても良かったんだけど、せっかくだから丁寧に書くね。
100には届かなかったのとシーズン別でカウントしたりオリジナルアニメも入ってるけど、そこまで精査する義理ないし、それでも50タイトルはあるから頑張って改変例を探し出してくれたまへ。
引用→https://dic.pixiv.net/a/%E8%A6%87%E6%A8%A9%E3%82%A2%E3%83%8B%E3%83%A1
1.おジャ魔女どれみ♯
2.ラブひな
4.ヴァンドレッド
6.NOIR
8.まほろまてぃっく
13.ガンパレード・マーチ
14.LASTEXILE
15.おねがい☆ツインズ
16.鋼の錬金術師
18.頭文字D4期
21.AIR
22.ハチミツとクローバー
25.魔法少女リリカルなのはA's
26.Fate/StayNight
27.涼宮ハルヒの憂鬱
32.モノノ怪
33.機動戦士ガンダム00・1期
34.ARIA3
35.マクロスF
36.ストライクウィッチーズ
37.とらドラ!
38.続夏目友人帳
40.化物語
41.とある科学の超電磁砲
42.デュラララ!!
43.けいおん!!
44.ストライクウィッチーズ2
46.魔法少女まどか☆マギカ
48.うたの☆プリンスさまっ♪
50.偽物語
51.Fate/Zero後期
52.ソードアート・オンライン
54.ラブライブ!
55.進撃の巨人
58.黒子のバスケ 第2期
60.ラブライブ!2期
62.SHIROBAKO
63.艦隊これくしょん
64.血界戦線
65.戦姫絶唱シンフォギアGX
66.おそ松さん
70.ユーリ!!!onICE
71.けものフレンズ
72.エロマンガ先生
73.プリンセス・プリンシパル
74.宝石の国
75.ゆるキャン△
76.ウマ娘プリティーダービー
77.はたらく細胞
78.ゾンビランドサガ
80.鬼滅の刃
81.まちカドまぞく
82.グランブルーファンタジー・ジ・アニメーション2
87.ウマ娘プリティーダービー Season2
88.オッドタクシー
91.ラブライブ!虹ヶ咲学園スクールアイドル同好会season2
93.ぼっち・ざ・ろっく!
96.呪術廻戦 懐玉・玉折
いや、いくら卵子の数は有限だと言っても、卵子の数の上限いっぱいまで子供を産むなんて事は普通有り得ないし
それに何よりも卵子提供で被害者になるのってどちらかというと自分と血が繋がってもいない子供を産んで育てる女性の方であって
提供する女は他人に代理出産させてるのと同じ事だから、加害者側だと思うんだけど…？
「産みたい人と子供の権利の話だけ」って当たり前だろ、卵子提供する女は労力なくして自分の遺伝子入りの人間を他人に育てさせるって点でそこらの男と同じなんだから
https://twitter.com/summer_b_59/status/1752284957505179775
@summer_b_59
ねえ、今生きてる女性を傷つけるんだよ？
そこをほとんど言わないの、どうなってるんだ……
14時くらいに、出かけることにした。
寒いから黒のパーカーに黒のロングスカート、タイツにブーツを履いた。髪は後ろに一つで束ねて、化粧をした。
マスカラは塗り方ひとつで目の形が激変する。研究に研究を重ねて、新しい塗り方を試してみたらうまく行った。嬉しかった。
ニトリで、ちょうどいいサイズの可愛いカゴを見つけた。セールで699円になっていた。ラッキーだ。今日はついている。
支払いをして、帰路につく。音楽は何にしよう。
最近はテイラーが好きだ。冬だけど、Cruel Summerにした。
信号が赤だったので立ち止まる。たくさんの人がいる。
白いシャツの、細身の男が私の前を通り過ぎた。
通りすぎ間際に、私の顔を覗き込んで、ニヤリと笑ってそのまま去っていった。
通りすぎ間際に男に顔を覗き込まれる。
追い越し間際に振り返られて、男に顔を覗き込まれる。
すれ違い側に男に顔を覗き込まれる。
よくあることだ。もちろん気分は良くない。あまりにも失礼だ。
そんなことを考えながら、家に向かって歩く。
男が私を追い越していった。
白いシャツの細身の男。
さっきの男だ。
またも、私の顔を覗き込んで、ニヤリと笑った。
ザッと血の気が引いた。
男がさっき渡ってきた横断歩道はどう考えてもこの道にはつながらない。
偶然じゃない。
「こいつは私に用がある」
「こいつは私を不快にさせるという目的のもと、この行為を行なっている」
家はすぐそばだ。
ただ、家に向かえば向かうほど人通りの少ない道になっていく。
このまま真っ直ぐ帰れない。
私は一目散に来た道を引き返した。
一番近いコンビニはどこだっけ？一番メインの人通りが多い道はどこだっけ？
奴を撒こうと、私はあらゆる曲がり角を曲がり、走り、あの男はいないかと、後ろも、前も、横も凝視した。
白い服を着ている男は全員そいつに見えた。そしてこの季節だ。コートやパーカーを羽織られたら、もう遠目からじゃ気づけない。
安っぽい呑気なBGM。ごちゃっと並んだ野菜。肉。私が直面する恐怖と対角線上にいるような、何も知らない空間だ。
店内はガラス張りだから、店の奥に進んだ。お酒のコーナーだった。
ようやく少し冷静になる。
明るい時間帯に、普通の服をきて、買い物をして、普通に家に帰ろうとした。
それだけだった。
「家に帰る。」
これができなかった。
むしゃくしゃして、ワインのボトルとビールを買った。これ以上、もう何も考えたくなかった。
店を出る。後ろ、前、左右を確認する。鍵を握りしめた。
鍵を取り出す瞬間を見られたらまずい。「家が近いんだ」とバレてしまう。
イヤホンはつけなかった。何度も周囲を見渡し、私はマンションに飛び込んだ。
再度振り返り、急いでエレベーターに乗り込んだ。
交番の前をわざと通ろうと、遠回りする。人通りの多い道を、と遠回りする。
鍵を握りしめて、何度も後ろを振り返る。
時として、誰かと電話する振りをする。
時として、誰か友達に「あとつけられてるかも、やばい」とラインして、その子から緊迫した声の電話がかかってくる。
すれ違い側に、目をガン見されて顔を思い切り覗き込まれる。数百メートル以上、横で顔を覗き込まれて話しかけられ続ける。
腕を掴まれる。
目の前に立ちはだかれて、真っ直ぐ歩けない。
見た目が気に入ったから、後をつけてやろう。話しかけてみよう。
声をかけたけど、つれない反応をされた。じゃあ暴言吐き捨てて嫌な気持ちにさせてやろう。
なぜ、そんな思考になる？
当然すでにあるよなぁ？
と思ったら、まあ、あったわ。
https://www.medalspercapita.com/#medals-per-capita:2020
Summer Olympics: average medals per capita 1896-2020 | Statista
https://www.statista.com/statistics/1102056/summer-olympics-average-medals-per-capita-since-1892/
Olympic Medal Count: How Did Each Country Fare at Tokyo 2020?
https://www.visualcapitalist.com/olympic-medal-count-tokyo-2020/
全期間だとヨーロッパに偏ったり、西ドイツとか出てきちゃったりするので、「過去10大会」くらいのちょうどいい期間に絞ったものはなさそうだけど。
清水はライブハウスでソウルドアウト公演だったので入場時から何度も前へ一歩ずつ詰めるよう言われるが自分より前が詰めないので結果的に全く詰まらないと言う現象が起こっていた…。まぁ詰めたくない気持ちは分かるけど…。何だかなぁと言う気もしなくはなかった。
野音は座席表で見た感じ真ん中ら辺だったからアニキから微妙に遠いかもと思ったけどいざ入ってみたらほぼアニキ前だったので良かった(？)と言うかこういう指定席で初めて自分の名義でアニキ側を引いた気がする。大体指定席は金やん側or真ん中辺りなので…笑
とりあえず印象に残った曲の感想等。
·冥王星、c/wの割に登場率かなり高いからバンド内で気に入られてるのかな？盛り上がるしね。
·スレドニ・ヴァシュターの出だしのギター、本当にヤバかった！！清水でニヤニヤ止まらなくてずっとニヤニヤしてた(怖)
·Ready〜、何曲かやった未発表の新曲群の中で一番好きな感じだった。アニキのギターがカッコいい、あと亀ちゃんっぽい曲だな〜と感じたが実際はどうかは分からない。
·NOS、アニキと田中さんが向き合って弾く見せ場(？)があって盛り上げる為に頑張ってんのかなと思った(すごい性格悪い感想)
·想うということ、イントロのアニキのギター大好きなので聴けて嬉しい。
·雀の子、ライブ映えがすごい！！ツアーで更に進化する(であろう)のワクワク過ぎる。
·This Town、田中さんとアニキのギター息ぴったりで最高に気持ち良い。
·Good bye my world、毎回ライブでやって欲しいぐらいライブで聴くのが好き過ぎる！！清水でトリップしまくった…笑
·Glareがまたライブで聴けるとは…！！何と言う最高のセットリスト…！！
·B.D.S.でアニキのスライドギターが間近で見れて最高…。清水ではアニキ側もまん中辺りも来てくれてガン見した笑 野音は照明当たってなくて真っ暗だったの勿体なかったな…。その変わり(？)亀ちゃんにめちゃくちゃ照明当たってたの面白かった。
·清水はSPF→Reverb→放浪フリーク、大阪は放浪フリーク→SPF→Alrightだった。Reverb、キーが高くて田中さんの声が割りと限界っぽい感じなの、結構好きなんだよね。無理して出してる高音って苦手なんだけどこれは別。SPFはこの夏バズったみたいな話を田中さんがしてたけどバズってたの？？全然知らないんだが…笑 放浪フリークは野外で聴くの本当気持ち良かった〜。アニキのギターがめちゃくちゃ映える。
以下、ライブを観た感想。結構微妙な事も書いてるのでお気を付け下さい…。嘘は書きたくないので…。
行く迄は結構複雑な心境で楽しみって気持ちでもなかったけど、清水で観て感じたのはやっぱりバインのライブは最高！と言う事だった。何より私はアニキのギターが大好き。そしてアニキを始め、亀ちゃんや高野さん金戸さんがここに居てくれて良かったなと強く実感した。正直まだ田中さんを沢山視界に入れるのは個人的に厳しかったけど…。ライブの楽しさも全て興醒めしそうで…。でも今はそれで良いんだと私は思っている。歌は好きだし、いつかはそんな感情もなくなりはせずとも薄れていくだろう。もう曲が良くて、アニキのギターは最高で、ライブが楽しければ現状私は文句ないので。個人的に清水の方が好きなライブだったけど、野音も良かったし何より去年のリベンジも果たせたので終わり良ければ全て良しかなと。10月新譜のライブも純粋に楽しみだなという気持ちです。
あと本当どうでも良い話だけど、清水でライブハウス横(？)の喫煙所に田中さんが居てびっくりした。ちょっと目が合った(お互い人が居たら見ちゃうよねってやつ)ので気付いてない振りして通り過ぎた。何か田中さんは結構遭遇するな〜と思ったけど(RSR、森道)アニキも何回か遭遇した事あるんだよな…。どちらも一回も声かけたことないけど…。
スレドニ・ヴァシュター
目覚ましはいつも鳴りやまない
NOS
想うということ
雀の子
This Town
Goodbye,Annie
Good bye my world
Glare
B.D.S.
E.N
SDF
Alright
みなさんお久しぶりです。
ちょっと出遅れた感ありますが、欧米の友達に例の原爆バービーについて聞いてみました。
・この騒動が浮き彫りにしたのは「日本への原爆投下に対するアメリカでの認識」というよりは、「原爆という存在についてのアメリカでの認識」だった
・ポスター製作者もバービー公式も日本への原爆投下を肯定したつもりはなかっただろう
・米ワーナーは具体的な謝罪をすることが立場上できない。とても同情する
です。
＊＊＊＊＊
ご存じの方が多いでしょうが、欧米といってもヨーロッパとアメリカでは様相が違います。
広島長崎の原爆投下に対するヨーロッパの姿勢は日本と近いです。
残虐な民間人殺戮で、終戦を早める効果もなかった（投下前にすでに終わりかけ）ので無駄だったという認識のようです。
原爆バービーのファンアートへの広報のコメントについても日本と同じように嫌がられているようでした。
彼らの一人は、「日本人はバービーの広報よりむしろ映画オッペンハイマーに怒っているのだと思っていた」と言っていて驚きました。
曰く、「映画オッペンハイマーは真面目なドキュメンタリーじゃなくて商業的ハリウッド映画だ。忌まわしい行為をネタに映画を作って金儲けしているのがすごく嫌」ということです。
増田は「映画オッペンハイマーは原爆投下を反省してるような内容らしいので日本ではむしろ喜んでいる意見を多く見る」と答えましたが納得していないようでした。
そもそもヨーロッパからすれば他人のアメリカを頑張って擁護する動機がないのだろう、と増田は思いました。
もちろん増田が親しく付き合うような人間はその時点で偏っていて、外国に住む人間の適切な標本とはいえません。
彼らと知り合ったのは日本のアニメやゲームに親和性が高いコミュニティで、増田は日本人であることを特に隠していません。
日本人・アジア人をあからさまに見下してる人はそれなりにいるでしょうが、彼らは増田に親しく話しかけることがないわけです。これはアメリカの友達でもヨーロッパの友達でも同じことです。
アメリカの友達にも、日本への原爆投下が正しかったと言う人はいませんでした。
しかしそれでもアメリカの友達の原爆バービーの捉え方は日本やヨーロッパとは異なり肯定的でした。
彼らに、「バービーとオッペンハイマーが広島や長崎の爆心地で笑っているから日本人は怒ってる人が多い」と言うと動揺していて、強く否定されました。あれは広島や長崎ではないというのです。
https://pbs.twimg.com/media/F2TDXMBb0AA8Ar9.jpg:medium
彼らの一人は「椰子の木が描いてあるでしょう、ここはバービーランドだ」と教えてくれました。
言われてみれば椰子ですね。
要するにあの爆発は原子力の平和利用で作った賑やかしなのです。お祝いに火薬でクラッカーを鳴らすのと同じように。
現在の日本での原爆のイメージのうち９９％は広島長崎が占めています。しかし、アメリカではそうではないのです。
アメリカ人からすると、この騒動はオッペンハイマーがバービーランドに落とした爆弾になぜか日本人が怒っている構造なのです。
もしこれがM69焼夷弾だったら増田はこのような考え方を認めないでしょう。M96焼夷弾はもともと日本の民家を焼くために作られたもので、バービーランドに落とされているから日本の民間人の虐殺とは関係ないなどというのは通りません。
しかし原爆はそもそも日本に落とすために作られたわけではありません。
アメリカにしてみれば、日本への原爆投下とは原爆開発の長い歴史とややこしい経緯、いくつもの国による20回ほどの使用とそれによる人的被害、のなかの１ページにすぎないのです。
日本でも、日本への原爆投下については批判していても原爆開発自体については
（"It's going to be a summer to remember"にしても、単に夏公開だから言っているだけです。核の使用はどの季節にも行われていて、夏と特に関連付いてはいません。強いて言うならオッペンハイマーが自ら関わった史上初の核実験、トリニティ実験ではないでしょうか。アメリカが使ってアメリカで爆発したトリニティ実験は7月16日に行われました。）
銃を手にして笑うポスターに銃で以って追い立てられたアメリカ先住民の末裔が抗議したとしても、きっとアメリカで広く受け入れられはしないでしょう。
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米ワーナーやバービーの監督が具体的な釈明をしないのは、それとは違う意味でも仕方のないことだと思っています。
ポスターは外部の人間が作ったファンアートなので、ワーナーがその内容に触れたコメントを出すのは難しいです。
「日本の爆心地で笑ってるイラストにいいねしてごめんなさい」などと言ってしまうとポスターを描いた人が仰天するでしょう。ワーナーが日本に謝罪するために部外者を…それも日本のことは描いてないと思われる部外者を生贄に捧げることはできません。
「日本で亡くなった人々とは無関係なバービーランドのイラストをいいねしてごめんなさい」では意味不明で、きっと火に油を注ぎます。
しかし「原爆を肯定的に描いている時点で他の要素には関わりなく日本への侮辱だった、ごめんなさい」とはなかなか言えないでしょう。
核爆弾によって被害を受けたのは日本だけではありません。もしも「ニューメキシコ州に住んでてトリニティ核実験で被曝した人の遺族だけど取り下げないでほしい」とか「近隣国の核兵器に怯える住人だけど私たちにも謝罪してほしい」とか言われたら収拾がつきません。
そもそも外部の人の作品について「これは日本の被害を描いてる」「これはバービーランドを描いてる」「このイラストは原爆に肯定的」などと解釈して決めつけた声明を出すだけで大問題です。
皆さんはこの決めつけを抜きに具体的な謝罪文を作ることができますか？ 増田はできません。
（もしも原爆バービーポスターを作ったのがワーナー側であったなら、「日本の爆心地で笑ってるイラストを出してごめんなさい」と芯を食った謝罪をする選択肢はありました。
ただそれをやってしまうとプリティーオールフレンズの大正ロマンやヒロアカの丸太の類似案件になるのでアメリカのバービーファンからヘイトを買ったと思います。）
というわけで、米ワーナーと監督は八方塞がりで何を言っても問題が生まれる状況でした。
……いいえ、正答はありますね。
In a discussion about the case, someone raised an objection to "someone who was not a party to the incident, who was not from Nagasaki, and who was not from Hiroshima, complaining about it. Seeing that opinion made me aware of my position, so I will say what I must say.
I was born in Nagasaki and am a third-generation A-bomb survivor.
I say this because I grew up hearing the stories of the A-bomb damage directly from those who suffered from the atomic bombings.
I feel that it is unacceptable for someone like me to speak about the A-bomb damage.
However, there are few A-bomb survivors left, so I will speak up.
In Nagasaki, children grow up hearing stories about the atomic bombing. We were made to sit in the gymnasium of an elementary school in the middle of summer, where there was not even an air conditioner or a fan, and for nearly an hour we were made to listen to stories about the atomic bombing. It was hard for me anyway.
I think it was even more painful for the elderly people who told the stories. But I don't think an elementary school kid could have imagined that. I, too, have forgotten most of the stories I was told. I can only remember one or two at most.
Another thing is that at this time of year, pictures of the victims of the atomic bombing are pasted up in the hallways.
In other parts of the country, these are grotesque images that would cause a fuss from the parents who are always nagging about them.
Recently, even the A-bomb museum has become more gentle in its exhibits, and most of the radical and horrifying exhibits that would have traumatized visitors have been removed.
I don't know how elementary schools now teach about the A-bomb damage. But when I was in elementary school, there were photos on display.
There was one photo that I just couldn't face as an elementary school student. It was a picture of Taniguchi Sumiteru(谷口稜曄). If you search for it, you can find it. It is a shocking picture, but I would still like you to see it.
I couldn't pass through the hallway where the photo was displayed, so I always took the long way around to another floor to avoid seeing the photo.
My grandfather was under the bomb and went to the burnt ruins of the bomb to look for his sister. I can understand now that he couldn't turn away or go another way.
There would have been a mountain of people still alive and moaning in the ruins of the burnt ruins. There would have been many more who would have died out in agony.
My grandfather walked for miles and miles, towing a rear wheelchair, through the narrow streets of rubble-strewn Nagasaki in search of his sister.
My grandfather was not a child then. But of course there were elementary school children who did the same thing he did. I am not speculating that there were. There were. I heard the story from him, and I still remember it.
A young brother and sister found their father's corpse in the ruins of the fire and burned it themselves. They didn't have enough wood to burn him alive, and when they saw his brain spilling out, they ran away, and that was the last time they ever saw him again.
I can never forget that story I heard when I was a kid, and even now it's painful and painful, my hands are shaking and I'm crying.
I keep wondering how that old man who ran away from his father's brain was able to expose to the public the unimaginably horrible trauma, the scar that will never heal, even after all these years.
Now I think I understand a little.
Why I can't help but talk about my grandfather and the old man now, even as I remember my own trauma.
Because this level of suffering is nothing compared to their words being forgotten.
It's nothing compared to the tremendous suffering that once existed that will be forgotten, like my hands shaking, my heart palpitating, my nose running with vertigo, and so on.
My grandfather, who went through an unimaginable hell, lived to see his grandchildren born, and met his sister's death in the ruins of the fire.
In other words, my grandfather was one of the happiest people in the ruins of the fire.
My grandfather and that old man were, after all, just people wading in the depths of hell.
I think that the suffering that even people who had experienced unimaginable pain could not imagine was lying like pebbles on the ground in Nagasaki 78 years ago, and no one paid any attention to it.
Their suffering, which I can't even imagine, is nothing compared to the countless, unimaginable suffering they witnessed, which they pretend never happened.
Memories fade inexorably with each passing human mouth. The memories that those people could never allow to be forgotten are almost forgotten.
The tremendous suffering of 78 years ago is mostly gone, never to be recounted.
Those who suffered the most from the atomic bombing died rotting in the ruins of the fire without being able to tell anyone about it.
Many of those who saw it with their own eyes kept their mouths shut and took it with them to their graves. Most of those who spoke a few words are still in their graves.
Compared to the words of the old men, my own words are so light. I would rather keep my mouth shut than speak in such light words.
But still, someone has to take over. I realize that even my words, which are so light, are only the top of the voices that are left in this world to carry on the story of the atomic bombing.
I know how it feels to think that I am the only one. Still, I hope that you will not shut your mouth. I know that I have closed my mouth because I thought I shouldn't talk about it, and that is the result.
Sometimes I almost choose to stop imagining the unimaginable suffering and live my life consuming other people's suffering for fun.
I am writing this while I still have some imagination of the suffering of the old people whose voices, faces, and even words I can no longer recall.
すまん。勝手に翻訳した。拡散はどうするかな。redditとかに投稿するのがいいのか?
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I have seen some posts asking if they should talk about "the case" even though they were not involved in it and were not born in Nagasaki or Hiroshima, and I am a bit aware of it, so I have to say what I have to say. I say this because I was born in Nagasaki, am a third generation atomic bomb survivor, and grew up hearing the stories of those who experienced the atomic bombing firsthand. I know it's a little bit too much for me, but I'm going to say this because there are very few survivors left.
In Nagasaki, children grow up hearing stories about the atomic bombing. They were stuffed into sushi for nearly an hour in the gymnasium of an elementary school in the middle of summer, with no air conditioner or fan, and told stories about the atomic bombing. That was a hard time for me. I think it must have been even harder for the old people who told the stories, but there was no way an elementary school kid could imagine such a thing, and I had forgotten most of the stories I had been told for a long time. I have forgotten most of the stories I was told. I can only remember one or two at most. There is one more hard thing. Every year around this time, a row of grotesque images that would drive the PTA crazy in other areas are prominently displayed in the hallways. These days, I hear that the atomic bomb museum has been bleached out and many of the radical and horrifying exhibits that traumatized visitors have been taken down. I don't know if they are still there, but they were there when I was in elementary school.
There was one photo that I just couldn't face when I was in elementary school. It is a picture of Sumiteru Taniguchi. If you search for it, you can find it. It is a shocking picture, but I would like you to take a look at it. I couldn't pass through the hallway where the photo was posted, so I always took the long way around to another floor of the school building to avoid seeing the photo.
Now I'm thinking that my grandfather, who headed into the burnt ruins to look for his sister, couldn't have turned away or taken a different path. There would have been a mountain of people still alive and moaning, not just pictures, and a mountain more who would have given up at the end of their suffering. He walked for miles and miles, towing his handcart through the narrow streets of rubble-strewn Nagasaki in search of his sister. My grandfather was not a child at the time, but of course there were children who did similar things. Not that there wouldn't have been. There were. I heard the story from him, and I still remember it. A young brother and sister found their father's body in the ruins of a fire and they burned it. They didn't have enough wood to burn his body, and when they saw the raw brain that spilled out, they ran away and that was the last time they ever saw him anymore.
I can never forget the story I heard when I was a kid, and even now it is painful and painful, my hands are shaking and I am crying. I keep wondering how the old man who escaped from that father's brain could have been able to unravel the most horrible trauma imaginable and expose it to the public with scars that will never heal.
Now I think I can understand a little.
The reason I can't help but talk about my grandfather and that old man, even if I have to rehash my own trauma, is that this level of suffering is nothing compared to the fact that their words will be forgotten. My hands shaking, my heart palpitating and dizzy, my nose running with tears, it's nothing compared to the tremendous suffering that was once there and will be forgotten.
My grandfather, who went through an unimaginable hell, lived to see his grandchildren born, and met his sister's death in the ruins of the fire. In other words, my grandfather was one of the happiest people in the ruins of the fire. My grandfather and that old man were, after all, just people wading in the depths of hell. I think that the suffering that even people who had experienced unimaginable pain could not imagine was lying like pebbles in Nagasaki 78 years ago, and no one paid any attention to it. Their suffering, which I can't even imagine, is nothing compared to the countless, tremendous suffering they witnessed, which they pretend never happened.
Memories fade inexorably every time people talk about them. The memories that those people could not allow to be forgotten are now largely forgotten; the tremendous suffering of 78 years ago is mostly gone, never to be recounted again. Those who suffered the most from the atomic bombing died rotting in the ruins of the fire, unable to tell anyone about it. Many of those who saw it with their own eyes kept their mouths shut and took it with them to their graves. Most of those who spoke a few words are now under the grave.
Compared to the words of the old men, my own words are so light. I would rather keep my mouth shut than speak in such light words. But still, someone has to take over. I realize that even my words, which are so light, are only the top of the voices that are left in this world to carry on the story of the atomic bombing. I know how it feels to wonder if someone like myself is allowed to speak about this. Still, I hope that you will not shut your mouth. This is the result of our silence.
Sometimes I almost choose to stop imagining the unimaginable suffering and live my life consuming other people's suffering for the fun of it. I am writing this while I still have some imagination of the suffering of the old people whose voices, faces, and even words I can no longer recall.
Translator's note: The original post in Japanese is a response to a post by a Japanese contributor who wondered if he was qualified to speak out on the subject of the A-bomb when he was not from Hiroshima and Nagasaki, but still spoke out about Barbie and the A-bomb. I translated it here because I think it deserves to be read by the world.
I must talk about various things regarding the Barbie incident.
I saw a post about it from someone who is neither directly involved nor from Nagasaki or Hiroshima, and it made me realize that there are things I must say.
I was born in Nagasaki and grew up listening to stories from the survivors, being a third-generation survivor myself. Most survivors are no longer with us, so I feel compelled to speak up.
In Nagasaki, kids grow up hearing about the atomic bomb. We were packed like sushi in a gymnasium without air conditioning or even fans during the scorching summer, and we listened to stories about the bomb. It was incredibly tough for me.
I imagine it was even harder for the elderly who spoke about their experiences. As a child, I couldn't fully comprehend their pain, and now, I can hardly remember most of the stories I heard. I can only recall one or two.
Every year during this time, gruesome images that would make PTA elsewhere go crazy were displayed in the hallways. I heard that many of the horrifying exhibits that used to traumatize visitors at the Atomic Bomb Museum have been removed, and the museum has been considerably sanitized. I'm not sure about the current situation, but that's how it was when I was there.
There was one photograph that I could never bear to look at as a child – a picture of Tadashi Taniguchi. You can find it if you search, but it's a shocking image with a viewer discretion warning. Still, I want people to see it.
I couldn't walk down the hallway where that photo was displayed, and I always took a different route, avoiding it so I wouldn't have to see it.
Now, I think of my grandpa who went to the ruins to search for my sister. He couldn't look away or take a different path. The pain must have been unimaginable.
Besides photographs, there were many living people moaning in pain back then, and there must have been even more who succumbed to suffering.
My grandpa walked for miles, pulling a handcart through the debris-laden streets of Nagasaki, searching for my sister.
Even though my grandpa was not a child, I'm sure there were elementary school kids who did similar things. I don't just think they might have been there; they were there. I heard the stories from the people themselves, and I still remember them.
I can't forget the stories I heard as a child, such as the young siblings finding their father's burnt corpse in the ruins and cremating him. They didn't have enough firewood, and their father ended up half-burnt. They ran away after seeing the brain tissue oozing out, and that became their final farewell.
I can never forget those stories I heard as a child, and even now, they still bring pain and suffering, making my hands tremble and tears flow.
I wonder how my grandpa, who ran away from that father's brain tissue, could expose his unimaginable trauma and everlasting scars to the world.
Now, I feel like I understand a little.
Even someone like me, who experienced such unimaginable trauma, has gone through pain that I can't even imagine being compared to being discarded, forgotten, and ignored. Compared to what those people experienced, my suffering means nothing.
My trembling hands and the palpitations and dizziness I experienced are nothing compared to the tremendous pain that many others went through.
Memories fade irreversibly every time they pass through people's lips. The memories that I couldn't bear to be forgotten are almost forgotten now.
The unimaginable pain that existed 78 years ago has mostly disappeared, and we can no longer pass it on.
The people who suffered the most from the atomic bomb perished in the ruins, rotting away without being able to convey it to anyone.
Even those who saw it with their own eyes mostly took the memories with them to their graves. Most of them are now under the tombstones.
Compared to the words of the elderly, my words seem so light. I think that speaking with such light words would be better than keeping silent, as silence has led to this result.
I feel like I might occasionally choose to stop imagining the unimaginable pain and consume the suffering of others in an amusing way to live on.
Before I forget the pain and suffering of those elderly people, whose faces and voices I can no longer recall, I will leave this here.
