It was a huge milestone of scientific and technological advancement. (Plus, at the time, politically significant). Humanity went to space! We set foot on a celestial body that was not earth for the first time in human history! Thatâs a big deal! Iâve never thought about it before but now that I have, itâs ridiculous to me that thatâs not part of our everyday lives and the public consciousness anymore. Why donât we have a public holiday and a family barbecue about it. Why have I never seen the original broadcast of the moon landing? It should be all over the news every year!
Itâs July 20th. Thatâs the day of the moon landing. Next year is going to be the 54th anniversary. Iâm ordering astronaut shaped cookie cutters on Etsy and Iâm going to have a goddamn potluck. Youâre all invited.
This is a scheduled post for two days before the anniversary of the moon landing. Please get your moon themed items and foods sorted now in anticipation.
Peeling off the broken breastplate of a stoic knight who only fights and never speaks, just to realize thereâs nothing in there. Not metaphoricallyâthe armor is literally empty. It doesnât appear to affect him. If the armor stays mostly in the shape of a knight, he just gets back up to keep fighting. But with the chest plate off he just sits there, equally impervious to curiosity as I reach up into the cavity where his body mightâve gone. Stubbornly, no answers are found anywhere in there.
So I forge him a new breastplate and on the inside, because I know he has plenty of room, I put a little pocket. Not big enough to hold anything functional of course. Just a little extra piece to see what heâll do with it.
He comes back next time with some grievous injury to his nothing, presumably from the massive shredded gash across his thigh plates. He sits and waits. I fix it for him. He is still nothing in there. I decide to add a drawing on the inside, of the type of beast I imagine could rend metal into scraps with a single blow. He puts it back on. He no longer moves as if he is injured.
Over time the interior of the knight becomes decorated with whatever odds and ends I could think to attach to the inside of a guy whoâs got room to carry it. What really gets me is that he never removes any of it. Never requests a change. Not even when I installed a curtain rod for a small tapestry, or a bud vase to carry roses for his beloved, or an accordion folder for letters. He didnât say a word for any of the many, many drawings of mythical beasts that now fight forever inside of his shell.
There are plenty of other forges. Iâm not entirely sure why he keeps coming back here anyway. Weâre pretty popular, but he could get his armor fixed a lot quicker (and with fewer ridiculous modifications) literally anywhere else. I asked him if I could get a look at his nothing again. He flipped up his visor and nodded his head so I could take a look. It was the same as it had been, filled with drawings and trinkets and weird little fixtures Iâd put in there. I asked if he was annoyed by it, or liked it, or felt anything at all, but he literally only ever says nothing, so Iâm not sure why I asked.
Thereâs not much room left in his nothing now. When he comes back for repairs Iâve had to fix my own foolish additions. Some of these pieces are intricate and irritating to repair, but I fix them anyway. It feels wrong to take any of it away from him now, even though Iâve been rudely encroaching on his nothingness to the point where itâs barely even there. How he squeezes his nothing back into a body so full, Iâll never understand. But itâs a game to me now, finding a spot not yet filled and putting something there. A dark part of me wonders if he ever gets filled up completely, if whatever sorcery holds the nothing-knight together may break, and it will all clatter unceremoniously to the floor.
When he hands me his breastplate yet again, it is so shockingly disfigured that I wonder if being made of nothing has somehow kept him alive. No ordinary knight could sustain such injuries. So I fix it. And he waits, unmoving, in a quiet corner of the forge. Itâs like heâs watching, even though I know the reading glasses I put inside his helmet were just for fun. Iâm careful to put it all back exactly the way it was when he last left. Thereâs no room to add more this time.
He examines the breastplate, and pauses before putting it back on, like heâs looking for something. Is he worried about the fit? But it suits him just as it always did. He calmly points to a little space, about an inch, between a miniature shelf and one of many pockets. Thereâs nothing there. I ask him whatâs wrong, and again he points. Itâs the most emotion Iâve ever seen from him, and itâs barely anything at all. I take it to mean he wants something there.
I spend some time engraving a little snail in the gap. He watches, as much as nothing can watch. When Iâm finished he holds the breastplate, but he doesnât put it on right away. I ask him if somethingâs still wrong. He says nothing, and puts it on. I tell him I canât add anything else. Even if he could ask, thereâs no room left.
Next time he comes back, thereâs nothing wrong with his armorâhe lets me check to make sure. I ask him what heâs doing here. Out from one of many pockets, he retrieves a tiny rusted knife. Itâs in miserable condition, barely worth saving. I tell him I could make him a nice new one, but Iâll fix it if he likes. He puts it away and reaches around to find something else, a needle and thread. Better condition, but Iâm not a sewist and I tell him as much. He puts them away. He then retrieves a little twisted piece of wax paper. I open it. Itâs candy. I ask if I can eat it. He says nothing. I eat it. Itâs flavored with cinnamon. Iâm surprised he let me take it.
He keeps bringing me candy now. His armor is the most laborious to repair out of every client my forge serves, but itâs my own fault so I canât complain. Sometimes he keeps me company while I work. I wonder if he is trying to tell me something when he hands me mints. I wonder again at the lemon lozenges. He stares at me when I eat, as much as nothing can stare.
One day he brings me a little jar of honey. I thank him, I tell him Iâll save it for dinner. He watches me work, he puts his repaired armor back on, and he stays. My shift passes slowly, and when I finally pack up to leave itâs dark outside. He follows me out of the forge. I ask him where heâs going. He points to the jar in my hand. I ask him if he wants to watch me eat it. He says nothing, but the nothing-knight clearly wants something, so I open the lid and dunk my finger in the honey. I try not to get any on my chin. He stands there, inches away, watching me try to consume this jar of honey without a utensil. It tastes like clovers. About half the jar is left when Iâve finally had enough of pretending to be a bear, but he doesnât move to leave.
I ask if heâs going to follow me home. He says nothing. I tell him he can if he wants to. Again, nothing. I start walking, and he follows at my side. I know heâs not going to say anything ever, so I fill the silence. I tell him Iâm grateful for the sweets, I tell him about how his various components are made, I tell him Iâve never met anyone made of nothing before. I tell him itâs a rare opportunity for a smith to work so much on the inside of something. He says nothing. I tell him again how much I like the candy.
It occurs to me that maybe filling me with sugar is as close as he can get to filling someone elseâs empty armor with trinkets. Iâm not sure if thatâs really why he does it. I tell him I donât have room to be filled with anything on the inside, not like him. Iâm not a container for much besides food. He offers me another piece of candy. Maybe he likes containing something, the way I like to feel full. Maybe itâs nothing at all.
â
I didnât edit this even a little bit. Thanks for reading!
It's Spiders Georg! I've translated it into Angkorian Khmer, the language of Cambodia from 802-1351 AD. Because I like doing stuff like that ;)
You read the black consonants first, then the blue consonants, than the purple vowels. If there's no written vowel, use an 'a'. Magenta is punctuation - a dingbat marking the start, periods, and then a stronger period that tells you the paragraph/section is finished.
Here's what it says!
The original:
reallyreallytrying
Jan 8, 2013
âaverage person eats 3 spiders a yearâ factoid actualy just statistical error. average person eats 0 spiders per year. Spiders Georg, who lives in cave & eats over 10,000 each day, is an outlier adn should not have been counted
Transliterated into Latin characters:
1935š Ĺaka, ekÄdaĹi roc mÄrggaĹira, 'aáš gÄravÄra, nu rilirilitroyiáš kathÄ: NeḼh âÄlakᚣaáša kathÄ: ânak cya pÄŤáš pi pratisaášvatsara, toy vyat vakra saáškhyÄ.
âNak cya pÄŤáš ĹĹŤnya pratisaášvatsara.
Nau ru Jaášrau PÄŤáš , ânau guhÄ cya daĹasahasra pratidina, ga te krau daášnuk ta caáš vÄt ti mÄn ban dÄáš ta kÄĂą.
More detail under the cut!
How itâs spelled:
1-9-20-10-5 Ĺ-k e-kÄ-d-Ĺi ro-c|mÄ-Ęłgg-Ĺi-r
Ę-áš gÄ-r-vÄ-r nu ri-li-ri-li-tro-yi-áš |k-tĘ°Ä neḼ-
h|ĘÄ-l-kᚣ-áš k-tĘ°Ä Ęn-kËŁ cy pi-áš |pi pr-ti-sáš-
v-ts-r to-yËŁ vy-t|v-kr sáš-kĘ°yÄ . Ęn-kËŁ cy
pi-áš |ĹĹŤ-ny pr-ti-sáš-v-ts-r . nau ru jáš-rau pi-
áš ËŁ Ęnau gu-hÄ cy d-Ĺ-s-h-sr pr-ti-di-
n g te krau dáš-nu-k|t c-áš vÄ-t|ti mÄ-n|b-n|dÄáš
t kÄ-Ăą .
1935th Ĺaka year, 11 day of the waning moon of the month MÄrggaĹira, Tuesday. On this day, Reallyreallytrying said:
This, the instruction which says âPeople eat 3 spiders yearlyâ is really because of a calculation mistake.
People eat zero spiders every year.
Of Spiders Georg - who lives in a cave and eats 10,000 daily - he is outside the boundaries of the set and should not have been counted.
š The Angkorian Khmer used a different calendar than we do, called the Ĺaka Saášvat, or Shaka Era. It starts in year 78 of the Christian Era, so 2013 AD lines up with 1935 Ĺaka.
² The Khmer has a large number of Sanskrit/Pali words, similar to how English has a lot of Latin/French. These loans are marked with a degree symbol ( ° ). I decided to use very formal language here, so there's a lot of loans.
Âł âpÄŤáš â is a Modern Khmer word (or at least a component of several modern names) for spiders. My Angkorian dictionaries didnât have a term, and this one has cognates in several related languages, so I decided it was my best bet.
â´ I'm not certain that zero could be used in this way at the time. They were definitely using 0 in large numbers, but actually treating it LIKE a number is usually a later development.
âľ Translations in brackets mean that the word has no direct translation. The best I can do is say the function they serve in the sentence.
âś I think I'm funny.
⡠Angkorian Khmer doesn't have a word for 'and' - you can just put things side by side. I've chosen to move the 'e' in 'ge ta' so that it reads 'ga te' to replicated the original misspelling.
And here are some (undescribed) old guides to reading Angkorian Khmer. They're written in a slightly different style - especially visible in the 'Ăą' - but might still help if you're interested!
kastrakomnenes
this may be one of the most interesting posts I've ever seen. What got you into Angkorian Khmer specifically?
Thank you!
I'm interested in cultural history and I love the First Millenium AD/Early Medieval period. I got really into Heian Japanese fashion, and then was looking at other cultures that existed around the world during the same period. Sometimes it was the fashion that grabbed me. Sometimes the architecture. And sometimes it was the script or language. Angkor has all three!
I find the script (characters used to write) to be gorgeous, and the grammar is similar enough to English that I can wrap my head around it. (Very little inflection!) I am endlessly fascinated by how people take scripts that do NOT work for their language, and smash them with hammers until they do - the way the Irish use Latin to communicate consonantal sounds, how English uses it to communicate vowel sounds, how Angkorian Khmer uses BraḼmi to communicate consonant clusters, etc.
There's a large enough surviving corpus (enough things with writing on them), and enough of it's online (even if the scan quality can be unbelievably bad) that I can really sink my teeth into it. There are enough grammars from India during the same period that we've got a good understanding of how Sanskrit/Pali works, and studying the differences between Indian and Khmer Sanskrit/Pali is really, really neat! Plus, Angkorian Khmer works COMPLETELY differently, so seeing how they incorporated all the Sanskrit loanwords into non-Sanskrit texts is even MORE interesting!
But mostly, I love the curves. I love how the characters stack. I love how the 'e' diacritic comes before the main letter and I always forget to leave space for it and then want to have a tantrum. I love that the last black character on that text I wrote becomes a spiral later on in history. Becomes half as wide, loses all those weird bits that look like diacritics but aren't, and just becomes a spiral.
Iâm not sure if this will be helpful to anyone, but you literally do not have to be a good writer to write and post fan fiction. Yes you will naturally get better at writing and finding your voice the more you do it but you do not have to be or become a professional level writer to enjoy writing and sharing fics. Itâs common to hear people praise fic writers by saying their work is better than published books, and while I think this comes from a good place, thatâs not the norm or expectation. There is also a sentiment that fic writing is âgood practiceâ for becoming a better writer or doing something else later, but if fic is the only creative writing you ever do that is literally okay. Your technical skill does not mean you cannot have fun and build community with your writing, or that other people cannot love and find meaning in your work.
Last spring, my children and I travelled to Xeraco, Spain. We stayed in a small fishermanâs house in a neighbouring village. It didnât have many modern comforts, but it stood right beside the beach and had a terrace overlooking the seaâand that was more than enough.This quick sketch was painted directly from life on the coast in about 30 minutes, while the children played in the sand and flew a kite nearby.Everything in front of me was constantly changing: the light shifted, the sky transformed from one minute to the next, the waves kept moving, and a ship slowly passed across the horizon. But on the canvas, all these fleeting moments remained togetherâstill, yet somehow full of movement.That is what I love about painting from life: the world never stops, but for a moment, the painting holds it still. đđ¨đŞ
Goodmorning to the Anthropic Claude AI training scraper that suddenly decided to request 660 thousand pages (exactly the number I had remaining on the starter plan) and brought Pikiwedia down.Â
Sudden switch from diverse user agents like chrome, safari, messenger preview to Just Claudebot. I'm not even mad though, this is maybe the funniest thing possible, because I've inadvertently poisoned their training data with thousands of fucked up articles with normal urls.Â
Pikiwedia perseveres, back up with a better robots.txt. I hope Anthropic has a gery vood time with Pikiwedia's data :))
I love it when media fucks up the wording of the Rasputin disclaimer and ends up with shit like "any resemblance to people or locations living or dead is coincidental". I'd love to know what committing libel against a dead location would entail.
#Sorry what do you mean ârasputin disclaimerâ (via @big-condiments-official)
For once I'm not actually doing a bit; those "any resemblance to real persons living or dead" disclaimers genuinely exist because of Rasputin.
(In brief, the 1932 MGM Studios film Rasputin and the Empress is a dramatisation of the life and times of Grigori Rasputin which is partially adapted from the personal memoirs of Felix Yusupov, one of the principal conspirators responsible for Rasputin's assassination. The film, which was heavily marketed as being based on real events, falsely claims that Rasputin fucked Yusupov's wife, Princess Irina Alexandrovna. As both Yusupov and Princess Irina were still alive at the time, they jointly sued MGM for libel â and won. This is actually, literally the reason the practice of including those disclaimers was taken up.)
In conversation with multiple posts going around discussing technical literacy and typing skillsâŚ
I HAD typing classes: my typing speed is less than 35 Words Per Minute
I did NOT have typing classes: my typing speed is less than 35 WPM
I HAD typing classes: my typing speed is 36-45 WPM
I did NOT have typing classes: my typing speed is 36-45 WPM
I HAD typing classes: my typing speed is 46-55 WPM
I did NOT have typing classes: my typing speed is 46-55 WPM
I HAD typing classes: my typing speed is 56-69 WPM
I did NOT have typing classes: my typing speed is 56-69 WPM
I HAD typing classes: my typing speed is faster than 70 WPM
I did NOT have typing classes: my typing speed is faster than 70 WPM
I'm on mobile/ vanilla extract option
Remaining time: 20 hours 56 minutes
âĄď¸ Take a typing test here (and you need an actual, physical keyboard for this):
The industry-standard benchmark used by employers and typing certifications worldwide.
âĄď¸ 'Typing classes' refers to computer skills classes you might have had in school; you can also count games or other related typing training your parents might have had you do.
âĄď¸ Across 3 different typing test websites*, the (english language) world average typing speed is 40 WPM.
amandla
pixelskylines
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