Samantics Rhetorica's blog

Para-Calvinball

I have been toying around with a theory lately.

It's a wildly unpopular one, so that's fun.

Well. Not so much a theory as it is an excuse.

Calvin and Hobbes is harmful. […]
Samantics comment   read more (2121 bytes) · 8453.958 tgc / 2015.518 ce

Restructuring Lilitika

Two related announcements:

1. I now really, really dislike Archaic Lilitic as a family of languages.
2. The script traditionally known as títina (internally, ADX revision 5) has a lot of ductus issues that, as a certain Swiss gentleman has pointed out, liberally violate my own criticisms of many other conscripts.

So! There is going to be some reworking. […]
Samantics comment   read more (1232 bytes) · 8453.884 tgc / 2015.376 ce

This entry is a placeholder.

It means something, but I'm not sure what.
Samantics comment   8453.878 tgc / 2015.367 ce

The Oksasa

The subject of women in Ksreskézaian society and pre-Ksreskézaian society, other than the Slokdtabasa, is something I've pretty much categorically avoided. If I have written anything, either on Memory or in passing elsewhere, it hasn't been very strong and it certainly hasn't been anything so memorable that I remember what I said, excepting perhaps a remark or two about non-plug-in-socket genitals. I think maybe it's time to set the record straight.

In the time of the Ksreskézai, the naming of houses followed the name of its patriarch—Tévopo, Chúkoto, Gazdatto—but this was not always their way. The true centrepiece of an Oksian household was once the single female, who lived much longer than the males and functioned as a matriarch. This was the way of the Oksasa for countless millennia, and was a pattern that could still be seen in other related species and in the remnants of the other Oksian civilizations on Ksreskézo. Such a household would be like an insect colony, writ small.

Then came Oksresko. […]
Samantics comment   read more (4152 bytes) · 8453.857 tgc / 2015.325 ce

Without mockery

previous

"I think I know the place you are speaking of," said Íoya, her features drawn together. "With certainty there is a mansion in the old marshlands, south of the oasis, but it is on the grounds of the Kégivko Ceremonial Game Reserve. No slave is allowed anywhere near that place." She sighed, as if she had been holding in her breath, and swept herself away, now very much disinclined to support the easterner's sororal piety. It was not a practice native to Tévopían slokdtabasa, who were much more accustomed to palace intrigue and the art of sharpening daggers to bury in each others' backs.

So that was how the scene must have looked to Regsabta and Íoya: consciously or not, they would have counted their poison arrow-tips, and gloated in a subdued smugness at Gloto-Tyogía's openness. Regsabta's rescue of the battered creature had not been entirely selfless, whether or not she wants to white-wash it now, hundreds of years after the fact.

Stop groaning.  […]
Samantics comment   read more (6452 bytes) · 8453.812 tgc / 2015.24 ce

State function

previous

At that moment a sort of stillness overcame the ship's lounge. The atmosphere had grown steadily quieter as the hours dragged on; the novice poets and muses had stopped humming their novelties for one another, leaving only the hushed tones of the elders and the occasional clink of a posset bowl. The gay tones of the ubiquitous murals that encrusted every corner of the Zelúkwía had seen better days, lending yet more to the tiredness of the celebration.

Íora rolled her eyes at the silence, her attention slow, lugubrious. She had spent the morning defending her latest literary innovation to her editor, who was utterly opposed to printing it. This time, it had not resulted in any perforated wings, but she was still sore, both in body and mind.

She swilled her bowl about, reflecting on this, and other conflicts of opinion. Checking the bottom of her drink was another personal habit—she had once swallowed a lump of ergot that someone had spat into her bowl the morning after a wild party, and the experience had never quite stopped haunting her. […]
Samantics comment   read more (2580 bytes) · 8453.798 tgc / 2015.213 ce

Life, the universe, and seconds

We're going to sit down, you and I, and we're going to talk. And we're going to talk for a while—I'll be honest, I haven't decided how long I'm going to talk for yet—and we're going to see where that takes us. I'm not exactly sure who you are or why you're reading this; you might be an annoyed Isharian, or a real-world coworker, or someone from SL who just clicked far too many links because you read peoples' profiles even though it's vogue not to, or you might be a rather integral part of my life, past or present, wondering why I didn't mention this here thing sooner.

For now, though, let's see where it takes us. […]
Samantics comment   read more (12617 bytes) · 8453.796 tgc / 2015.209 ce

Key advice when for to be naming of the software projects

Do not call your project 'Phoenix.'

Realistically—don't call it anything related to fire, explosions, awesomeness, or power.

In fact, if your favourite colour is red, orange, or anything else you or a friend might consider fiery, then if at all possible, get a new favourite colour. This advice extends beyond programming, but is particularly important in the context of application naming. (Mauve, crimson, maroon, tangerine, and amber are fine.)
Samantics comment   8453.777 tgc / 2015.175 ce

Respect for Respect

previous

Íoya Tshúkoto. A woman as smug as her horns were straight.

She was an outcast of sorts, at least within the household and its staff; the last of a once-dominant bloodline, her kin had steadily been supplanted by Regsabta's cousins and sisters over the past three centuries. And she had not blended well, either: a strong, wedge-shaped chin and peculiar outward-pointing, flat ears made it clear to any visitor that she was not of the same stock. Her features rather reminded Regsabta of an inverted five-point star, which was a good omen in the far north and hence a bad one in the capitol and other equatorial metropoles. […]
Samantics comment   read more (5545 bytes) · 8453.554 tgc / 2014.751 ce

The Mercy of the Sunset

previous

Sabta's shimmering greatness was particularly awful today; a pinkish glare that was harmless to the Ksreskézai themselves—but could easily burn and maim a slokdtaba if she stood in it for too long. Closer to night the sky would be a more bearable blue, but the pink tinge of high noon was truly pain embodied. After metal toxicity and childbirth, melanoma was, by far, the most common cause of death for the frail little servants. […]
Samantics comment   read more (1 comment, 7344 bytes) · 8453.376 tgc / 2014.412 ce


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