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Kraggh's Works ♫♪


Uncle Tom's Cabin, chapter 5

Posted by Jean Valjean , in Literature Feb 05 2018 · 218 views

:kaukau: Eliza informs Tom that he and her son, Harry, are about to be sold off to a particularly course slave trader. Eliza resolves to flee to Canada to find freedom and protect her boy, but Tom says that he will do the right thing and take the terrible news completely upon himself so as to spare the rest of the plantation any punishment. He says that it's the right thing to sacrifice himself like this, the godly thing, and then he collapses into his chair and starts crying. At which point, Harriet Beecher Stowe's narration gives its best quote so far in the novel:

"Just such tears, sir, as you dropped into the coffin where lay your first-born son; such tears, woman, as you shed when you heard the cries of your dying babe. For, sir, he was but a man, -- and you are and you are but another man. And, woman, though dressed in silk and jewels, you are but a woman, and, in life's great and mighty griefs, ye feel but one sorrow!"



Uncle Tom's Cabin: chpts 1-3

Posted by Jean Valjean , in Literature Feb 05 2018 · 142 views

:kaukau: I'm reading the book right now, and I bought two copies, one which I sent to a friend of mine. We decided that she and I would read about five chapters per week and talk about it with each other as we're reading it. I'm a little behind her, because I took the time to read a 42-page-long forward.

You know, I'm genuinely really liking it. The characters are immediately very strong, and I do find it well-written. It's interesting to think that for about a hundred years, mainstream America misremembered the book and wrote spiteful reviews of it.

A lot of older books take effort to get through, but this one has been a page-turner thus far. I will probably write a glowing review and highly recommend when I'm done. Heck, if I like it enough, I think that I might buy multiple copies and send them to several people I know who haven't read it. In some ways it would be easier if I don't like it that much, because it will mean that I'll have one less item in the long list of gifts that I want to give people.



Disney Stockholm Syndrome

Posted by Jean Valjean , in Literature Mar 20 2017 · 335 views
Beauty & the Beast, fanfic and 3 more...
:kaukau: I want to write a fan fiction. You might be familiar with some of the elements of the story: a strong Disney heroine who isn't like the other girls ends up the prisoner of a dude with a curse, who thinks that if he keeps her long enough, she will eventually see the good in him and fall for him.

Except this fan fiction goes all-out Christopher Nolan and treats the subject matter as dark, gritty, and realistic. It's a cerebral psychological case-study, a thriller, and a morbid fable of the cruelty and that humans are capable of. The story features intense emotional abuse, lies, deceit, manipulation, fear, hatred, and violence. Oh yeah, I'm also thinking of making it rated R, for brief strong language and a really graphic, bloody death at the end. Actually, I think that I'll kill off several characters.

In other news, I'm writing my review of the recent live-action Beauty and the Beast. It will be up in a day or two, depending on how I spend my time. Right now I'm working on some slightly more pressing things.



Retroactively, I don't like Eragon

Posted by Jean Valjean , in Literature, Reviews Mar 03 2017 · 315 views

:kaukau: When I first read that book series, I loved it. In hindsight, I realize just how derivative the whole thing was. Do I regret reading it? No, since it passed the time and kept me entertained, which is a positive for any book, but it still doesn't make them good books. That's like saying that junk food is good food because it tastes good. I'd go through a comprehensive list of everything that was wrong about those books, but in order to truly get into detail, I'd have to re-read them, which I don't plan on doing any time soon, so I'm just going to explain what I remember.

1. Starting with something positive, I actually did like Paolini's concept of how magic works. He had solid concept for how it works and he consistently demonstrated its limitations. That's one for you, Paolini.
2. But getting to the negatives, let's start with the most obvious: the first two books are basically a fanfiction mixing together Star Wars and Lord of the Rings. In some ways, that's not a bad thing, since those are great sources of inspiration, but it definitely prevents this from being its own story, and it definitely makes it feel like a fanfiction. And for all the time and effort and passion that he put into this series, it should have felt like more than just fanfiction.
3. Eragon is a Mary Sue.
4. The relationship between Eragon and Arya isn't...well, I just don't like Arya. It's not just Eragon that seems infatuated with her, but the author as well. This is closely related to Eragon being a Mary Sue.
5. Angela is a bit of a Mary Sue, too. Basically, the author wrote his sister into the story and decided that all of the rules didn't apply to her, and thought that it was a really unique idea to make her quirky. Yeah, very original.
6. The battle strategies are unrealistic.
7. You know, come to think of it, Rohan, who orchestrated a bunch of those battles, was a bit of a Mary Sue, too. Not to the same extent as Eragon, but still.
8. Some of the archaic English is used incorrectly.
9. Paolini is not a linguist. Some of his explanations of the Ancient Language show that he doesn't have a strong grasp of non-English grammar, and the Ancient Language itself is very...fan-fictiony, basically. At times it looks like it's based on Swedish, which is pretty cool, but then he blatantly makes it sound like the Elvish languages from Tolkien, which has an altogether different sound. He especially enjoys diacritics which serve no discernible purpose other than to make it look more Tolkienesque.
10. Galbatorix is clearly based off of Christopher Lee...wait, that's a criticism? No, that's actually a plus. That's another one for you, Paolini. You made us wait forever to see Galbatorix, but when we finally met him, it was worth it. He was cool; he had a philosophy that made sense; he had a real presence; he was worthy of the descriptions that made him sound like Christopher Lee. Way to go.
11. That brings me to the ending...yeah, that ending was poorly conceived. It had a good hundred pages of tying up loose ends which it should have been fit into the rising action of the last book. While it's okay to have some declining action, Inheritance had a little too much declining action, and a lot of those details deserved to play into the plot leading up to the climax. Shoving them at the end showed that Paolini had no idea how to write his story. It was very anti-climactic.

Anyway, that's all. Oh wait, I forgot one.

12. That pretentious purple prose. Holy cow! Only the most insecure of writers write like that.



The Cursed Child Review

Posted by Jean Valjean , in Literature, Reviews Sep 22 2016 · 346 views
Harry Potter, The Cursed Child and 1 more...
The Cursed Child Review :kaukau: What's one of the most sacred things that thou shalt not spoil? Obviously, the new Harry Potter book. You spoil that, and you might as well get thrown out of the window from the top story of a tall building.

I would like to avoid a dramatic fall to my death, so I'm avoiding anything that even remotely sounds like a spoiler. And yet, I still want to give an opinion on this book, so there are a few things that I feel obliged to say to the prospective reader who's wondering whether or not this book is worth reading.

Let me start off by saying that the last time a Harry Potter book was released, it was carefully thought out, and all of the books prior to it were clearly leading up to it. It has clever writing and good plot twists that J.K. Rowling built up to from the very beginning. This book doesn't feel like a natural continuation of the series, however, and it's quite evident that J.K. Rowling was only partially involved inn crafting its story.

Because The Cursed Child reads like a fanfiction. Not a horrible fanfiction, since at least it's entertaining, but a fanfiction nonetheless. If I could boil down my description of this book to one word, that would be it. What can I say? Practically everyone is out-of-character, and then "cool" things happen that feel like they happened just because a fan thought that they were cool, but otherwise feel contrived. There were also details in the story that contradicted established elements of Harry Potter lore, which resulted in plot holes. Somehow, three writers with very obvious talent got together an write a fanfiction for a sequel.

That's all I have to say about it. There's nothing wrong with liking it, if you read it and decide that it isn't that bad, since it does have a story that at the very least can be entertaining, but it just doesn't have the greatness that the original series had. Maybe Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them will be better, but overall it just feels like people are turning a story that was already complete in itself into an unending franchise.



A Story by a Nok Ja

Posted by Jean Valjean , in Literature Sep 12 2016 · 413 views
random, comedy
This masterpiece was constructed by the Nok Ja poet Vuu ʄOkʘ͡qu and is estimated to have been written sometime within the fifteenth century, Earth Time. It has since been translated into English by J.W. Grabbs and I Ætha. What you see here is the Grabbs version, who opted to roughly translate the language so that it would mach more contemporary terms so that it would be more understandable to contemporary human audiences. There is some controversy over the use of his translation in school books, and many educators have called for the I Ætha translation instead for his understanding of deep cultural context. However, most Nok Ja words are almost impossible to translate, as there are almost no words within their language that share any direct meanings with counterparts in the English language. To use I Ætha's translation would require a paragraph to define each word and what it means from the viewpoint of a Nok Ja. For reading convenience, most anthologies — this one included — use Grabbs' translation because of its simple and easy rhythm and flow. Readers with a deeper interest in Nok Ja literature are advised to read these manuscripts in their original language. This approach is not only more direct, but those who have mastered the Nok Ja language comment that the flow of the original story is more evident. Kɪtɪlɪk historian Dɚkit Klis has compiled a library of ancient Nok Ja literature and has established the theory that, up until two hundred years ago, the most important element of communication in Nok Ja literature was the flow of the writing. Since this is impossible in a direct English translation, Grabbs has constructed a version that balances the best of both worlds, finding close equivalent words within the English language while also fitting the translation into the rhythmic structure of the source. General meaning is preserved, and the only sacrifice made on the behalf of Grabbs were the semantics. With this translation, it is now possible to see the beauty and eloquence of the Nok Ja mindset, and it gives a strong example of the richness of their culture. There is a lot to learn from this gem of a manuscript, considered to be the pinnacle and quintessential example of literature from that era.

The Story of How Sentient Pajamas Conquered the World by Utilizing Weapons of Mass Destruction, Propaganda and Understanding of Proper Timing Within a War Campaign (or: The Edge of Despair)

          They thought through this, and I wondered about the tone of the story, and a monkey in a Satan suit came out from the dark night air to offer me hairy clouds. After all, who doesn't deserve a drink of lemonaid once and a while? The cool-aid man would be jealous, if it wasn't for the raven picking eyes from the ice. There's no point to it anymore, since trees can wallop the living daylights out of cars and cats get drunk every now and then after work when they aren't prowling around nineteenth century steamboats.
          Even though the cart wheel was under attack — attack, I say — and the old fellow wandering through the tunnels with bristles made of hats, there was no number eleven. It was preserved for the bottles of justice, and the meager wages were not heard. Every mouth announced that a kingdom would be founded upon additional taxes, but then the hearts of musical instruments commented the operator. There was no life, no death, no candy in the lands of the stone cube, for the building had paint on it, saying "My will to the prosecutors, and forever shall the old hag reign!"
          Nowhere was there heard a thunder for the sake of the color pink. The diamond was cut out of ivory, and mittens warmed the early morning. Stars shed their tears for fishing docks, but it was good. In fact, is was all good, up to the point where the oxylotl pit the trengles against the asteroids. Who did not see the now in the later, and who did not see the ego overcome the grass seed? For even great insects bow before the toy box, and the widows of early morning rainbows understand the tone of bricks. It is self-evident that no one can stop a feather, and anyone who can is clearly a purple. Arrows flew, smithed out of brazen earwax, to the far corners of the alphabet. Eager men brought their electric nostrils, and the early bird shouted "Hallelujah!" The doubters combined with combines to create combustion [note from the editor: this alliteration is purely coincidental]. Canticle crystal cleanness mucked up the room, frustrating the elements. There was a spirit of haphazard, for the raw mouth couldn't stand the broccoli [the original text refers to "Ouaiuouu", a vegetable bearing a strong resemblance to broccoli]. Everywhere there was much rejoicing, much rejoicing, much despair.
          Yes, for it was indeed those times. No one knew what the other had to say if the other had anything to do about it. If there was a broken egg at all, it was most likely to the left. No one could see right, for a fish was in their right eye. Ferns contained myriads of chromosomes, and the socialites abused it. Indeed, yes indeedly indeed, there were chromosomes everywhere, indeed. They were contrary to the proper way, and they were blue instead of only mostly blue. What could a wise munching stick ever say to that? It was to the benefit of the thirty-fifth hexideciman encounter that time and the passage thereof, explicitly if not implicitly, was a belly button, impeccably so, sewn to the very ether rooted in contrast to the ontological inertia of my glowing chainsaws for abs.
          When at last we laid down in peace, at my window was a door. The generation of winter couldn't wait, and was sending me messages through the door. Somewhere back there, where I can specify later, the danger lurked not, for instead it was there. Perhaps the alignment of the numerals couldn't contradict, but I made a bet that they could. Things did not turn out as planned, but since when did disease ever lock on to a catapult? It always has been as expected, even if the unwilling princess was in a "would of, could have, should have" general sense of personal doubt. That is silly, but then it is obvious. It was foreseen a million times, and then a million milllion, and then a million million million, and then a million million million quisquillian, for so were its trashy clean ways.
          Listen. I know this is going to sound crazy, but I know what bubbles talk about when they eat. When the waters drink the border — O the waters! — there shall be no more sports. The head wear shall perish from the bad, and be brought to the other end where it is otherwise convenient. If the paper is held hostage, then let it be. Think of it the other way around, and it is not such a bad thing. I would suppose it any other way if I was one of them, or if I did not have my head with me at the moment. My teeth are composed of fire, and the flirtatious apple digs my groove.
          The naked clock fortold an idea when the moon wouldn't interrupt the opera. If that could happen, then why not every day? It would seem a convenience to be at the front of the great frontier, and if there was, by some bizarre change, unspoken, unexalted, forever and ever a barrier that could bring us together in the name of honey, then surely it would be of a great marketing ploy for scavengers on their way to the great city of fuzzy things.
          Alas, when I unite with myself in uncommon enterprise to verge into protoplasmic depths of sanity to face the zany warts of war, I forget the meaning thereof, and search endlessly for a beginning without the vines of the enclave, wherein no future soul shall reside except in cases of technical malfunctions unbeknownst to current observations as practiced in my present schedule, but neither could the underground tintinabulation sparkle an interest in fanged diplomacy when a straw would have done better, under the implications of the circumstances, wherein there was no doubt that we were coming out of it within a certain reasonable time frame that could have been translated into an encryption readable by lizards lizarding about, a thought which I am very found of and, under the ceremonious circumstances, given the long name of "The Vacuum of Tied Box Shavings Mingling With Turning Doubts Unchecked by the Department of the Holding Tongues of the — " (never mind the rest, for am sure that you re not interested in my full name), pleased with the roundabout manner of the characters within, even after I realized that I didn't not not give a care about punctuality.
          However, let's face it: the primal element of convoluted masochism is the tempest of pure ice. if that cannot be conquered, this I suppose the waters could allow for rich selling to pour out through, or they could — one supposes — forget that it ever happened. That would be a form of freedom, a euthanasia that could last the test of ages. I wanted a far-fetched chain in my way, not only to deliver consonants ad vowels but also to deliberate whether or not socks were worth it. Popularity is not the only thing that is important. Saints and dysfunctional berries couldn't do any better than the hydrogen atoms at fifty degrees. Sharp pencil, sharper pencil, but which would you prefer? I was going to make up my mind, but then the cosmic beard came and I saw new meaning in everything. All hail the cosmic beard! Within its nebulae, I protect a bug from harm. I cast spells of radiance and loving and radioactive isotopes in case of a spleen. Fingers poked through the jelly, and the pounce couldn't wait, or else all would come to a hault.
          Many people have wondered on the virtues of cheese. It has properties of mysterious silence, and the contemporaries in particle physics cannot but heads over what historians teach in monuments of ecstasy. You would cry too if it happened to you. Forgive me, for I am a member of a secret society of fat fried toes. I would not recommend it, nor would choose the now it the other time comes. If a third option is presented, it will be muffins.
          Prepare for the very quintessence of grossness. I cannot emphasize that enough. Long ago, wen I ponder my childhood with imagination and fondness, yet stink away from thee, I consider the farm animals that used to eat me, and my first death and its sequel. It is possible to physically sneeze until the sun goes down, but the hills pay no attention. They do not dare, for the sculptor is looking at them. With his hammer, he presses forth until vanity is constructed. The walls of the city come down with fire, but not until the balls of wood-pecking death come to take the mind away. Why the whiskers could not do that, I do not know. However, I am lying. Feet kick as the stones, and the mountains levitate because of air vibrations. The conjugate transmits. Speed talks to me, and when the deadly disaster comes, it throws its weight at it. It's a game, all of it, and we are caught up in it all. We all see it, and especially myself because of my phalanges. A truck hit the peak when it could not go anymore, and lava looks fluffy. Flight came, and it went away, but the cracks stayed there forever. The smoke rose and the object fell through the troposphere, and it landed in the yard where the children played so as to bring them much joy. If I had a face, I would have felt my mouth smiling. The whale figured out the meaning of the busy marketplace, and I was awarded three times with gold for this revelation.
          Jactitation is all too common, so above all I would praise the virtue of emunction. It is the cure to iatromisia, and the answer to all issues of ichor produced by myself. If an ichnogram was left behind, I would read it. I have seen the idioblast, and it is evolving! I divided it into a quadragintesimal skin, and sold it to the xenoepist, until he utilizes his accismus. I pick up the orts, and start again.
          Pickup truck!
          Pickup truck!
          Pickup truck!
          For yet the group hug will never leave me. I shall use my coupons until the end of my days.

[continued on page 371]



Posted by Jean Valjean , in Bionicle, Literature Aug 30 2016 · 406 views
IDES, Iniuri, Iruini


:kaukau: Iniuri is one of my planned constructed languages for a series of mine called the IDES. Its name comes from Toa Hagah Iruini. Back in the day, when I was really unoriginal with my stories, I came up with a fictional battle where Norik and Iruini fought alongside my Neopet, Kraggh, as his noble generals. Kraggh was a conqueror who diplomatically added the world of Bionicle to his interdimensional empire. As you might have guessed, this is where I got my old username from. Later, I retroactively changed some of the details of these characters once I realized that I wanted to create something that was (big shocker) original, so I invented a brand new species for these generals to belong to, a species that I felt reflected the nobility that I attributed to the Toa Hagah, and I called them the iniuri. Why did I name them the iniuri and not the kiron when I liked the character of Norik better? I'm not sure, but I'd imagine that I liked the almost Elvish sound of Iruini-spelled-backwards, and it was also less obviously a Bionicle-inspired name.

The idea of creating a language for the iniuri didn't occur to me until several months ago. Sure, I had thought up of a sound for a language, but really I spent more time developing the Iniuri (capitalized here — I'll explain later) culture from which it came. Once I realized that I wanted to actually develop the language, I already had all of its basic sounds in my head, and a history.

After some basic linguistic research, I immediately realized that I wanted the Iniuri language to follow the grammar of Esperanto, except I wanted it to sound less like a hybrid language and more like its own thing. The phonetic impression left by Esperanto is, in my opinion, inconsistent. The words viro and knabo sound like they belong to different languages. That's okay for Experanto, since it's purpose is to sound vaguely familiar to speakers of all sorts of Indo-European backgrounds, but the purpose of Iniuri is to sound beautiful and poetic, and to evoke very specifically the Iniuri culture.

Out of all of the constructed languages that I plan to complete, this one will probably be the easiest one to write, and the easiest — possibly the most enjoyable — to learn. Part of it comes from the familiarity of the Indo-European grammar, but it's also the simplicity of the grammar and the sounds. It isn't my favorite of the languages I've conceived (I prefer philosophical languages that manage to compact as much information per syllable as possible), but it's the one that's most likely to catch on. You'll have to wait a while before you see it in all its glory, though, because it doesn't make an appearance until the eleventh book.

History of the Language

In the very, very beginning of the ancient Skull War, the Battle of the Crater at Ŋoji rendered the planet uninhabitable for millions of years. After millions of years, people began to settle again in this region, renaming the planet Siriein (commonly anglicized to “Siriane”). These people were eight-foot-tall humanoids with lion-esque heads, called the iniuri. Another humanoid species called the tandlʃ, smaller and wolf-like in appearance, settled in with them and over time became “honorary Iniuri,” so that Iniuri came to refer to both the specific species and the ethnicity that consisted of the two species. Iniuri with a capital <I> referred to the ethnicity, whereas iniuri with a lowercase <i> referred to the species. Tandlʃ are the more populous of the two types of Iniuri, taking up approximately 80% of the population.

Two hundred years before current events, the Iniuri came out from a ten-thousand-year period of cultural stand-still known as the Oral Era. During the Oral Era, nobody produced books, poems, movies, or plays, due the large library of works already available. With literally trillions upon trillions of books written over the course of the universe's long, long history, the Iniuri believed that it was vanity to believe that there was anything new under the sun, and they pursued the art of uncovering older stories. More than half of the works readily available in their libraries were translated into Iniuri from other languages, although in all fairness to Iniuri culture, they often altered their translations of this borrowed literature to make it more poetic. If someone was artistically inclined, they would go on to study art rather than to produce it, or they would update an old translation of a work and improve upon its poetry. It was common in this era for Iniuri to memorize entire books. Parents would even name their children after books and raise them to memorize their namesakes, or to even name them after an ancient author and raise them to learn their namesakes’ entire bodies of work.

There were some individuals who took this art to extremes. Known as a ʐiuʐi, or a bard, such an individual would go on to memorize dozens of books. In your average town, you would find a handful of bards populating the downtown forum. In a city, there would be hundreds or even thousands in the downtown, and their work was considered to be a public service. Some would gather crowds for reciting popular books, or well-known poems and songs, while others would risk fewer tips by reviving forgotten manuscripts. Bards weren't the only people to share books; most people had at least one memorized, and it was common to socialize around book recitations, especially when people were meeting each other for the first time.

Siriane was from the beginning an advanced society, being founded by interplanetary colonists, and obviously had such technologies as cinema and virtual reality, but these mediums were considered vulgar compared to the majestic art form of theatre, which by far reigned as the more popular mode of entertainment. Many larger towns would have a district with ten or so opera houses. Most plays had intermissions, during which a popular pastime among the patrons was talking philosophy, local news, and politics, the last of which might normally cause fighting and animosity in daily discourse, but was a sign of high-mindedness to hold one's temper while discussing such things during an intermission. The Iniuri were never known for leaning one way or another with their political tendencies, since they had diverse and often highly contrasting political and economic outlooks. While it was easy to sterotype Iniuri artistically, it was impossible to come up with one political stereotype for them.

The Oral Era never came to a definitive conclusion so much it was gradually phased out. It began with some poets taking strong liberties with translations, bard prioritizing audience participation in stories over the stories themselves, and some bards choosing to recite contemporary essays. Rare original works then began appearing in theatre, where old plots were adapted into fresh manuscripts for contemporary audiences, much like how Shakespeare took inspiration from older plays. One thing led to another, and eventually it became normal to produce original art, in any medium.

Even though they had lost their prominence in Iniuri society, the ʐiuʐi remained an unshakable stereotype of Iniuri culture, and one that they nostalgically didn’t bother to shake off. The Iniuri incorporated the bard into their identity, and still did memorize hours of poetry as a popular hobby, although the amounts that they committed to memory was far less, and those who memorize entire books numbered less than 1% of the population. In any given town, there might be only one or two old-fashioned bards on the streets. The culture remained in a visible way, but people were no longer immersed in it. They were proud of their past, but increasingly proud of their growing corpus of newer works. The culture of street entertainment didn’t dwindle, though, and one could still find plenty of artists in the downtown and business districts of communities, artists who presented their own original poems, stories, songs, and even non-verbal forms of art such as painting, chalk drawing, miming, acrobatics, and magic shows.

In the present of this story, the age of New Art has been going on for approximately 200 years. Recently, an iniuri named Arcein (anglicized to "Arcane") was president of the prestigious Vanaturi University. He was a relic of Siriane’s past, as he had memorized the entire Vliucart (holy book) and many other classic works, and was well-acquainted with many that he hadn’t memorized. He was a recent widower, raising his son Astarr by himself. Upon his son’s encouragement, he ran for president of Siriane, and succeeded.

During this time, the an ancient interdimensional order known as the Defenders were rumored to be moving the legendary Mathazon Crystal, and their rival, the Arkvader and his followers, collected intelligence indicating that they were hiding it on Siriane. The Defenders had, in fact, moved large armies to the uninhabited Ŋoji Crater. Arcane, whose civilization was concentrated on the other side of Siriane, would have liked to be involved with this conflict, but chose to stay out.

However, the Defenders gained a new and valuable ally through the rising conqueror named Emperor Kraggh. Kraggh established relations with Arcane and convinced him to become a charter member of his developing holy empire, called Alphega. This relationship would have been impossible in the past, since the Iniuri were too diverse for such radical political maneuvering to take place without running into heavy resistance, but Arcane lived in a very exceptional era of history. They came to several diplomatic agreements, the most relevant to this article being that Iniuri would enjoy a status as one of the Alphegan empire’s official languages. Arcane and his son personally fought in the Second Battle of the Crater, and Arcane then went on to serve as the first president of Allied Zones of Alphega, setting strong precedent for Iniuri’s use as an official language of government and not just a language with official acknowledgments by way of courtesy.

Iniuri’s prominence in the A.Z.A. made it a major international language, since Kraggh’s interdimensional empire grew at an alarming rate, and he even managed to conquer one twelfth of the galaxy-sized ringworld of ALPHA. Kraggh himself chose to speak Lucian and Silberzonge, but showed utmost tolerance for the language of his first major ally.

(Phonology, writing, and grammar to come in a later entry)



Me is a Grammar Nazi

Posted by Jean Valjean , in Literature Aug 29 2016 · 455 views

:kaukau: I would like to create some constructed languages, but I don't want to be a total novice who assumes that everything sounds Indo-European, or worse, basically like an English cypher language. So here are links to some articles on grammar on Wikipedia that I'm promising myself I'll get around to reading. Learning all of the different grammatical cases used across the different languages will take an especially long time. Boy, the stuff you never think about when you only speak one language. Learning about these things in other languages actually makes me understand my own even more — an you bet that it makes me even more of a Grammar Nazi.

(These are sort of categorized, sort of not. I know a little bit about all of these thinngs, but haven't read all of the articles the whole way through yet.)

Latin Grammar
Hungarian Language
Hungarian Grammar
Russian Grammar
Arabic Grammar
Hindustani Grammar
Navajo Grammar
Esperanto Grammar
Lojban Grammar

Synthetic Language
Polysynthetic Language
Agglutinative Language
Analytic Language
Isolating Language
Topic-prominent Language
Dependency Grammar
Phrase Structure Grammar
Vowel Harmony
Grammatical Gender
Grammatical Mood

Subjunctive Mood

English Subjunctive

Irrealis Mood

Realis Mood

Grammatical Voice
Grammatical Number
Grammatical Person
Grammatical Aspect
Grammatical Case

Nominative Case

Objective Case

Oblique Case

Accusative Case

Adessive Case

Apudessive Case

Inessive Case

Intrative Case

Locative Case

Pertingent Case

Subessive Case

Superessive Case

Ablative Case

Delative Case

Egressive Case

Elative Case

Initiative Case

Allative Case

Illative Case

Lative Case

Sublative Case

Terminative Case

Perlative Case

Prolative Case

Temporal Case

Essive Case

Absolutive Case

Agentive Case

Ergative Case

Instructive Case

Instrumental Case

Intransative Case

Pegative Case

Aversive Case

Benefactive Case

Causal Case

Causal-final Case

Comitative Case

Dative Case

Distributive Case

Distributive-temporal Case

Genitive Case

Adverbial Genitive

Ornative Case

Possessed Case

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Privative Case

Semblative Case

Sociative Case

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Grammatical Tense

Redundancy (linguistics)
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Agreement (linguistics)

Grammatical Conjugation
Indo-European Copula
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Valency (linguistics)
Impersonal Verb
Intransitive Verb
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Grammatical Modifier
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Archives Went Bust

Posted by Jean Valjean , in Literature Nov 23 2013 · 301 views
:kaukau: Unfortunately, I had a long series of posts on the old archives that I had used to keep track of some of my writing ideas.  I didn't have MS Word at the time (and still don't), so the old "Writer's Topic" was where I found an excuse to write down notes, and I had never bothered to save them.  That is truly unfortunate, since I don't remember most of the things I had written down and I had a wealth of story outline.  It's truly worse than having lost  the first draft to a 100k word long story.
With that having been said, I now have a reason to start writing down a new outline for the IDES series, all eighteen books of it, and I might have something even bigger and more beautiful for it.  I still regret that I will inevitably forget some of the ideas inspired by my childhood imagination.  Nostalgia just took a body blow.  At least I will have something to show my mother when I'm done.  I think I have enough plot to reach 50k in the basic outline alone.
So guys, wish me luck and inspiration.  I will need it.
Furthermore, if you haven't checked out Manly Man #7 yet, I suggest that you do so.  The characters I mention and the series they are a part of has been one of my greatest inspirations as a writer.




Posted by Jean Valjean , in Literature Oct 04 2013 · 371 views
Death, Love, Poem

Come with me, Zachary

Into the depths of the abyss

Into the darkness of the woods

Let us walk as brothers

For I have not forgotten that I was once like you

You and I are of the same flesh and of the same dirt

From dust we have come and from dust we shall go

And we share the same ultimate destiny

With all the same shames


Let us rest in the shade, Zachary

And set our tent up amid gravestones

Where the dead sleep silently and wait for us

Then we shall know how dead we are

And dance together in a melancholy thanatopsis

I will say nothing, as all words vanish as soon as they are said

They are preserved only in memory, and memory passed away into oblivion

Into the dark void to which we all go


Let us play games together, Zachary

As brothers often do

Raise a glass to the sacred art of merriment and drink away our sorrows

And then when you ask me how I find peace in spite of it all I will tell you

You will not believe me and I will not ask you to

Just know that I will always love you

Your shortcomings are invisible to me

I will give you no labels, not even enemy

Even though we fight

For your only label is your name, Zachary

So it was, and so it always shall be


And all your works, who shall remember them?

When your have stopped breathing

Only your name will be carved on your stone

And a few short words up to your discretion

All your life will be summed up in this

Your family will remember you, for a time

Then they, too, shall pass away

All people will have to remember you by is your name

And by your lasting words

Should you die before you choose them

I will carve your final inscription for you, and all shall know who you were

They shall know the most important thing about you

"Here lies Zachary, and I loved him like a brother"


Username: Jean Valjean
Real name: People literally don't have names in my family
Age: 24
Gender: Male
Heritage: Half Dutch, Quarter Hungarian, Eighth Swedish, Sixteenth German and Irish
Physical description: Looks like the eleventh Doctor
Favorite food: Chicken, turkey, and beef.
Least favorite food: Vegetables of any kind
Favorite band: Queen
Favorite singer: Billy Joel
Favorite song: American Pie
Favorite movie: Schindler's List
Favorite TV show: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Favorite play: Les Miserables
Favorite color: Silver
Second favorite color: Brown
Favorite board game: Risk
Favorite athlete: Michael Phelps
Lucky Number: 53
Past-times: Writing, reading, drawing
Political Caucus: Iowa Republicans
Religion: Christian
Language: Iowegian

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