I Visit the Ut’ishsih People To Explore the Utd’mbts Language (Part 1)

Going to Where Utd’mbts Is Spoken Is a Difficult Journey

    Oddly, I was recently shocked to hear from Utcoozhoo. He wanted me to know that the diaries and blogs* were mostly hype and that neither he nor Naztko or Zawmb’yee were dead. He said that actually there was a truce between the modernest reformers and the traditionalists of Naztko.
    He said I could come and visit the caves anytime to do my research, and my credentials as Kvizee Doug were still valid and there would be no diplomatic problems — no need for a passport or such.
    A few days ago, I had received a formal invitation to come, and then I was very nervous and embarrassed because I hadn’t really prepared anything. My friend Zawmb’yee Nuje was a long time apprentice to Utcoozhoo and she learned all aspects of the Utd’mbts language the formal way through deep meditation. But she is very busy right now, being the temporary High Priestess and the equivalent of what we would call “President” and head of the ruling council. I was very anxious because I think they would be disappointed and angry that I’ve only so far started on a hybrid approach using English tenses and fonts attached to Utd’mbts concepts. I’m no where near any formal translation into English. I’m delaying any formal transliteration scheme because there are no actual English equivalents, but I’m going to use temporary labels. An Utd’mbts conversation is more like what you feel and experience rather than any sound or thought triggers in themselves. It’s more like talking with hints and suggestions.
    Well, I took the Long Island Rail Road so I could get to Manhattan, New York City. Crime is out of control on the subway, so I had decided to take a long walk to Utcoozhoo’s secret apartment building. It’s actually just a front. There’s a doorman, and a backup security force, but the building is actually empty. They have actors going in and out just to make it look normal.
    I had rested in the waiting room at Penn Station, deciding to read before walking to the secret apartment building. Zawmb’yee and I used to live in the building, and I remembered that she once wrote a poem about one of our long walks from the building to Central Park. I had a copy of it in my pocket:

   Walking with Doug
    by Zawmb’yee Nuje

On a sunny sign day across the street
the sign said WALK ye
carefully, and we did
across the street into honking,
dodging the cars that trapped themselves
in intersections at change of light, we
swirling about a hot dog stand line, and
pushing our way where
pedestrian streams flowed
our way towards the park

I think we passed the building
with trees on every terrace, and
the buses faced us at every stop
their unloading commotions, their
boarding confused hordes
looking for cards and change

But mostly I didn’t notice if
there were gems in the din, or
new fashions in the store windows, no, mostly,
I listened to the music of Doug’s chatter because
I love the sound of his voice

it comforts me when I hear as I laugh
the song of his voice turning tender, and
I know he loves to be with me

when my word of acknowledgment
makes him smile and pause, I
know he loves me like the humming bird
loves the flower however fast the flutter of his wings
(but I would tell him he’s like a lion), and
I think perhaps I dress to be his nectar

Doug has seen my paint box and asks:
Could this be a Phtalocyanine Blue sky?

‘Huh what’ I wonder, an odd fact
could break a romantic spell
oh well, I laugh

He says, I mean:
it seems like a god has
lent you his brushes, and
you’ve painted my sky. Is it you
who paints my world?

No, I say, it is you who
shines on my tears, penetrates
the rainbow of my feelings and I show you
the canvas of the world as I see it. I look
in your eyes and pray they will see
every color that makes you happy and
if I would be on your palette, brush me

His hand brushed my cheek and touched my lips, but
we collided with a passerby who said, “Idiots!”
But we are not fools to be in love
flowing and in tune with a romantic moment

Doug kissed my hand and
we crashed into a hot dog stand

Doug said we’ll take two with sauerkraut.
Yes, two to go with the day.

    After I finished reading it, I went upstairs to 34th street, east to Fifth Avenue, and then walked briskly updown and over to Utcoozhoo’s place. Everybody recognized me so there were no problems and I went straight up to my old apartment.
    I didn’t stay long. I just had a quick snack of left-over eggplant Parmesan with sardines, anchovies, and cherries. I locked up quickly and went back to the elevator which was still on my floor (it’s always there because I’m the only one who lives in the building).
    Entering the elevator, I faced front and after the doors closed, I pushed STOP. On the right wall is a emergency door that leads into a special shaft that has a manually operated rope and pulley elevator so power is never a problem. But anyway, that’s not it.
    The left wall is hinged at the bottom, and has latches at the top. It’s a little tricky but you just have to find the lever that releases the latches.
    I went up to the wall, released the latches, pushed hard and ran backwards against the other wall as the left wall went crashing down as it’s supposed to. If you don’t run backwards you fall on your face.
    The wall fell and became a platform. Straight ahead was the end car of a subway train. I walked out onto the platform, pushed the handle on the door down and went through the door. The car was set up like a living room with a couch and a table. I sat on the couch. I pushed Q1. The car accelerated smoothly to a moderately slow steady speed. It followed a downward spiral inside the building. I looked out the window, but didn’t see anything except a narrow curved ledge. I could feel the continuous turning of the train, and the downward tilt. It was still circling around inside the building walls until it could reach the basement level where it would proceed into the underground bedrock below the building. After I had just gotten used to all of the turning and tilting, there was a sudden change like I had just reached the top of a basement roller coaster and I was about to take the downward plunge.
    And then, it almost felt like free fall, and I was glad I wasn’t drinking any coffee. Just as I adjusted to the fall, the train slowed and leveled off. Then there was a buzzing sound. It was the five minute warning. I went over to the forward-facing G-posh chairs. I put on the harness. It was like in a jet plane’s cockpit.
    The train took off like a jet and I got pushed back like I weighed a ton — I thought I was going to get crushed. The train seemed to stop suddenly and I got bruised by the belt. The side doors opened.
    Utcoozhoo was waiting. This way, he said, and we walked into the sacred corridor.
    ~ NEXT: Utcoozhoo and I discuss the Utd’mbts language.
*Douglas Gilbert, ebook: The Blog That Would Destroy the World,(Amazon: ASIN ‏ : ‎ B08L1CR3Z4 ), 2019,  ISBN 978-1-329-90425-5


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