I Visit the Ut’ishsih People To Explore the Utd’mbts Language (Part 2)

Utcoozhoo and I discussed the Utd’mbts language

I managed to make it to the caves, and speak to Utcoozhoo. If you missed the first part of my adventure, it’s here.

    Well, it wasn’t exactly a discussion. It was more like an embarrassment because I never actually learned Upper Utd’mbts and only spoke a little Utd’mbts which is considered the primitive babble of children. So, I suppose, it did seem silly to be proposing to translate Utd’mbts into English when I’m barely fluent in either, you might say.
    Geez, I wasn’t sure what I should do if Utcoozhoo, in the middle of a verbal discussion, said “Uayi!”. I remember how perplexing it was when Zawmb’yee and I were in the middle of a playful water-gun fight in a hallway of our building when she heard Uayi.
    “What ?” I had said.
    She said, “Uayi means: ‘If I may have your permission to fuse and join into the node of your beingness, I would wish to impart to you, with deference and respect, the essence of my cognizance that I fervently believe is an element of truth which I believe will be to your benefit and which I offer with benign intention.’ ”
    “Huh?”
    “Um,” she had said, “it means that he says ‘hi’, may I speak to you telepathically for a moment please.”

    So, anyway, Utcoozhoo was waiting for me when I stepped off the secret subway car. I was startled because he seemed to pop up out of nowhere.
    His appearance was almost as surprising as the time I had been sitting on the bank of an underground river called the K’ut’mbletaw’i at the particular spot where it twists called the Nipeiskwari (Place of Meandering Thought) and Utcoozhoo leapt out of the water like a dolphin with gray hair. From Zawmb’yee’s description (when she was his apprentice), I had thought he was a wise old Guru, who might sit by a jagged rock face like his own face, impenetrable, not likely to float, let alone swim, but I soon found out that this wise one could chuckle like the water splashes.
    “Welcome,” he said.
    “Um…”
    “I see that you want to turn around and go back because you feel ashamed that you have not brought anything important.”
    “Uh well, so…”
    “You are free to go, but might I suggest we make the best of it. I promise you that we will learn something even if it’s a fiasco. Or we could just have an empty chat and I can tell you that I’m just glad to see you again. OK, so tell me anything and I won’t mind.”
    “Yes, OK. Can we go to Zawmb’yee’s private library?”
    “The kngacev, OK. Hmm, an odd request, but I suppose you want maximum secrecy. But anyway, sure, this way.”

    We walked down the sacred corridor and I felt such warm feelings looking at Zawmb’yee’s paintings displayed on the walls. We entered the Royal quarters almost casually. The kngacev is a simple library with a royal meditation room or bedroom. The back of the kngacev held the secrets. Yeah, I know, it sounds silly, like in an old movie, but I knew which shelf of books was important. I slid a ladder over and climbed to the top shelf in the corner. I gathered myself for a moment and readied my athletic skills.
    I pulled a purple book half way out, jumped off the ladder to the floor and jumped back. There was a loud mechanical noise like a precursor to an Earthquake.
    The shelf slid to the side, revealing a security room with huge screens, computer consoles, and a large conference table. We walked to the table as the shelf closed behind us.
    Utcoozhoo said, “Well, that was dramatic. Don’t worry, it’s just show business. So, what’s on your mind?”
    “I come to show my last agony and project because I don’t know what else to do. But it’s stupid because I’m totally unqualified to do this.”
    “Well, on the surface, you are spectacularly unqualifed because you have Eokxavexa disease, but maybe you’re motivated to take a different approach to saving the Utd’mbts language at least as a curiosity for English speakers. Even though Zawmb’yee was my apprentice and she did well, she’s not really interested in being a translator. Over the years, most of the Ojdispekib have migrated to the up-top world and are not fluent in Utd’mbts anymore. Well, actually, they’re totally ignorant. At best, they know a few sayings, but don’t speak it in any original context; it’s sort of like English speakers who know a few Latin quotes but don’t actually speak Latin.”
    “Well,” I said, “then, I think the problem is that in English a word has a very limited purpose, and so the amount of information contained in it is low: A noun as a thing or subject, a verb as an action, various intensifiers and modifiers, and objects. In contrast I’d say that an Utd’mbts “word” element is more like a label for a movie and its information content is the whole movie itself. Is that it?
    Utcoozhoo smiled. “Ubemuwx,” he said.
    “Um, uh, Ubemuwx means ‘that’s not exactly it’ ?”
    “Ubemuwx.”
    “Um, uh, it’s not exactly true that it’s not exactly it?”
    “Yeah.”
    “A concept or a story with a theme and a purpose?”
    “Better.”
    I had an uncomfortable feeling that I knew what was coming next. Rather than panic, I said, “Can we break for lunch or something?”
    “Sure. Maybe you should do the ‘or something’. Go out to the Royal bedroom, lie down and take a nap.”
    “OK.”
    “… and then… nevermind. Relax. We’ll talk more.”
    “Should I meditate or something?” I said.
    “If you like. But you don’t have to see the pfambuuisen and the spiral tunnel — that’ll be for another time. A simple body relaxation will do, and I’ll have the chef make a Fauci Lasagna in the meantime.”

A while ago I talked about the Fauci Lasagna I knew about: Fauci Lasagna .

Utcoozhoo’s version of Fauci Lasagna was better. I think it had something to do with where he got the fruit bats.

[Part 3 is coming soon.]

In the meantime I’m working on a version of the Fauci Eggplant Parmesan. I’m going to use a puréed carrot and beet mixture plus puréed banana and blueberries instead of tomato sauce. I’m not sure about the amounts of basil, oregano, and garlic. But anyway, in a future “Journals of Procrastination” volume I’ll figure it out.

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.
Delicious.

    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

The Utd’mbts Language for the Belated New Year’s Resolution

I’m Invisible Again While Continuing Linguistics for the Utd’mbts language

Definitions

    Perhaps I should start with some definitions even though notes usually go at the end. I think what often happens is that the meaning is relatively clear initially but as the contexts drift with many complications, the meaning is lost and there is much confusion.

COMPULSIONS are behaviors that you can inadvertently teach yourself that become habitual when those acts have come to provide relief from anxiety.

OBSESSIONS are meddlesome thoughts, urges, or images, unsought and unwelcome, that spark disturbing feelings.

    Hmm, that’s not very clear. Well, if you’ve developed an obsession with words, you can search for alternate definitions and come back after you’ve gone for a jog, and had a pizza or two. Someone told me that a common underlying thought is: “If I don’t understand the jargon then I must be stupid.”

New Year’s Resolutions Part 2

As I said in Part 1 , there are things to do, but it’s hard when there are no contacts for inspiration.

Eureka! I have found a definition-clue for my invisibility. To name something is the first step in making something tangible or at least to be some sort of energy or existence or entity or some je ne sais quoi on French toast. I am the grand central conceit. Voilà:

“In drama and other art forms, the central conceit of a work of fiction is the underlying fictitious assumption which must be accepted by the audience with suspension of disbelief so the plot may be seen as plausible.”

That’s the secret: I am fictional. If you have no faith in me then I don’t exist. Being in a state of non-existence, it’s hard to have the motivation to complete one’s New Year’s Resolutions.

A Concept Word In the Form of a Story

So back to translating the Utd’mbts language. Most words are relatively short (10 or less letters) but are dense in meaning. The basic word stem (without prefixes or suffixes) is usually defined by 200 or more English words. It can be in the form of a concept or story. The set of English words I am calling an “exemplar page.” Within the page certain key words are identified as parameters so that an example story can be given different characters or objects. In this case it might be said that the Utd’mbts word is the name of a story or parable to be used as a metaphor.

An Interesting Clue for the Formation of an Exemplar Page.

    I was looking for an example in English where metaphors are used in an extended way in story form. I think I have one example.
    I watched

Medium (TV Series)

A Person of Interest (S5 E3)
Episode aired Feb 16, 2009
Director: Patricia Arquette
Writers: Blenn Gordon Caron, Craig Sweeny, Robert Doherty
Original airing: National Broadcasting Company (NBC) TV

and a few days later I realized that it had an interesting prologue. Not all episodes begin that way and I almost missed the first few minutes of the show. Most begin with a psychic nightmare that Alison Dubois has and she screams and wakes up her husband Joe. Sometimes she calls the District Attorney if she has enough information to prevent a crime from happening or provide a clue for one that has already happened. Events in the dream are symbolic and need a lot of interpretation.
    Anyway, this particular prologue was like a lecture on obsessions and compulsions in story form. I’ll paraphrase because I didn’t record it:

As a kid, when you’re first given a cupcake it’s delicious, and you want another one immediately, but you’re told you can only have one. But then you develop a craving for cupcakes that you carry with you. When you pass a bakery, a cupcake has a glow to it, and it calls you. You go into the bakery and buy a dozen. You can’t stop eating until you finish them all. Everywhere you go you’re obsessed with cupcakes — on signs, in store windows, everything that looks like a cupcake, ways of making cupcakes, recipes for cupcakes. The cravings continue until you become morbidly obese [description added here but shown visually]. Even when you know it’s bad for you, you continue to eat. Even when there are negative consequences [visual presentations], you continue to eat until it’s a habit…

    The prologue presentation continues to show how other things can become habits including murder. There’s a series of other metaphors.
    The connecting element is ways of relieving anxiety. I would add that there is a precipitating element or event that brings on anxiety. The unhealthy acts relieve the anxiety by fulfilling an unconscious fantasy solution to a crisis or conflict that has occurred and can never be solved.
    In the episode, the son of a psychopath can never please his Father who treats him harshly. He develops an obsession with using parts from an old microwave to build a heating device and he looks for ways to make a timer. He desperately seeks the love of his Father and finally gets some praise by building the elements of a bomb using the timer, and explains to his Father how he can use fertilizer and gasoline as an explosive.
    The beginning of the prologue is laying out the concept this way I think: Taste of Cupcake –> cravings –> Obsessions –> compulsions –> habits
    The entire prologue can represent a concept. A short word could stand in for the entire show and the underlining concept. For the sake of argument, let’s just say that there is an Utd’mbts word temporarily translated as “S5E3” that means the concepts of the entire show. The parameters vary from cupcakes to a Father’s love or any person’s approval, obsessions from food to bomb parts etc. “S5E3” is the foundation metaphor. Prefixes and suffixes provide the parameters. A fluent speaker of Utd’mbts would have memorized the meaning of the equivalent of “S5E3” as a short Utd’mbts word. 

So Continuing the Project Is Futile

Should I continue to find new words or not? It does seem pointless. No? So you probably have no idea what I’m saying. Right? Do you have a question? Maybe I can answer it or clarify.