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Post by Catalaya (Nadihat) on Dec 22, 2024 at 11:25am
My Higher Self: If we say "The english word am now represents Solfeggio 528", will it work?
73652583FC6245577CFA5DA0F94E4EEC99A159D5EA3F27B1A8C4794920A50D6B01BB91A17DF0CA0E71BE69EEEA900E7393166CFB40D86BD5C3A690374CBFDF84
I ask that because it's the difference between a conlang and a real language.
Anthro Teacher: Feels like expansive middle.
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Post by Catalaya (Nadihat) on May 30, 2025 at 2:13am
Oddly enough, the best Spanish translation for "soulmate" is not the literal "compañero de alma", but rather "alma gemela", which means when translated back "twin soul". This was confirmed by DA.
I wonder if this discrepancy appears in other languages too.
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Post by Catalaya (Nadihat) on Aug 19, 2025 at 2:10pm
The CHANI Entity had said: write lanuage cause bad things 4 yor human history hold u back beter draw pictures like sumar beter write image like egyptian write lanuage tel u what to think not how to think not good thing 4 mind picture tel u how to think must use mind to read picture good thing 4 mind picture u remember 4 ever write lanuage u forget soon not think anymore The Chinese character 聽 (tīng), which is a beautiful combination of 耳 (ear), 王 (king, suggesting importance), 十 (ten, here used like eyes), 一 (one), and 心 (heart). The character tells a story: "To truly listen, you must use your ears like a king, be as focused as ten eyes, and give your undivided heart." The word for "good" is 好 (hǎo). It is made of two parts: 女 (woman) and 子 (child). The character doesn't just tell you the word "good." It presents an image—a mother with her child—and asks you to derive the concept of "goodness" from that powerful, universal picture. It teaches you to associate "good" with this fundamental human relationship. The word for "rest" is 休 (xiū). It is made of 人 (a person) leaning against 木 (a tree). Again, it's not a command to think "rest." It's a painted scene of what rest looks like, forcing your mind to make the connection. When you put the components together, the character 聲 paints a complete, beautiful picture: Sound is the phenomenon of a hand (殳) striking a musical stone (磬), which is then perceived by the ear (耳). Now, let's look at what happens in the simplified form, 声. The simplification process took the complex picture of [hand + mallet + chime + ear] and reduced it to a simple abstract form. The 士 from the top (the stand for the chime) is kept, and the rest is reduced to a simple line 一 and a base. The story is gone. The hand, the mallet, and the ear have all been erased. |
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Post by Catalaya (Nadihat) on Aug 19, 2025 at 2:57pm
The CHANI Entity had said: write lanuage cause bad things 4 yor human history hold u back beter draw pictures like sumar beter write image like egyptian write lanuage tel u what to think not how to think not good thing 4 mind picture tel u how to think must use mind to read picture good thing 4 mind picture u remember 4 ever write lanuage u forget soon not think anymore The Chinese character 聽 (tīng), which is a beautiful combination of 耳 (ear), 王 (king, suggesting importance), 十 (ten, here used like eyes), 一 (one), and 心 (heart). The character tells a story: "To truly listen, you must use your ears like a king, be as focused as ten eyes, and give your undivided heart." The word for "good" is 好 (hǎo). It is made of two parts: 女 (woman) and 子 (child). The character doesn't just tell you the word "good." It presents an image—a mother with her child—and asks you to derive the concept of "goodness" from that powerful, universal picture. It teaches you to associate "good" with this fundamental human relationship. The word for "rest" is 休 (xiū). It is made of 人 (a person) leaning against 木 (a tree). Again, it's not a command to think "rest." It's a painted scene of what rest looks like, forcing your mind to make the connection. When you put the components together, the character 聲 paints a complete, beautiful picture: Sound is the phenomenon of a hand (殳) striking a musical stone (磬), which is then perceived by the ear (耳). Now, let's look at what happens in the simplified form, 声. The simplification process took the complex picture of [hand + mallet + chime + ear] and reduced it to a simple abstract form. The 士 from the top (the stand for the chime) is kept, and the rest is reduced to a simple line 一 and a base. The story is gone. The hand, the mallet, and the ear have all been erased. Of course. The character **但** is a fantastic example of how the Chinese writing system works on multiple layers, perfectly blending the "picture language" and "write language" aspects. --- ### The Character: **但** * **Pinyin:** dàn * **Primary Meanings:** But, however, yet, only --- ### Decomposition **但** is a classic **Phonetic-Semantic Compound (形聲字)**. This is the most common type of character, where one part gives a clue to the meaning and the other gives a clue to the sound. It has a left-right structure. #### **Left Part (Semantic Radical): 亻 (rén)** * This is the "person radical" (人字旁, *rén zì páng*), a compressed form of the character **人** (person). * **Function:** It's the semantic or meaning component. It tells you that the character's original meaning is related to **people, human beings, or human actions.** * **Philosophical Role:** This is the **"picture language"** part. It grounds the character in a real-world concept and tells you *how to think* about it—"this word has something to do with a person." #### **Right Part (Phonetic Component): 旦 (dàn)** * This is a character in its own right, and it is a beautiful ideogram (a "picture" of a concept). * **Decomposition of 旦:** It is a picture of the **sun (日)** rising above the **horizon (一)**. * **Meaning of 旦:** Dawn, daybreak, morning. * **Function:** In the character 但, its primary role is phonetic. It tells you the pronunciation. Notice that **但 (dàn)** and **旦 (dàn)** have the exact same sound. * **Philosophical Role:** This is the **"write language"** part. It abstracts away from the meaning of "dawn" and instead *tells you what to think* phonetically: "the sound of this character is *dàn*." ### The Complete Story of 但 The character is a logical puzzle for the reader to solve: > **"Find a word related to a person (亻) that is pronounced *dàn* (旦)."** This is how the character is constructed. Now, you might ask: "What does a person at dawn have to do with the word 'but'?" This is a key point in language evolution. The character **但** originally had a different meaning. One ancient meaning was "to bare the shoulder," an action performed by a person (亻). Because this word was pronounced *dàn*, the character was later **phonetically borrowed** to represent the common grammatical word "but," which had the same sound. Over time, this new grammatical meaning completely took over, and the original meaning became obsolete. This is very common in language history. ### Conclusion: How 但 Fits the Philosophy The character **但** is a perfect microcosm of the Chinese writing system's hybrid genius. | Component | **Philosophical Role** | **Function in 但** | | :--- | :--- | :--- | | **亻 (person)** | **"Picture Language"** | Tells you *how to think* (it's about people). | | **旦 (dawn)** | **"Write Language"** | Tells you *what to think* (the sound is *dàn*). | And here is the most beautiful part: **the "write language" component (旦) is itself a pure "picture language" character.** The system is built of layers. It uses ancient pictures (person, sun, horizon) as building blocks to create a sophisticated system that can represent both concrete and abstract ideas. It doesn't abandon its pictorial roots; it repurposes them to serve new functions, creating a script that is both deeply historical and incredibly efficient. |
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Post by Catalaya (Nadihat) on Aug 20, 2025 at 2:34pm
Despite Japanese having undergone a language reform, it is still a powerful third eye language, unlike Simplified Chinese. I wonder what is the difference, maybe intensity/carelessness in the simplification, the motive behind it, or the amount.
Of course. Here is a detailed explanation of who implemented Shinjitai and when.
### The Short Answer
* **Who:** The **Japanese Cabinet (内閣)**, based on the recommendations of the National Language Council, which was under the authority of the **Ministry of Education (文部省, *Monbushō*)**.
* **When:** The official list was announced on **November 16, 1946**.
---
### The Detailed Explanation
#### The "When": The Post-War Period
The implementation of Shinjitai (新字体, "new character forms") was a direct result of the social and educational reforms that took place in Japan immediately after its defeat in World War II.
The key document that established this reform was the **_Tōyō Kanji Jihyō_ (当用漢字字体表)**, or the "List of Kanji for General Use." This list was officially proclaimed by the Japanese Cabinet in 1946.
It did two main things:
1. **Limited the number of characters** for official use and in education to 1,850.
2. **Simplified the forms** of many of the more complex characters on that list.
#### The "Who": The Japanese Government and Language Reformers
While the final implementation was a government act, the idea of simplifying kanji was not new. For decades leading up to the war, Japanese educators and linguists had argued that the complexity and sheer number of kanji were a major obstacle to achieving widespread literacy.
The post-war occupation period, led by the Allied powers (primarily the United States), created a political environment where such sweeping reforms were finally possible. The Allied occupation authorities supported language simplification as a way to promote democracy and make information more accessible to the general public.
However, it's crucial to note that **the reform was designed and carried out by the Japanese government itself**, not directly imposed by the occupiers. The Ministry of Education and its advisory councils had already been debating these changes for years; the post-war environment simply provided the catalyst to finally put them into action.
#### The Goal and Method of Simplification
The primary goal was to **increase literacy and make the written language easier and faster to learn and use.** The old, more complex characters were now referred to as **Kyūjitai (旧字体, "old character forms")**.
The simplification methods included:
1. **Reducing Stroke Count:** Simply removing strokes from a complex character.
* `學` (gaku, study) → `学`
* `鐵` (tetsu, iron) → `鉄`
2. **Replacing a Complex Component with a Simpler One:** Often, a complex phonetic part of a character was replaced with a simpler character (or even a katakana symbol) that had the same sound.
* `國` (koku, country) → `国` (the center is replaced with 玉, "jewel")
* `圓` (en, circle/yen) → `円`
* `廣` (kō, wide) → `広`
3. **Adopting Existing Cursive or Abbreviated Forms:** Many of the "new" forms were already in common use as handwritten shortcuts (ryakuji, 略字). The reform simply made them official.
* `龍` (ryū, dragon) → `竜`
* `齒` (shi, tooth) → `歯`
#### Evolution: From Tōyō Kanji to Jōyō Kanji
The 1946 list was not the final word. In **1981**, the government replaced the *Tōyō Kanji* list with the revised **_Jōyō Kanji Hyō_ (常用漢字表)**, or the "List of Kanji for Common Use."
This list was updated and expanded (most recently in **2010**) and now contains **2,136 characters**. It serves as the standard for education, media, and government documents in Japan today. All the simplifications introduced in 1946 were carried over into the Jōyō Kanji list.
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Post by Catalaya (Nadihat) on Aug 20, 2025 at 2:34pm
These are Japanese:
Of course. Let us look beyond the strokes and into the soul of the character.
Here is a poetic decomposition of **圓 (yuán)**.
***
To write **圓** is to draw a world and give it a soul.
You begin not with a line, but with a boundary, a sacred enclosure: **囗**. This is the horizon, the wall of a garden, the arms of a family drawing together. It is a space defined not to imprison, but to hold something precious.
What treasure does it hold?
Within this frame, you place **員**.
This inner heart is made of two ancient ideas. At its base, there is **貝**, the cowrie shell. This is the first money, the glint of value, a small, hard promise of wealth, beauty, and worth. It is the treasure itself.
But this treasure is not silent. Above it sits **口**, the mouth. It is the rim of a ritual vessel open to the sky, ready to be filled. It is the voice that declares the value held within. It is the opening through which life flows in and out.
So, **圓** is not merely a circle.
It is a world (**囗**) built around a treasure (**貝**) that has a voice (**口**).
It is the story of wholeness: a boundary that gives form to something of great worth, making it complete, finished, and perfect. It is the full moon, a finished coin, a life come full circle, content and wanting for nothing.
---
Of course. Each character tells a story, a shift from an old world to a new one.
***
### 齒 (shǐ / shi) — The Old Tooth
To write **齒** is to map the mouth.
You begin at the root, the anchor: **止**. It is a foot, the thing that stops and holds fast. It is the deep foundation beneath the gum, unseen but giving all strength.
Below this anchor, you draw the teeth themselves—a crowded hall of ivory sentinels, standing shoulder to shoulder in the jaw's gentle curve. They are not one, but many; a community built for a single purpose.
This character is a portrait, intricate and organic. It is the patient, complex work of nature itself, a fortress of bone designed to grind the world into sustenance and to give shape to the sound of a name.
***
### 歯 (shǐ / ha) — The New Tooth
To write **歯** is to find the essence.
The old root remains: **止**. The foundation, the anchor, the idea of stopping and holding firm is still the soul of the character.
But the crowded hall of sentinels is gone. In its place, a simpler sign, an elegant abstraction. It is no longer a portrait of every tooth, but the *idea* of a tooth. It does not count the many; it honors the one.
This character is a symbol, not a census. It is a tooth for a world in motion, one that values the swiftness of a single mark over a detailed anatomical drawing. The function is the same, but the form is for a new age.
***
### 國 (guó / koku) — The Old Country
To write **國** is to build a fortress.
First, the great walls: **囗**. A boundary is drawn against the chaos of the world. This is the sacred enclosure that separates "us" from "them."
Inside, the heart of the nation is revealed. A spear, **戈**, stands guard over the land, a single line, **一**. Below it, a mouth, **口**, speaks for the people, declares its laws, and sings its songs.
This character is a story of sovereignty, written in ink. It speaks of a fragile peace, a people and a territory defined and defended by force. It is heavy with the weight of history, walls, and weapons.
***
### 円 (en) — The New Circle
To write **円** is to open the vault.
This is the ghost of the old **圓**. Where **圓** was a poem of wholeness, **円** is a ledger.
The walls of the world (**囗**) are breached, opened into a simple vault, **冂**. The treasure shell and the speaking mouth within have vanished. In their place, a single, clean mark, a tally, a token.
It is no longer the story of a perfect world, but the swift, practical symbol of exchange. It is the coin, the yen, the abstract unit of value. It is the ghost of a treasure in a world that now values speed above all.
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Post by Catalaya (Nadihat) on 3 minutes ago
Of course. This character is one of the most beautiful in its duality.
Here is a poetic decomposition of **樂**.
***
To write **樂** is to build an instrument that plays the sound of joy.
You begin with the foundation, the earth itself: **木**. This is the tree, the resonant wood, the body of the lute or the frame of the drum. It is the solid, natural vessel that will soon be given a voice.
Upon this wooden stand, you mount the mechanism of sound. In the center, a luminous heart, like **白**, a piece of polished ivory or a tightly stretched drumhead, waits to vibrate. On either side, you string the silken threads, **幺**, taut with potential, shimmering with the promise of a note yet unsung.
This is the character as an object: a stringed instrument on a wooden frame. It is silent, waiting.
But **樂** is a character that cannot remain still. It holds two lives, two souls, within its single form.
When it is read **yuè** (or *gaku*), it is **Music**. It is the art itself—the structured harmony, the deliberate melody, the vibration of the strings made into a song. It is the cause.
When it is read **lè** (or *raku*), it is **Joy**. It is the feeling that washes over the soul when that music is heard. It is laughter, comfort, bliss, and delight. It is the effect.
Thus, **樂** is not merely a picture of an instrument. It is a profound philosophical truth written in a handful of strokes: that from a simple wooden frame and taut silk strings—from harmony and order—comes the most essential human feeling: happiness.
One cannot exist without the other. Music is joy made audible. Joy is the soul's response to a silent world finally given a song.
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