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“EXO-L-JAPANのみなさんへ、シウミンからメッセージが到着しました!
みなさんに会える日をとても楽しみにしているシウミン^^
メッセージと一緒に届いた写真とともにご覧ください。

EXO-L-JAPANのみなさん~!
お久しぶりです。シウミンです。
元気に過ごしていましたか!?本当に本当に会いたいです!!
一日でも早くみなさんに会って一緒に楽しい時間を過ごせたらと思っています。
僕たちが次に会った時に、幸せな時間を過ごせるようにたくさん準備しますね~!
その時まで元気でいてください>.<”

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Translation: “Here is a message from Xiumin for EXO-L Japan!
Xiumin is looking forward to the day when he can meet everyone again^^
Please enjoy this special photo along with Xiumin’s message.

Hello, EXO-L Japan~!
It’s Xiumin! Long time no see!
Have you all been well!? I reaalllly, really miss you all!!
Each day brings us one day closer to being able to meet again; I am really looking forward to having fun with everyone.
I am preparing for the day when we can finally meet again, and wish you can all stay happy until then~!
In the meantime, please stay healthy >.<”

Credit: translation, dailyexo.tumblr.com, Source: Official EXO-L Japan.

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Another one with very few interactions. Poor kid ;-;

With Mahiru

Lilac:”Mahiru…… Thank you for back then. I’m sorry for all that……”

With Lawless

Lilac:” ………………………………………………”

With Tsubaki

Lilac:”…… Tsubaki-san. I’m… not very strong, but…… But I don’t want to abandon you………”

Keep reading

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Late in February 2021, I was walking through the Long Island Pine Barrens, along the beginning of the Paumanok Trail.  The snow-covered path was marked by the patterned boot tracks of other hikers (only two or three at the most) and the cloven hoof-marks of deer.  The sky above the trees was pale blue, tinged with gray.  The air was cool, crisp, dry.  With each step, my boots compacted the icy slush and sometimes my boot would shift, sliding on the heavy, dense snowpack so that I’d have to compensate with a movement of my upper body and arms to keep my balance and to prevent myself from slipping.

The fourth branch of Jacques Roubaud’s “the great fire of London”, a volume called Poésie: (récit) — I prefer the French title since Poetry: (a story) is less poetic and loses a sense of meaning that I think should be there, poésie to my ear implies a movement that is lost in the more static English word, poetry, and récit (and perhaps this is peculiar to me and has nothing to do with actual French) suggests narration closer to that when a storyteller speaks to a listener who receives the récit and so completes the action, a story doesn’t necessarily require a reader — begins with the Narrator (Roubaud) moving through space, in this case, the space is urban, the streets Paris.

Early in December 1994, I was walking in Paris.  The sky was gray, low, the air humid, warm.

For walking in Paris, I wear a blue K-way jacket, and a cap, also blue.  The K-way was a gift, not something I’d picked out.  It was light, blue, waterproof, costly.

For walking in the woods, I wear an olive green jacket made by Patagonia that zips up the front and has a little pocket over the left breast where I can store my phone for easy access.  Around my neck, I wear my “Doctor Who scarf” knitted by my mother.  (The scarf isn’t a replica of any of the long scarves worn by the Fourth Doctor, played by actor Tom Baker, but a spirited recreation of the sort that anyone familiar with the various scarves featured in Season 12 through 17 of the TV show would immediately recognize.)  On my head I wear a black bowler hat I purchased at the museum shop of the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art in 2018 when I took my mother and son to the Magritte exhibit. (The next summer, I would take my wife and son to Brussels to tour the permanent Magritte exhibit at the Musée de Beaux Arts.  The study of Magritte’s art and writing is a principal concern of my Project.)  The clerk at the shop said this style of bowler hat is the exact same one worn by René Magritte when he was alive.  So it should be no surprise that I’m pleased with it and wear it every opportunity I get, and especially when I’m out on my daily walk.

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Before the pandemic, I walked every afternoon through the pine barrens.  This was easy enough since the office where I perform my paid work (not at all literary) is located in the middle of the pine barrens.  There are a network of trails that lead through the woods that are immediately accessible from the back door of the building where I work.  A year ago, my office was closed, so that I now work from home.  Now my afternoon walks (usually) are taken along the streets in the neighborhood where I live in the village of Long Neck.  I’ve become a familiar sight in the neighborhood as the man in the bowler hat.  My neighbors wave to me and sometimes will view my unusual headwear as an occasion for conversation.  What kind of hat is that? asked one neighbor.  Another fellow walker assumed I’m a fan of Stanley Kubrick’s adaptation of A Clockwork Orange, a novel by Anthony Burgess.  I’m more a fan of the book than I am a fan of the movie, but my bowler hat is most deliberately a nod to Magritte and not to Alex and his three droogs.  Throughout the pandemic, Magritte and his art has been my life line.

On his walks in Paris, Roubaud doesn’t wear a bowler — his cap is of a different sort.

I bought the cap in New York, at J.J. Hat Center, at the corner of Broadway and 42nd Street.  It’s a hat made in Scotland and the salesperson assured me that it was the same exact style of cap worn by Sean Connery in the film The Untouchables. It’s no surprise that I’m happy with it.

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After I’m vaccinated and I feel like taking the Long Island Rail Road to Penn Station again, maybe I’ll go to the J.J. Hat Center myself and shop for a hat.  Although according to “the internet” J.J. Hat Center is now located at 310 Fifth Ave (between 31st & 32nd), not far from Penn at all.  If/when I do go in to the city, I’ll want to pay a visit to the Fountain Pen Hospital.  A man can never have too many hats or too many fountain pens.

I could go along in this vein for quite some time, this leisurely stroll through Roubaud’s Poésie: (récit) allowing his text to guide my own thoughts, reveries, musings, etc.  The resulting text would function as a companion text.  I’m walking along with Roubaud in Paris as he moves from the National Library, past familiar restaurants, along familiar streets…

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I passed between the tops or periscopes of the licorice icebergs of the Buren columns, making sure not to slip on their outgrowths/extensions [? the French word is excroissances, but it’s not obvious to me what these outgrowths or extensions might be], on the damp grills, slimy, soaped with crushed beige leaves.  And I made it through with no accidents to Place Colette, on the right side of the Théâtre-Français.  This route was well known to me.

…but Roubaud himself is not walking with me, only his text, or perhaps he is with me as an invented copy of an imaginary Roubaud that I carry within myself as I read and as I walk along the snow-covered Paumanok Trail thinking of his book, or books (one book in seven volumes called collectively “the great fire of London”).

I read the first two and a half branches (the first three volumes to be translated into English), starting with Branch One: Destruction in the fall of 2018.  Without really intending to, I wrote a little book of jottings while reading Roubaud’s novel.  I called my little book, In the Labyrinth of Forking Paths, since “the great fire of London” is “a story with interpolations and bifurcations” with actual links indicating different narrative paths the reader can take during their wandering reading.  I was reminded (though only a little) of the choose-your-own-adventure books (published by Bantam) I read when I was a kid.  One of my early attempts at writing fiction was a “literary” choose-your-own-adventure called (imaginatively enough) Into the Labyrinth (a slight variation on a title of one of Alain Robbe-Grillet’s novels, Dans le labyrinthe, with whose hyper-descriptive nouveau roman style I’d become bewitched, a style ideally suited to such text adventures).  (I published my Into the Labyrinth as an interactive fiction designed for a media platform that worked only on those early generation iPods.  I have no idea if anyone ever read/played my interactive fiction even though according to the app, mine was the most downloaded story.  It was certainly the longest.)  I won’t claim that I have been waiting for the remaining four volumes to be translated into English.  In fact, I felt a certain level of contentment with the artificial truncation of the novel — I had read all that I could, all that was available in English, so now I could move on to other things, like reading the works of Miklós Szentkuthy.  Procuring and reading the rest of “the great fire of London” wasn’t a tempting prospect until Anthony, author of the blog, Time’s Flow, mentioned that he’d purchased the remaining volumes in French and would be making an attempt to read them.  That was all it took.  If Anthony was going to do it, then so would I.  I ordered copies from a bookseller in France and they arrived last Friday in the post.  So when did I get the idea to translate these remaining four volumes into English myself?  Was it a serious idea or just another of my fanciful projects?  Project 7139: translated two thousand pages of Jacques Roubaud’s “the great fire of London” into English.  (For the record, I’m currently working on Project 3 which I started twenty years ago.  Project 4 is “write a masterpiece that will establish my literary reputation.”  That one might take awhile.)  Certainly, I would read these other branches.  Or would I?  My track record for finishing big projects is not stellar.  (The first time I read Proust, it took me ten years.)

While walking in the snow in the pine barrens, I thought about why I was being pulled back into Roubaud’s book.  What was it about his very long prose that attracted me?  Was this a momentary literary crush or had I fallen for “the great fire of London”?  If this were a romance, you could say that Roubaud and I met in the fall of 2018 and spent some time together, mostly walking.  We shared our mutual interests, talking about poetry, literature, and mathematics.  I learned a great deal about haikai (haiku and haibun), gained a new appreciation of the works of Charles Dickens, and was introduced to Nicholas Bourbaki, and then resumed my own mathematical studies after a hiatus of twenty years, this time beginning with set theory and topology.  And then it was over.  He had to go.  We parted ways.

Then two and half years later, Roubaud pops up again at a party hosted by a friend, this time we’re speaking French — my French is better now, so it’s much easier for us to talk and now I feel something different than I did before.  We’re making a real connection.  I can feel it.  And Roubaud seems somehow changed.  When we first met, I was the one who was paying attention to Roubaud, accompanying a new master, and learning new things.  Now, this new Roubaud, this French-speaking Roubaud is interested in me, keeps asking me questions, asking for my opinion. Then it dawns on me.  Roubaud has chosen me.  You’re the one, he says.  I’ve picked you.

Of course, this isn’t an exclusive relationship.  Such is the way with authors and their books.  Readers must share the objects of their affection, but still it feels different when a book chooses you rather than you choosing it.

I’m choosing you.  I’m ready whenever you are.  Shall we begin?

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We have an update regarding the translation of our first project’s guidebook! The finished translations can be found in our project downloads. If you’re up for helping translate check out the links at the bottom of the second image. We will only be taking completed submissions for translations from now on.

Jorvik Divined Download

Translations Google Drive Folder

Submissions Folder

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Hi everyone! Today, rather than the usual batch of two, I have three new translations ready (^-^) The mini album “Imitation Gold ~Kinbaku no Meikyoku Niban Shibori” only contains five songs total, and I’d already translated two of them because they appear on “Golden Best ~Pressure~”, so I thought I’d post the remaining three songs in one go. 

ANOTHER MELODY

SAY NO

Man no Yoru wo Koete

Next up will be the album “The Golden J-POPS”, of which two versions with different track lists were released. Many of the songs on there were later released on various “Best Of” albums, but between the two versions of the album, there are still five songs I haven’t translated yet. 

The very earliest album, “Ongaku ga Bokura wo Dame ni Suru”, contains two more untranslated songs. Incidentally, I’ll be making a separate post on these older albums shortly, for people who may be wondering where to find them.

Please enjoy! (^-^)

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Toru Twitter update

Da-iCE 10th anniversary.

Thank you as always to @junon_jp who we have been indebted to since the beginning 🙏🏻🙇🏻‍♂️


Posing with my favorite kitchen parchment paper.

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@WE_THE_BOYZ: [현재] 촬영장에서 만난 현재

[Hyunjae] The Hyunjae you see at the set.

Translation: hyunjae@tumblr.
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SFF beyond borders: an interview with Jana Bianchi

SFF beyond borders: an interview with Jana Bianchi

Growing up as a kid in Brazil, I’ve always been passionate about speculative fiction. But, until some time ago, all of my references and favorite stories came from abroad — and from very specific places in the world. This is why I’m so enthusiastic about discovering new authors and stories from places I don’t often see in “traditional” fiction. 
This month, I’ve interviewed Jana Bianchi: she’s a…


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Paul Valéry:

“Le vent se lève! … Il faut tenter de vivre!”,

“The wind is rising! … We must try to live!”

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Here’s a translation of his poem - “Le Cimetière marin” (“The Graveyard by the Sea”)


This quiet roof, where dove-sails saunter by,

Between the pines, the tombs, throbs visibly.

Impartial noon patterns the sea in flame —

That sea forever starting and re-starting.

When thought has had its hour, oh how rewarding

Are the long vistas of celestial calm!


What grace of light, what pure toil goes to form

The manifold diamond of the elusive foam!

What peace I feel begotten at that source!

When sunlight rests upon a profound sea,

Time’s air is sparkling, dream is certainty —

Pure artifice both of an eternal Cause.


Sure treasure, simple shrine to intelligence,

Palpable calm, visible reticence,

Proud-lidded water, Eye wherein there wells

Under a film of fire such depth of sleep —

O silence! … Mansion in my soul, you slope

Of gold, roof of a myriad golden tiles.


Temple of time, within a brief sigh bounded,

To this rare height inured I climb, surrounded

By the horizons of a sea-girt eye.

And, like my supreme offering to the gods,

That peaceful coruscation only breeds

A loftier indifference on the sky.


Even as a fruit’s absorbed in the enjoying,

Even as within the mouth its body dying

Changes into delight through dissolution,

So to my melted soul the heavens declare

All bounds transfigured into a boundless air,

And I breathe now my future’s emanation.


Beautiful heaven, true heaven, look how I change!

After such arrogance, after so much strange

Idleness — strange, yet full of potency —

I am all open to these shining spaces;

Over the homes of the dead my shadow passes,

Ghosting along — a ghost subduing me.

My soul laid bare to your midsummer fire,

O just, impartial light whom I admire,


Whose arms are merciless, you have I stayed

And give back, pure, to your original place.

Look at yourself … But to give light implies

No less a somber moiety of shade.


Oh, for myself alone, mine, deep within

At the heart’s quick, the poem’s fount, between

The void and its pure issue, I beseech

The intimations of my secret power.

O bitter, dark, and echoing reservoir

Speaking of depths always beyond my reach.


But know you — feigning prisoner of the boughs,

Gulf which cats up their slender prison-bars,

Secret which dazzles though mine eyes are closed —

What body drags me to its lingering end,

What mind draws it to this bone-peopled ground?

A star broods there on all that I have lost.


Closed, hallowed, full of insubstantial fire,

Morsel of earth to heaven’s light given o’er —

This plot, ruled by its flambeaux, pleases me —

A place all gold, stone, and dark wood, where shudders

So much marble above so many shadows:

And on my tombs, asleep, the faithful sea.


Keep off the idolaters, bright watch-dog, while —

A solitary with the shepherd’s smile —

I pasture long my sheep, my mysteries,

My snow-white flock of undisturbed graves!

Drive far away from here the careful doves,

The vain daydreams, the angels’ questioning eyes!


Now present here, the future takes its time.

The brittle insect scrapes at the dry loam;

All is burnt up, used up, drawn up in air

To some ineffably rarefied solution …

Life is enlarged, drunk with annihilation,

And bitterness is sweet, and the spirit clear.


The dead lie easy, hidden in earth where they

Are warmed and have their mysteries burnt away.

Motionless noon, noon aloft in the blue

Broods on itself — a self-sufficient theme.

O rounded dome and perfect diadem,


I am what’s changing secretly in you.

I am the only medium for your fears.

My penitence, my doubts, my baulked desires —

These are the flaw within your diamond pride …

But in their heavy night, cumbered with marble,

Under the roots of trees a shadow people

Has slowly now come over to your side.


To an impervious nothingness they’re thinned,

For the red clay has swallowed the white kind;

Into the flowers that gift of life has passed.

Where are the dead? — their homely turns of speech,

The personal grace, the soul informing each?

Grubs thread their way where tears were once composed.


The bird-sharp cries of girls whom love is teasing,

The eyes, the teeth, the eyelids moistly closing,

The pretty breast that gambles with the flame,

The crimson blood shining when lips are yielded,

The last gift, and the fingers that would shield it —

All go to earth, go back into the game.


And you, great soul, is there yet hope in you

To find some dream without the lying hue

That gold or wave offers to fleshly eyes?

Will you be singing still when you’re thin air?

All perishes. A thing of flesh and pore

Am I. Divine impatience also dies.


Lean immortality, all crêpe and gold,

Laurelled consoler frightening to behold,

Death is a womb, a mother’s breast, you feign

The fine illusion, oh the pious trick!

Who does not know them, and is not made sick

That empty skull, that everlasting grin?


Ancestors deep down there, 0 derelict heads

Whom such a weight of spaded earth o’erspreads,

Who are the earth, in whom our steps are lost,

The real flesh-eater, worm unanswerable

Is not for you that sleep under the table:

Life is his meat, and I am still his host.


‘Love,’ shall we call him? ‘Hatred of self,’ maybe?

His secret tooth is so intimate with me

That any name would suit him well enough,

Enough that he can see, will, daydream, touch —

My flesh delights him, even upon my couch

I live but as a morsel of his life.


Zeno, Zeno, cruel philosopher Zeno,

Have you then pierced me with your feathered arrow

That hums and flies, yet does not fly! The sounding

Shaft gives me life, the arrow kills. Oh, sun! —

Oh, what a tortoise-shadow to outrun

My soul, Achilles’ giant stride left standing!


No, no! Arise! The future years unfold.

Shatter, O body, meditation’s mould!

And, O my breast, drink in the wind’s reviving!

A freshness, exhalation of the sea,

Restores my soul … Salt-breathing potency!

Let’s run at the waves and be hurled back to living!


Yes, mighty sea with such wild frenzies gifted

(The panther skin and the rent chlamys), sifted

All over with sun-images that glisten,

Creature supreme, drunk on your own blue flesh,

Who in a tumult like the deepest hush

Bite at your sequin-glittering tail — yes, listen!


The wind is rising! … We must try to live!

The huge air opens and shuts my book: the wave

Dares to explode out of the rocks in reeking

Spray. Fly away, my sun-bewildered pages!

Break, waves! Break up with your rejoicing surges

This quiet roof where sails like doves were pecking.


translated by C. Day Lewis

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It is very important to first understand the difference between translation and localization. While translation is converting one language into another local language, localization goes beyond that and involves the inclusion of even cultural sensitivity, issues and ideas to deliver content that connects to the feelings of the local audience that is the target of the content. https://devnagri.com/does-my-content-need-to-be-translated-or-localized/ 

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with you (IV)

If you like Piña Coladas, and getting caught in the rain
If you’re not into yoga, if you have half-a-brain
If you like making love at midnight, in the dunes of the cape
I’m the love that you’ve looked for, write to me and escape

Orange and aloe vera essence.
For dark hair.

‘No.’ He put the eleventh bottle of shampoo back on the shelf with enough force to knock out the bottles right behind that, creating a domino effect all the way to the back and sides.

'Dude!’ The clerk crouched nearby, restocking deodorants, started to complain when he heard the bottles tumbling down, but anything else he had to say died in his throat when Sasuke glanced back at him.

On second thought, maybe better not to question the sanity of the last Uchiha, quasi-ninja god, village traitor, war hero, master emo scowl, that had been opening and smelling bottle after bottle of shampoo in the feminine hygiene session for the last forty five minutes.

Uchiha Sasuke was being haunted by a smell.

It was citrusy and creamy at the same time, resembling some red fruit yogurt, and he needed to smell it again.

-

'Teme, I didn’t mean it wasn’t cool!’ Naruto, almost yelling while arguing with Sasuke, pushed the doors to the Fire Tower’s research library, making some of the ninjas stationed there look up from their work with scrolls, books and thousand of other artifacts the place harbored, not all of them necessarily inanimate. 'But, I mean, I would not change my leaf bandana for some random rags, 'ttebayo!’

'If you call it a rag one more time, dobe…’

'And where did you get that poncho?’

'Yo, Naruto, Sasuke!’

'Yo, Kiba!’ The blonde immediately turned his attention from Sasuke to where two of the members of the former Team 8 were putting some scrolls back on the shelves. 'Hinata.’

'Hello, Naruto-kun.’ The kunoichi did not pause her task of stacking books, did not raise her head and even managed to keep the blush on her cheeks only. She did not feel weirdly anxious around him anymore, not really. Not even in the slightest. It was just the eternal embarrassment of having passionately declared your love in the middle of a life and death situation in front of the entire village and then being so delicately turned down (almost an entire year ago) and… Yeah, maybe she had a right to be embarrassed. 'Sasuke-kun.’

'What’s that smell?’

Everyone looked at Sasuke. The shinobi had stopped at the door, blocking the way for a chunnin who seemed in a hurry, but who had no intention - or courage - to ask the last Uchiha to please give him passage.

He had his eyes closed in concentration, his chest heaved slightly before he decided to take a few steps into the library - the chunnin ran to a shelf at the back, grabbed two scrolls and a sealed box and ran back out -, face moving in all directions to try to identify the smell.

'What smell, Sasuke?’

'Kiba, are you sensing anything strange?’

The boy with the tattoos on his face took several quick sniffs, but concluded that the only smells reaching his nose were those normal for an old library: paper, dust, bookworms, something rotten that he didn’t even want to know, tea, spilled tea, coffee, spilled coffee, food - which was actually not allowed, but -, dog hair - yeah, that was him - , insects - and a little bit of Shino -, identifiable smell of some humans, normal body odors.

'No, this is not a normal smell.’ The Uchiha declared, still trying to discern the aroma, pacing distractedly. 'It could be passion fruit… And blackberries… Milk… Almost like the kinds of things girls use…’

Sasuke interrupted himself at the end of the sentence when the three pairs of eyes landed on the Hyuuga heiress focused at her task. Feelings the attention focused on her, she turned quickly, surprised:

'Eh?’ Hinata took a step back and got off the stool she was using to reach the highest shelves. Sasuke was suddenly right behind her and Hinata jumped when she hit her back on his chest. The man sniffed close to her hair and scratched cutelly his nose, looking uncomfortable. 'What…?’

'Sasuke said there was a strange smell and then just described the components of your new shampoo.’ Kiba explained, a smile of protruding canines appeared on the boy’s lips. 'I warned you.’

'Is-is it so unpleasant?’ Hinata seemed genuinely ashamed that her hair was getting any sort of attention, especially from the Uchiha. She gathered as much hair as she could in both hands, with some strands still managing to escape, as if that could prevent the smell from spreading.

'It’s not unpleasant, Hinata!’ Naruto jumped in, aiming a disapproving look at Sasuke.

'I didn’t say anything about it being bad.’

'Akamaru liked it so much that he’s been sticking his nose in Hinata’s hair at any given opportunity.’ Kiba sighed. 'I had to leave him at home until I can retrain him to not do that. And because we can’t have dogs in the library, anyway.’

'I-I’ll…’ The girl raised all the hair she was holding to her nose and sniffed it. It wasn’t a strange or bad smell to her either, she thought it was fresh and light when buying it. 'Sorry, I’ll change back to the old shampoo.’

'Don’t be silly, Hinata.’ Naruto slapped Sasuke on the shoulder when the Uchiha returned to the blonde’s side, still scrunching his nose. 'Teme’s nose will get used to your new shampoo, right, Sasuke?’

'Do what you want, Hyuuga.’

Sasuke didn’t answer any more and tried to hold the urge of breathing in one more time before disappearing among the shelves to retrieve the scroll they needed. The thing was, he also didn’t think that it was an unpleasant smell, it was just so intense that it seemed to spread throughout the library, killing off the unpleasant smells of dust and humans, clinging to his nose, filling his lungs.

He got a new lungfull of it, almost unintentionally, when he was leaving the cemetery the next day and the wind carried the smell up to his nostrils. He took a breath so deep he inhaled the pollen from the lilies he was carrying and sneezed. Sasuke looked around and spotted Hyuuga’s long hair blowing in the wind while she kneeled in front of her cousin’s tombstone, praying.

And then when he was summoned with her to Kakashi’s office.

And when he passed by her leaving one of the training grounds.

Sasuke decided to test smelling Sakura’s hair, but the intensity was lacking in Haruno’s rose and quinoa shampoo.

Sasuke had almost run over several passersby leaving the Tower of Fire one of those days, enraptured as he was in having caught yet another sniff of the smell, certain that Hinata must be close by simply the smell of her hair. He walked, following his nose, until he found himself at the gates of the Hyuuga Clan, two of the guards looking at him with raised eyebrows, twin expressions of disbelief in their pearly eyes. He went home and slapped himself on both cheeks for the fool he had become.

-

Lavender and hazelnut essence.
For straight hair.

'There are more shampoos up front.’ The attendant’s voice stocking deodorants woke Sasuke up from his shampoo chemical’s induced trance. 'It’s a new brand and it’s on sale.’

Without bothering to answer, the Uchiha put the bottle back, this time without knocking out its neighbors, and headed to the front of the store, where he had to go anyway to pay for the things he actually needed to buy, and not smell the shampoo on sale there.

The new brand’s vials were stocked in neat rows on a squared platform, varying in color and essences, but one in particular caught Sasuke’s attention right away. It was quite a dull bottle: cylindrical, white, unassuming. The lid was yellow, so was the text identifying the type of hair it was best suited to, the list of ingredients and the main components. Its most prominent detail was a decalc image of what Sasuke deduced was milk spilling over blackberries and passion fruit, but it was a very bad decalc.

Passion fruit and blackberry mousse essence.
For normal hair with frizz control.

Blackberry mousse? How? Ignoring that, Sasuke picked up a bottle, but did not open it until he was in the security and privacy of his own apartment - the fourth door down on the right side of the sixth floor of an utilitarian looking building, with no elevator. Now he could smell it to his heart’s content without looking like a lunatic in front of the entire Hyuuga Clan.

It was just that…

The shampoo had the promised smell of passion fruit, blackberries, milk, the usual chemical components, but… There was something missing. 

After a while of sniffing it, but not feeling the desired satisfaction, Sasuke concluded that what really made that aroma so compelling to him was the fact that it mixed perfectly with Hinata’s natural scent.

Cursing, Sasuke left the tube in his shower next to his generic shampoo for all hair types.

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25/02/21 TXT member’s Tweet

저희 데뷔평가 곡이었는데 어떤가요???!
아가시절 목소리입니다ㅎ
#TXT첫단체곡

[TRANS]

This was our debut evaluation song, how is it???!

It’s our voices from when we were babies heh

#TXTsFirstGroupSong

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2021.02.23 Shinya Channel live stream translation

(Shinya is talking while reading comments, so there’re a lot of pauses between sentences etc)



Ah, it started.

Good evening everyone.This is Shinya. Thank you for watching at such late time.

Ah, there’s an echo.

So then, I’m doing this somehow by myself. Do you know what day is it today (Feb 23rd)? It’s actually not a special day for me at all. But it is also the emperor’s birthday. It was a public holiday, so what were you doing today, everyone? I went somewhere to prepare the material for the next fanclub magazine in the morning.

Yes, I’ve dyed my hair. I went for a pink-ish shade. But it’s hard to see/tell. In the morning I saw Fujieda when working on the fc material, but he hasn’t said anything (about my hair).


So, let’s make an announcement. Right now we’re having a ‘Meguro Rock-May-KanGIG’ concert film screenings, we just had the events in Yokohama, but we will be visiting many other areas (out of Tokyo) so please come see us. And in April, I actually forgot which day, but we’re releasing a new single, Oboro. We also have a twitter promotional campaign, the deadline is until tomorrow, please check it out.


I’m reading comments. I see. I’m doing this in this slippery way, actually there are only 15 minutes left. After that there will be a part starting from 23:50 for Shinya Channel’s members only. Ah, it seems that Oboro’s release is on the 28th, the April 28th. What was I talking about? Ah, yes, from 23:50 it will be limited for members, so please join my Channel until then. It’s my birthday tomorrow, so we will do a countdown for that. The link is in the description. (reads) 'I joined!’, please join everyone.


Well, I always had some event for my birthday, but this year there’s nothing planned, so I’m doing this kind of live stream, are you all subscribed to my youtube channel? At the moment I’m only doing Detective Nemunemu, but let me know if there’s something you would like me to do.

'Happy Birthday’ but it’s still early.  ah no (humbly).   'Detective Nemunemu is really fun, 'it’s too difficult’, 'I’d like to see you cooking, a food report’, I can make a rice ball at most, but maybe I should try something, like omurice and so on. There are mamy comments asking for an apartment tour. And game introductions. 'Please play soccer’. Soccer?

So well. I don’t really have a topic. Usually Dancho comes and moderates the event, but today somehow he didn’t come. There was no offer in the first place. Dancho played a game “Among Us” with us other musicians, live.  I was also interested in Among Us, I had it downloaded on Switch, but it seems that if you don’t have 8 people you can’t play, and I didn’t have other players, so I didn’t play. Not even once, but I’m interested. Do you know Among Us everyone?

There’s a time lag so it’s tough. Yeah, I have Switch. I play Splatoon and, what was it, that famous one, Super Smash Bros and Momotaro Dentetsu, I bought them and played once each but nothing after that.

Yes, my hair colour is pink-ish. (*in Japan hair dyes are usually divided into different tones of brown like ashy, beige, natural brown and reds and pinks etc)

There are many people commenting that Among Us is fun. No, I’m not doing Identity V. I haven’t applied for PS5. And I’m not going to, I’m not interested.

About hair routine, I have a Q&A video on this channel, there’s an answer about it there, please watch it.

What is Cyber Punk? I like Cheburashka. I have downloaded Fortnite, but I haven’t played once. I probably won’t.

'Have you done Final Sword?’ Sorry, I haven’t heard about it. About the latest acorn information? donguri/acorn?? It’s about acorns, right? I haven’t seen any recently.

Little Nightmare? I know Nightmare.

“You should play MomoTetsu with other members’. There definitely would be some bullying.

'Do you read manga?’ I read My Home Hero, it’s being reprinted, I’m super curious about the continuation of that.

'It’s really unique that you don’t have tattoos?” Toshiya also doesn’t have any.

“isn’t it cold in short sleeves?” No, I’m at home, so it’s not cold.

“will you have a party today?” No, I won’t. I will be solving riddles.

I’ve played at Professor Layton in the past, a lot. I brought my DS when going on a tour abroad.

“please show us your t-shirt print” it’s like that, not sure about it.

“Chi no…” sorry the font is too small, I can’t read the kanji (血の轍, there was a recommendation to read this manga).

“Is the light in the back a candle?” Yes, it is. I like the smell (of the candles).

“Please do a talk with Moa”. It’s been a year since I’ve seen Moa. Is she doing well? I wanted to do Seraph. Speaking of Seraph, our song got used for the online puzzle solving game Hinotori. I was playing it recently and completed it. It took me 130 minutes. Over that there’s a game master, so even if you don’t know what to do there, they will guide you, so even if you’re not good at solving puzzles please try it!

“What time do you go to sleep?” Recently, usually I will be already sleeping at this time, usually. But I’m doing my best to stay up. Today too, I woke up around 9 in the morning and I went to Ikebukuro, with Fujieda.

There are still 5 minutes left. This stream will be continued for Shinya Channel members, so please join now. A link is probably somewhere there. We will switch to there. While switching there will be probably a minute break time, so in that time it’s your chance to quickly take a bath if you have to.

“Did you exchange presents with other band members?” Of course not.

It seems that there’s a link (to the members only stream).

“What’s your evening routine?” I take a bath and then I’m on my phone until I fall asleep. People say you can sleep better when you don’t check your phone in bed, but it doesn’t affect me and I’m fast asleep.

“What kind of song is Oboro?” Oboro is… well, I can’t tell you. It’s awesome.

I usually spend about an hour in the bath, I bring a smartphone in and watch youtube etc in the bath.

(But he told people to get a one minute bath🤣)

I don’t use any face packs. Bath salts, I just use whatever.

“How long will be the paid stream?” Probably about 30 minutes. If it’s too long everyone will fall asleep. And the stream would just keep going and going with me sleeping. So it will be until around 00:30.

“Do you eat cup ramen at night?” I don’t eat cup ramen in the first place.

Pollen allergy, I don’t have it so far.

Ah, 3 more minutes. Members please enjoy the stream after that. The non members, well we won’t have any more chances to see each other this year.

For breakfast I usually eat something like cornflakes.

So well, I see.

2 minutes left. I better start saying goodbyes. Thank you for watching so late at night. I might do it again or not, I don’t know myself. So until the day we can meet again.

Ah, there’s still 2 minutes? So weird.

So let’s then see the comments. Comments wishing me Happy Birthday are still too early.

Goodnight. Have you all found the link to the paid stream? One more minute.

There’s no groundbreaking topics for the members only stream. I will be updating Shinya Channel, so interested people should sign up! There are things like birthday mail for subscribers. Ah the link is in a hard to find place. Like a puzzle, ah, it’s 23:50, so bye to the non-members!👋

🤣

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Après son retour d'entre les morts, Ben découvre qu'il n'est rien de plus gênant que d'essayer de se lier d'amitié avec les gens qu'il a autrefois essayé de tuer - si ce n'est peut-être apprendre à vivre parmi les souvenirs de ceux qu'il a bel et bien tués.


Mon dernier coup de cœur, traduit en deux jours. Merci à igrockspock pour son autorisation.

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kolniður : coal murmur (maybe: dark blackness)

hengilás : padlock

sumarið sem aldrei kom : the summer that neve came

kórall : coral

Stokkseyri : a small town in Southern Iceland



artist: Jónsi
albums: Go / Shiver / Riceboy Sleeps



I’m totally new to this, so please correct me if I am wrong!

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saman : together

brot : fracture

undir : under

ekki hugsa : don’t think



artist: Ólafur Arnalds
album: re:member



I’m totally new to this, so please correct me if I am wrong!

0 notes