Poem: The Dropbox Near Sunset

I walked an hour to the secure ballot dropbox and back, or thirty minutes each way. Here is a quick poem inspired by the walk. Enjoy, and be sure to vote if you are in the USA and able to do so!

The Dropbox Near Sunset

A procession — beginning home,
my destination a box downtown
where slips of paper decide
who decides the fate of a nation.

Around my feet the spent leaves
curled like bridal confetti
while above the green trees,
crowns dipped in autumnal fire,
bore witness to evening stillness
and the mellow light of day’s retreat.

A route beginning among homes,
giving way to rush-hour streets
trickling with cars, masked dog-walkers,
young runners heaving bare-faced,
circles of young and old sitting
distanced in greenspaces or benches,
and finally the ocean of businesses
encircling the elmless city’s heart,

ending at a box — much smaller
than the cavernous ballot-urn
my imagination had etched for me —
while I circled to avoid two women
unmasked and chatting loudly.

“Take a photo of me!” one said
to the other as they traded cameras
and I pressed back towards sunset.

Across the street upon a grate
lay a dead bird, head bent back,
a gentle breeze tugging chest-down
newly cold with halted breath,
perhaps a casualty of a window’s
illusion of space and escape,
an omen of unfounded hope.

Make a poem of me, the moment said,
and my eyes drank deep of the sidewalk,
the hum of highway-bound cars,
a woman yelling out from her window
while music played below in the fancy
apartment buildings newly-minted downtown,
a surge of humans catching the last moments
before the sun descended and light fled.

The moment passed, the envelope’s
texture and double-sealed firmness
passed on for the deciders, my mind turning
to Athene and the long road beyond
filled-in bubbles on a bright, firm sheet.

✉️

Update: ACTS OF SPEECH

The logistics of Acts of Speech are coming together. When I decided to self-publish a poetry book, it was partially an experiment because I don’t know how self-publishing works, and this is a good first try. By the time each i is dotted and each t is crossed, I will have a firm idea of the logistics before I embark on other projects.

This is great for a book that I didn’t even decide to (vaguely) put together until the first part of 2019 and that I didn’t have a final final no this one this (no, I don’t name my files like that, I swear) copy until September because I decided to fudge around with the table of contents and add a few more poems.

Acts of Speech also has a book cover designed by L. T. Williams, whose art is fabulous.

This book cover is absolutely stunning, and I want to eat all of the greens and blues and oranges, they are so vividly beautiful.

I thought that this part would be a lot of waiting and pacing because I needed certain things to do ISBN forms, and I needed the ISBN forms to do the Library of Congress control number form for self-publishing. The LCCN is supposed to take about two weeks for turnaround, but I got it literally in a single business day — and I’m betting that part of this is due to workload shifts in libraries towards digital projects and workflows because many of the staff members must be remote during the pandemic.

One big decision I made was to label this religious poetry. I grew up Neopagan, and it always bothered me that the religious books I wanted were shelved in the New Age section and often interfiled with conspiracy theory writers warning us of deep Reptilian conspiracies and starseeds. Using the word religion and calling it religious poetry in the way I describe subjects in Bowker and the self-publishing distribution venue I’m using (Draft2Digital) is a way of forcing my work onto the bookshelves where I think work like this belongs. It’s nice to have that level of control.

In a few weeks — after another obsessive skim to make sure I’ve caught typos — I’ll make another post describing where to find it. The publication date is October 29, so it’s coming right up.

The Season of Expansion

I.
The void, too, bubbles:
Voidless static sunders us,
swelling years yawn wide.

II.
Follow the lineless
harmony as she builds up —
bursts forth — a new seed.


This morning, I reached the part of The Poem’s Heartbeat about syllable-count verse; Corn mentioned that haiku are generally supposed to be contextualized against the seasons.

While I wrote haiku in my high school planner whenever I was bored in class, we weren’t taught about season words, and this common knowledge escaped me until today. Later on at work, I encountered a book about the future of the universe while sifting through new book lists.

#1 is a haiku about our current cosmic season (swelling years). #2 is about the moments before expansion (the seed).

Skillbuilding in Verse #2: Second Hour of Waking

8 AM — a dull
sky oozing through glass,
storms forecast — a lull
of stillness must pass,

one more hollow hour
before work should start —
rushing to shower,
to speak prayers (by heart

memorized, rooted
and constituted
of tisane and sounds) —
while incense surrounds
and each moment moves
on a clock’s fine grooves.


This morning, I decided to write a poem about the quotidian to solidify some rhyme scheme elements I learned about while working through The Poem’s Heartbeat by Corn. There are other types of rhyming things that I would like to experiment with that were addressed in an earlier chapter, but inspiration is inspiration, and this is the poem that I wrote.

There are some elements of this poem that I like, some that I don’t — but it was fun, especially since I worked from 9 AM – 10 PM today and didn’t manage to get in more than some quick breaks for making and eating meals (and sheltering in my bedroom closet during a 30-minute tornado warning while soothing an agitated cat, which is the exact opposite of relaxing despite technically being a screen break) between answering emails, participating in a Zoom-based half-day training, and combing through Excel and Sharepoint files. Doing creative things is important to me and fills up my self-care tank even when things at work are hectic.

Skillbuilding in Verse (#1)

Most of my poems either go by syllable count, (more or less) iambic pentameter, or a combination. This has been true since I started writing poetry as a child. Iambic pentameter is like a well-loved pair of jeans that you can dress up to go out or dress down to stay in.

For a while now, I’ve been planning to do drills in more formal verse to sharpen my skills — the book The Poem’s Heartbeat: A Manual of Prosody by Alfred Corn has been staring out at me from my bookshelf.

My poetic education consisted of a unit on poetry in fifth grade and, later on, an English major. (I unintentionally specialized in pre-1850s British literature.) I absorbed poetic concepts by subconscious osmosis via analyzing poets like Milton — while analyzing poems, I cared much more about analyzing the imagery and shapes of the sounds, only dabbling into meter when it suited. The fifth-grade unit was enough to get me to a point in my small town where I once won a local poetry competition for my childhood age cohort. College-level lit analysis got me to the point where I can write poems that stand a decent chance of acceptance in literary markets, depending on what the publication needs during the open call. Over the past two years, I have restlessly experimented with new things while putting off drills and exercises as something I would just get around to later.

This week, I started to work through the book, and it’s exciting to get back to formal poetic study after a long while of pushing forward without consulting maps. I’d like to share some of the verses that I’ve composed as practice pieces, rough around the edges and a tad formulaic as a result. I’ve had quite a few ideas for real poems while reading, too, and those notes are being compiled elsewhere.

Please note that The Poem’s Heartbeat doesn’t actually have exercises in it — I’m just composing my own verses as concepts come up as a way of reinforcing them.


Anapestic verse

In the cosmic web dancing out life,
each new journey yet hidden from now,
these hard jumps between worlds every birth
tied to lots spun out deftly by Fates,
give me truth: grant its beauty and love.
These libations I bring in turn back to the Gods,
reciprocity rooting me down,
this devotion unfolding a path
up beyond the line marked by tall trees
where the nymphai wait, showing the way.

Trochaic verse

I don’t actually like composing with trochees on their own. However, for the purposes of study ……

1.
Yoyo stares at me and sweetly purrs,
eyes closing, lounging comfy,
half between awake and knocked out.

2.
Zeus casts lightning down like
breath illumined, angled,
forging icons within
soil like hundred-handers —
fulgurite formations,
fertile nitrate rainfall —
rumbling thunder, shaking
glass, my heart unsteady.

Dactylic verse

Call to the God of the lyre and bow,
swift-moving song rising, greeting him here.
Mark out each rhythm and cut the tune.
Weave all together like francincense
permeates air; Apollon receives.
Each of us holds the enchanting vine
cut and divided, still here in time.
Measure retunes us, intact like strings,
ready receivers of love’s blessings.

Old English-inspired

Halfway through,    hearken to the king,
lightning-rushing    bright and sharp,
the beginning the end    reborn through Zeus.
He ingested all,    filling fecund,
only to disgorge    in opaline wonder.
Fitting to plunge    first and final,
here — the fulcrum    upon the father
of the not-yet,    the never-now
son of ivy,    prince of the winepress.


Beyond these, the book covered two types of feet that are not usually seen on their own in English — spondaic (two strong) and pyrrhic (two weak). I didn’t create any practice verses for those because they are rarely encountered on their own.

We then moved into a chapter on metrical variation.

Metrical variation

1.
(mostly anapestic, a stress variation in the first line)
An offering to Hekate well-placed,
her wood icon alight and alive,
gives retreating old months their farewells.

2.
(mostly iambic, with anapests in lines 1 and 4 and a few trochees and spondees)
In the quiet evening, crickets murmur songs.
How sweet it feels to open windows now
after high summer baked pavement and clung
like eversummer ghosts of winters to come.


One of my lingering questions about syllable counts is whether I should go by the dictionary or by my voice. I know, for instance, that I have tended to treat mirror, error, and prayer as two syllables because the dictionary says that they are. However, in my dialect’s pronunciation, all of them are one syllable (albeit a held one). This first came up when I was editing my poetry for Acts of Speech, which is coming out on October 29, and I decided to leave the verses as they were. Moving forward, I think I will treat words like this as one-syllable, but confine them to stress positions.

I’m Doing a Poetry Book

For many months, I have been working on a poetry collection.

If you have ever asked, “What is a modern Western polytheist response to modern social disintegration and social media?” or if you want to read poems from someone who grew up in Neopaganism and polytheism that range from hymns to reflections on growing up to devotional poetry, you will like this book.

See? The book exists! I am partway through fixing some of the whitespace.

This is my first time doing something like this, and I’m very excited. By the time I’m done, I expect to have learned many lessons about what to do (or not) when I self-publish a few novellas in the coming years. I already know that formatting text is hypnotic, and I love it.

Here is a blurb!

Acts of Speech explores performative, public, and private religious speech and how they construct identity and difference. It blends praise poetry in honor of various Gods, including Apollon, the Mousai, and Mnemosyne, with more private poems in a tense dance of parasociality and intimacy. Above all, it is a time capsule of experiences mediated by words, both the opportunities and the risks they bring.

October 29 is the date selected for its release.

Closer to the date, I’ll make a few more updates about things like cover art. I am also considering an event like reading some of the poems in a livestream on the release day.

Finally, since this is a publication update, if you’re interested in other things I’ve done, please visit my publication page.

Poem in Reckoning 4

General writing update: Yesterday, January 1, Reckoning 4 was released. The literary journal features speculative writing on environmental justice. #4 focuses on challenges with the built environment.

You can look at the Table of Contents and find the links to purchase it here — the ebook is available from Amazon or from Weightless Books ($7), which is a great company that provides ebook transaction and download infrastructure for many small publishers. Here is the link to Weightless Books.

The journal will post one piece per week online (free to read) for the first half of the year, and the print edition will be released in the summer. If you can, I encourage you to buy it to support Reckoning’s mission.

My poem, “After Erysichthon,” will be posted online on April 8, 2020.

The poem was very fun to write, and I can’t wait for you all to read it. So. Go forth! The listing of writers, poets, and essayists is fabulous, and you’re in for a treat. 😁

Lexember 2019: December 25-31

December 25

Heneån /ˈhɛ.nə͡ɔn/, n. Class D. Dampener, as in something that reduces noise. Plural heneåmuaHeneåni, dampenedAheneånit, to dampen, to reduce noisinessHeneånịfua, earplugs.

Ịf /ɪf/, n. Class N. Ear.

Mė nihata miha ćofi hėa vo mėis shassåham heneånịfua.
I had no mental clarity and wanted earplugs.

Ịfua mėi sėin rer gianit shitarasuo.
My ears rang due to the loud noise/clash.

December 26

Ålị /ˈɔ.lɪ/, n. Class N. MirrorÅli /ˈɔ.li/, mirroredAhålit /ʌ.ˈɦɔ.lit̪/, to reflect. Reflexive, to mirror

Mịhålịreflection
Mịhålireflective
Auhålịghost
Sheihålịpool or other small reflective body of water
Hohålịstone with high reflectivity.

Vė vas ålaim. 
Le is likely mirroring me.

Go mėi pesuram ålị vo daiahem danėa khelesu.
My mother brought a mirror and placed it in the bag.

The phrase adaiahit danėa does not precisely mean placed in. It indicates that the item in question is at the most crucial point of the bag, likely the center and at the bottom. It means placed stonewise.

December 27

Today, I realized that I had an under-sampling of words ending in l in my lexicon, so for the remainder of December, you will see a lot of single- and dual-syllable words that attempt to ameliorate that.

Lual /lu͡ɑl/, n. Class N. SpiralLualispiral-likeintricateorderlyAlualaitto spiral, to move in a spiral pattern

Ailualcircuitry, class A. 
Holual, natural patterns that are like spirals. 
Selualcommitment
Aselualaitto commit, to promise, to submit to fate.

Ćå khutam ruhekouris nia kesh moluoniem thionna luali mokhanami.
You went to the embroiderer and you (pl.) discussed an intricate spiraling pattern.

December 28

Tail /t̪a͡ɪl/, n. Class D. A sense of nervousnessTailinervous

Mịtailshudder
Amịtalitto shudder
Hotail, an atmosphere of foreboding or like something bad has happened. 
Aitail, biofeedback tech that help with anxiety and nervousness. 
Åihetail, a sense of ease after a time of turbulence. 
Ahåihetailit, to set/put at ease.

Kesh theniem amodahit kein ouvi helai Peimes Åihauthuyivanuafi sheirauptu taileyu ñir.
You (pl.) practiced fearless speaking because the Reclaimed Zone always saturates everyone with nervousness.

December 29

Håćajua /ɦɔ.ˈt͡ʃɑ.ʒuɑ/, n. Class A. RationHåćajuayirationedAhåćajuayit, to ration

Håćajua mėish haovala ossuet.
/ɦɔ.ˈt͡ʃɑ.ʒuɑ ˈmɛʔ.iʃ ɦɑ͡o.ˈvɑ.lʌ ˈo͡ʊʂ.u͡ɛt̪/
Our ration includes cooking oil.

December 30

Juapålon /ʒu͡ɑ.ˈpɔ.loʊn/, n. Class N. Century, lit. 144 years due to base 12. Colloquial word for hundred is påloh /ˈpɔ.loʊx/.
Ajait /ˈɑ.ʒaɪt̪/, v. To stand.
Peosė /ˈpɛ͡o.sə/, n. Class D. Street.
Kapti /ˈkʼɑ.pti/, adj. Necessary.
Sioh /si͡ox/, n. Class N. SweatSiohisweaty, laboriousAsiohait, to labor, to sweat.

I did these words so I could translate the first sentence of The Raised Seal (as it stands right now) into Tveshi:

Centuries ago, in a grand, cavernous house on Haokaru Street, the man who ended the Blackout had a nightmare, as all great people who have done terrible, necessary things do, and surged awake with a scream.

This becomes:

Meshemui juapålomua, lepė jam Peosesu Haokaru so thaufoiyi olayi lepė jen porekouri otvi peakherapu vas aroem, onnė vo vasa aroia jinna otayi ler kouriagị sifuimua authuayi kapti, nia vė tam shitaranu vo sakinem.

Here is a literal translation:

Away from us centuries, there stood a house cavernous massive where ending-person man Blackout nightmared, in the way that nightmare people great that-who fashion terrible and necessary things, and awakened crashingly and screamed.

It’s good for me to do complex sentences because I find Tveshi dependent clauses challenging to logic out, and the opening sentence of The Raised Seal has a lot of them. It’s noteworthy that the way one says the man who ended the Blackout is the word porė with the -kouri (worker) suffix, followed by man in adjective form (otvi) and the word Blackout (peakhera) in genitive form. The verb to have a nightmare is the reflexive form of the verb aroit. The second time, the word for in the way that, onnė, is followed by the construction onnė vo vasa aroia jinna otayi to indicate in the way that great people have nightmares, where vo refers to jinna otayi (great people), not to the porekouri. The exercise was as useful as expected.

December 31

Vol /vo͡ʊl/, n. Class D. Closet, storage roomAvolit, to store, to put in storage. Reflexively, to stop thinking about

Enavol, storage room in a temple complex that houses offerings and other things belonging to the God. 
Mịvolmorgue
Vouvolstorage bin.

Fal /fɑl/, n. Class A. Band, tie. Falibanded, tiedAfalitto band, to tie

Mịfalepėbandage, wrap, from body-band-health. 
Aumịfal, a wrap for covering the dead before cremation. 
Falaijueheadband

Sefal, restraints, cuffs
Asefalitto restrain, to cuff
Iafalreligious devotion, seen in the reflexive verb ayiafalait

Kesar vas iafalam Enashisha vo gaigat teishinu ianoñapuić aimehio.
Kesar was devoted to Enashisha and had habitually prayed to the God at small shrines.

And that’s Lexember.

Ending 2019

Number of poems written: ~35, most for Acts of Speech.

This can only ever be approximate because I often write verses that are not properly poems or poems in the margins of documents or planner pages without transferring them anywhere else.

Fiction words written: 119,000

  • Ossia: 117,000 words
  • The Seven Papers, Book 3: 2,000 words

I am so excited to revise Ossia. It’s going to be some beautiful hieropoeia, but for now, the dough must rest.

Project progress

  • Lexember 2019: Finished editing and revising the extant Tveshi lexicon and began adding new words again.
  • KALLISTI: 85 posts, likely 115,000 words once one removes all of the XML chatter from the file export.
  • The Seven Papers: Not much progress because I prioritized finishing Ossia, which may now actually be part of The Seven Papers proper.
  • I re-edited The Forest of Strong Branches and A Matter of Oracles, two novellas.

Time

The Good

  • 106 hours spent in Scrivener
  • 100 hours spent in WordPress
  • 21 hours spent in Typora
  • 18 hours spent in TextMate

The Horrifying

  • 400 hours on social media, 338 of them on Twitter — the majority before the end of July, as I went on hiatus in August

Discussion

I only set actionable goals. It’s readily apparent that, if I can write 119,000 words in Scrivener by spending about a hundred hours there, I can shift a lot of time from social media into writing. After going on hiatus — when the autumn semester started — a lot of my time was spent writing a paper on the 2019 Nobel prizewinners, not creative writing, so I can salvage that time to devote to my writing projects.

Managing my time via RescueTime — and looking at the feedback it gives me — provides a stark, concrete view of something we already know: People spend too much time on social media, and none of us have to be there. I’m closing out the year by reading Ten Arguments for Deleting Your Social Media Accounts by Jaron Lanier, and while I disagree with how he’s presenting about 1-3% of his arguments, social media has a chilling effect on important human creativity because it distracts us with hyper-segmentation (my word for “tribalism” because one should not use the word tribalism to describe this — go with hypersegs and hypersegging if you really want something short and sweet) and horrific levels of divisiveness.

Everything, even the good things, eventually becomes miasmic there because the algorithms are designed to push our buttons and to hyperseg us so they can keep our eyeballs on device. Very occasionally, good interactions happen — I love the polytheist and conlang communities, and I love it when people post interesting cultural threads, but those moments of brightness are so overshadowed. I highly recommend reading this book alongside Cal Newport’s Digital Minimalism and a focused listen to the episodes of Your Undivided Attention and The Happiness Lab.

I only want to spend my time doing things that are healing and important, like writing hieropoeia that blends polytheistic thought and theology with far-future science fiction to tell beautiful and edifying stories, or like writing blog posts on KALLISTI that help people feel less intimidated about difficult things like learning a new style of religious worship or reading philosophy, or writing poetry. When I consume media, I want it to be beautiful things that I can get excited about sharing with other people — things that bring cohesion and a sense of stability that buffers the mind against the horrors humanity has made of the twenty-first century.

Lanier writes:

[Algorithm-driven, hypersegging social media (BUMMER) companies want] you to think that without BUMMER there would be no devices, no Internet, no support groups to help you through hard times, but that is a lie. It is a lie you celebrate and reinforce when you use BUMMER, just as someone who attends a corrupt church is supporting its corruption.

Jaron Lanier, Ten Arguments for Deleting Your Social Media Accounts Right Now, p. 139/185.

And Cal Newport has written:

The techno-philosopher Jaron Lanier convincingly argues that the primacy of anger and outrage online is, in some sense, an unavoidable feature of the medium: In an open marketplace for attention, darker emotions attract more eyeballs than positive and constructive thoughts. For heavy Internet users, repeated interaction with this darkness can become a source of draining negativity — a steep price that many don’t even realize they’re paying to support their compulsive connectivity.

Cal Newport, Digital Minimalism, p. 8-9/300

The best thing to do is to not use it and to find other places. This is challenging because many of the communities I am in are physically decentralized, but the crux is that one just cannot be online in this way — at least not for very long — if one wants to do mentally exhausting and rewarding creative work. While I won’t delete my account, I’m not going to be there that often, and I am actively looking for alternatives to that awful place.

I’m also closing out the year by reading a Platonic commentary on Plato’s Cratylus. It’s a much happier experience than reading social media backlash polemics.

Writing Goals for 2020

  • Write at a rate of 700 words per day, unless I write a poem — one poem will count for one day of writing. At maximum, since 2020 is a leap year, this will mean 256,200 prose-words. If I write 52 poems, it will be 219,800 prose-words. This is a sustainable, actionable goal, and I can hit it in about 200 Scrivener hours.
    • I will set aside time on Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays to write. Mondays and Fridays are difficult because I usually do household things on those days, and I will get back into batch cooking on Monday nights and batch cleaning on Friday nights. The max of my goal range is only about 5,000 words/week.
  • Draft the story of Deisis. Deisis is the primary character in Books 3 and 7 of The Seven Papers, and I’ve just about brainstormed how to make these books happen from start to finish.
  • Outline and write half of House of the Naiades. This book is not related to The Seven Papers, but is a modern fantasy ode to growing up in Neopaganism. It’s kind of like Zanoni meets American Gods and From the Dust Returned set to the song “Hotel California.”
  • Publish Acts of Speech on June 17. This is the book of poetry I’ve been working on, and that is my birthday. I have dreaded my birthday since I was quite young (not due to getting older), but maybe if I turn it into a publishing day, those feelings will change or at least become less about my birthday.

I don’t have many publishing goals in 2020. While I will continue to submit poems for publication, I’ve decided that submitting short stories and novellas to the markets is not a productive use of my time. The only story I have gotten published was connected to Earth, and it was published after only a few rejections; I’m just not that interested in writing stories connected to Earth, so I have to make a choice between things I enjoy and things the markets take. House of the Naiades is an exception to this, and it could realistically be attractive to traditional markets.

In 2019, I posted The Waterfall Commune to this blog, which is a good example of the type of fiction I’m interested in writing. In 2020, I may revise and post a few other stories set on Ameisa to Pangrammatikê. In 2020 or 2021, I may self-publish my two novellas. Acts of Speech is a good test run because a poetry chapbook is less complicated and far less expensive to put out there.

So, that’s where I’m at right now. Happy New Year!

Lexember 2019: December 16-24

December 16

Today’s word showcases some stuff I talked about back in 2017 — namely, that the articles in Tveshi occasionally signify the difference between a general concept and a specific concept. In the opposite sense, something specific can become a general concept by adding the prefix si-, which is evident from many of the words I have worked on this year.

Ua /u͡ɑ/, n. Class D. Reason, cognitionOhua femị /ˈo͡ʊ.xu͡ɑ/, a reason.

Uayi /ˈu͡ɑ.ji/, reasoned
Oihua /ˈo͡i.xu͡ɑ/, motivation.
Mịhua /ˈmɪ.xu͡ɑ/, brain (Class A).

Thuyihua /θu.ˈji.xu͡ɑ/, maladaptive reasoning
Aiahua /ˈaɪ͡a.xu͡ɑ/, irrationality
Aiahuayi /aɪ͡a.ˈxu͡ɑ.ji/, irrational

And now for a sentence — we all know that sleep is important, and this is how you say so in Tveshi.

Mịhua shassåhauptu tofa helenai jen hat epena. 
/ˈmɪ.xu͡ɑ ʃʌ.ʂɔ.ˈha͡ʊ.ptu ˈt̪oʊ.fʌ hə.ˈlɛ.na͡ɪ ʒɛn hɑt̪ ə.ˈpɛ.nʌ/
The brain needs sleep to be healthy.

December 17

Uei /ue͡ɪ/, n. Class A. HarmonyUeihi /ˈue͡ɪ.xi/, harmoniousAu̇eit /ˈɑʔ.ue͡ɪt̪/, to harmonize, to bring into harmony. Reflexively, to reform the self, to self-correct.

Enau̇ei /ə.ˈnʌ.ʔue͡ɪ/, the harmony of the Gods. 
Iau̇ei /ˈiɑ.ʔue͡ɪ/, chordal sequences used in religious worship.

Kaiau̇ei /ˈkʼaɪ͡aʔ.ue͡ɪ/, harmony in love
Mịu̇ei /ˈmɪʔ.ue͡ɪ/, well-being
Aiau̇ei /ˈaɪ͡aʔ.ue͡ɪ/, discord
Aiau̇eiyi /aɪ͡aʔ.ˈue͡ɪ.ji/, discordant
Uhaiau̇ei /u.ˈɦaɪ͡aʔ.ue͡ɪ/, dissonance
Uhaiau̇eiyi /u.ɦaɪ͡aʔ.ˈue͡ɪ.ji/, dissonant

Mė mėis ueiem fuimua ukhịnni gịshịptis.
/mɛ ˈmɛ.ʔis ˈue͡ɪ.əm ˈfu͡i.mu͡ɑ u.ˈʀɪ̃.ði gɪ.ˈʃɪ.ptis./
I self-corrected my actions while studying.

December 18

Ueilė /ˈue͡i.lə/, n. Class D. VeilUeili /ˈue͡i.li/, veiledAhueilit /ˈʌ.xue͡i.lit̪/, to veil.

Iahueilė /i͡ɑ.ˈxue͡i.lə/, any veil worn in a religious context. Iahueilė ịgesahji /i͡ɑ.ˈxue͡i.lə ɪ.gə.ˈsɑ.ʝi/, Ịgzarhjenya veil, the veils that young women who are Ịgzarhjenya wear before marriage. I also conlanged the word for the Ịgzarhjenya ethnic group in Tveshi, which I hadn’t done before. Tveshi has very few consonant clusters and often simplifies Narahji loanwords.

Ahåihueilit /ˈʌ.ɦɔ͡i.xue͡i.lit̪/, to unveil, to bring to happy completion, to start anew. In Tveshi culture, since veils are used in some types of ceremonies related to milestones — and to the south by the Ịgzarhjenya to mark that an unmarried woman (or girl past menarche) is saving hair to offer for the marriage sacrifice — the mental associations with veiling tend to be related to pride, happiness, and completion.

Mė ueilem enasaupu.
/mɛ ˈue͡i.ləm ə.nʌ.ˈsa͡ʊ.pu/
I veiled during the procession.

December 19

The entry was short today because I had a lot going on. My girlfriend wound up in the hospital, and I was very scared and uncertain about things, so it was hard to focus.

Ulait /ˈu.la͡ɪt̪/, v. To wander, to roam. Akaiahulait /ʌ.kʼaɪ͡a.ˈxu.la͡ɪt̪/, to avoid one’s feelings, especially intense ones, or the things that can make one happy.

December 20

I wrote this entry in the middle of the night after getting back from the hospital and before falling asleep. I was so fatigued that I didn’t even realize that I was at the finishing point for the dictionary/lexicon cleanup I’d started a few years ago — all of the words past December 20 are brand new, as in they aren’t being cleaned up from my ineffective notes. Most of the original conlang work on Tveshi that I’ve done is via derivative words using prefixes (and some suffixes) or creating new phrases and idioms based on the noun bases.

Yanna /ˈjɑ̃.ðʌ/, n. Class D. TruthOyanna /oʊ.ˈjɑ̃.ðʌ/, Truth, idealized form. Ayannit /ʌ.ˈjɑ̃.ðit̪/, to reveal, to uncover, to bring something to light

Nuayanna /nu͡ɑ.ˈjɑ̃.ðʌ/, uncomfortable truth. Siyanna /si.ˈjɑ̃.ðʌ/, truthfulnessYanni /ˈjɑ̃.ði/, truthful

Mesh yanniai oteishua fem opta keusi. 
We will uncover the best morning routines. 

Fuimua nothi rer yannit. 
Evil deeds were uncovered/brought to light.

December 21

The first of many new words. 🌅 Also, my girlfriend was released from the hospital and decided to come to my place.

Yiånnịñah /ji͡ɔ̃.ˈðɪ.ɲʌx/, n. Class N. Boundary between built-up areas and natural wild places. More recently applied to the parts of human-occupied space that are near planets to denote their liminal status.

December 22

Late Saturday night, my girlfriend was readmitted to the ER. I wrote this entry after a night of no sleep, and on Sunday, I decided to stay awake as long as possible to reset my circadian rhythm. She was released early Sunday evening.

I let out a lot of steam via conlanging and discovered that I had no word for hospital or for hospital ward, so I made two words. I also made a word for neurology and a new suffix for study of, based on gịsh, the word for study-(v)ịsh. Both of my sisters ended up in the hospital with pregnancy complications last year, so I figured out how to describe maternity sections, too.

Ịmes /ˈɪ.məs/, Class D. Area, sectionAyịmesitto section off. Reflexively, to be discreet about.

Ịmes mịhuayịsevịshi, neurology section
Ịmes iagafuinimaternity section, with the ia- prefix to denote that maternity hospitals are on temple grounds. 

Enayịmes, temple precinct. 
Heneyịmesi, an adjective to describe something that has broken boundaries. 
Uyịmes, labyrinth. 
Uyịmesi, labyrinthine. 

Mė mėis ịmesa ćovai thåtohi. 
I am discreet about my private thoughts.

Ćaiña /ˈt͡ʃa͡ɪ.ɲʌ/, n. Class D. HospitalAćaiñait /ʌ.ˈt͡ʃa͡ɪ.ɲa͡ɪt̪/, to be in the hospital; passively, something/someone located in the hospital

Åsseka ohepeni ćaiñañị.
Medical books are located in the hospital.

December 23

Khut /ʀut̪/, n. Class N. A walk, a promenadeKhuti /ˈʀu.t̪i/, walking, adj., as in iasau khutia walking pilgrimageAkhutait /ʌ.ˈʀu.t̪a͡ɪt̪/, to walk

Sikhutmobility; adj. sikhuti
Henesikhutnonmobility; adj. henekhuti.  
Ohenesikhutimmobility; adj. ohenesikhuti
Aoakhut, the movement of plants and blood-vining organisms. 
Ahaoakhutait poråsėato plant-move/grow towards the sun

Aovutua aoakhutamị poråsėa.
The ivies crept towards the sun.

December 24

Khassa /ˈʀɑ.ʂʌ/, n. Class D. Game. Khassi /ˈʀɑ.ʂi/, gamelike. Akhassit /ʌ.ˈʀɑ.ʂit̪/, to game, to play something structured with rules. 

Sikhassa /si.ˈʀɑ.ʂʌ/, gaming, when taken as a whole, adj. sikhassi /si.ˈʀɑ.ʂi/. 

Sikhassa kuaća ćuhị vo lịfa jinna vasa kouriagị othåtotei.
Gaming helps the yearning for human touch when people are isolated.

Utom /ˈu.to͡ʊm/, n. Class D. CardUtomi /u.ˈto͡ʊ.mi/, flat, card-likeUncertain, as in up to chance like a card game. Owned, but separable/unstableAhutomit /ʌx.u.ˈto͡ʊ.mit̪/, to cardto place faith in something unstable

Ćå utoma mefamoć, nia aratịkourić lopė nideohåria khaya hėi. 
You-formal-sing place faith in laws, and politicians here do not respect honor.