Lexember 2020: Coming to the End

Day 23

Kño /kɲõ/, package.
Gnabikño /gnɑ.bi.ˈkɲõ/, warehouse district.
Kñoäi /kɲõ.ha͜ɪ/, to pack. This becomes to send if the object takes the -ös suffix.

Il ịmlatyas mes Tærin ademlzabe il kño åku.
Your (pl.) packages are in [the Goddess] Tærin’s hands now.

The verb to be is conjugated informally with the ade instead of glabde stem, with the mlza plural third person subject and the immediate present marker -be (which is where the now comes from). I didn’t have a great way to do indirect proper nouns possessively because the possessive is a prefix, not a suffix. I played around with some options before deciding that mos- becomes mes /məs/ when there is a proper noun for the indirect object, a standalone word that is never stressed.

Day 24

Muf /muf/, violet.
Ad /ɑd/, indigo.
Dema /də.ˈmɑ/, faded.

Kul mora ramuf tsurhjas narosaịrru.
kul mo.ˈrɑ rɑ.ˈmuf ˈt͜suɾ.ʝɑs ˈnɑɾ.os.ˌɑ.ɪʁu
I dried violet-colored flowers for you.

Ku mekæl sevbuhja ademl t’ad lịdema.
ku mə.ˈkæl səv.bu.ˈʝɑ ɑd.ˈɛm.l̩ tɑd lɪ.də.ˈmɑ
Faded indigo is like the sky.

I decided that the word ku sev, likeness/image, could also be used as a preposition when it takes the suffix -buhja, ablative/causal.

Day 25

Rrænä /ʁæ.ˈnɑ̤/ 1. nosy,  2. Surveilled. From rræ (neck) and näd (bad, inconvenient). This adjective/adverb more faithfully means bad-necking, where having a long neck is a metaphor for being able to see into places one ordinarily couldn’t (or shouldn’t).

Dok tzëla ku sokez lịrrænä.
The surveilled painting hangs there.

Ku såbäbhle ransahælaerro tịrre lịrrænä.
Suppose the nosy government official had asked lim about the tapestry.
Alt. The nosy government official could have asked lim about the tapestry.

The Narahji language has a hypothetical verb mood, which can be used to describe hypotheticals and as an evidentiality marker. (There’s also an expectant verb mood.) Here, I’ve translated it two different ways, which would depend on the context. Adding a sentence-sentiment particle like nex (a negative intensifier) would more solidly place this sentence in the former category.

Day 26

Abher /ɑβ.ˈɛɾ/, bitter.
Båbher /bɑβ.ˈɛɾ/, astringent

I hjenga rabher ademl moza.
Malasė is a bitter fruit.

Malasė is a starchy, bitter fruit that is found in the canyon regions of the world I created. It is used in some types of foods as a starch or binder, and it can also be used in tanning in larger quantities and extracts. Its Narahji name is moza.

Amskobhle åbhi agnomla omabher.
Le lies bitterly about our (exclusive) matriarch.

Narahji has inclusive and exclusive we/our.

Day 27

Irei /i.ˈɾe͡ɪ/, sad, down.
Måbhei /mɔ.ˈβe͡ɪ/, sorrow.

I made the noun by combining the adjective-to-noun prefix måv- with irei. The v + ir became bh and yielded the word as it stands. I’ve tried to get more organic (yet methodical) over the past few weeks creating new words in Narahji regarding sound combinations — instead of just tacking things on like I once did, I’m trying to figure out what makes the most sense sound-wise for words when I know a specific prefix will be common in usage.

Ku sukalv rapirei megnlosaịrru ịkur.
ku su.ˈkɑlv rɑ.pi.ɾe͡ɪ mə.ˈɲlo.sɑ.ɪʁ.u ɪ.ˈkuɾ
I hated sad [secular] songs once.

I mädnu karræla i måbhei.
i mɑ̤d.ˈnu kɑ.ˈʁæ.lɑ i mɔ.βe͜ɪ
Sorrow floats on heart-pain.

Day 28

Taixt /ta͡ɪçt/, meditation.

Rebhuhjas i taixt tæyssa omtehj.
ɾə.ˈβu.ʝɑs i ta͡ɪçt ˈtæ͡ɪ.sːɑ om.ˈtɛʝ
I number meditation as necessary for every person.

Day 29

Uv /uv/, anger.
Uväi /uv.ha͡ɪ/, to anger.
Duv /duv/, 1. angry. 2. aggravated

Virämla ku lịtä lịduv.
The aggravated injury hurts.

To say that one is angry, uv is used with the verb to swelltsubhit, with the indirect object marker -mä for partitive/compositional case: 

K’uvmä tsubhssa. 
I swell with anger.

Day 30

Nob /no͜ʊb/, energetic.
Vel /vɛl/, loud.

Paxl omso kul kækå lịnob.
Energetic children play intensely.

Paxl omvel kul kækå lịnob.
Energetic children play loudly.

Paxl ombåtebh kul kækå lịnob nex ……
Energetic children play suspiciously silently ……

Day 31

I made the prefix ber-, which translates (loosely) to un.

Berdanai /bəɾ.dɑ.ˈna͜ɪ/, to leave the presence of, to leave the attention of.
Bertsäi /bəɾ.ˈt͡sa̤͜ɪ/, to disturb something.
Berit /bəɾ.ˈit/, to grant permission.
Berxat /bəɾ.ˈçɑt/, small, lightweight
Yiberxat /ji.bəɾ.ˈçɑt/dainty

Il benümæda kyanberdanosa.
I am leaving the attention of you all for some months.

I bịdåbuhja bertsösa.
I disturbed the dust.

Ademl i bæk lịyiberxat.
It is dainty.

And that’s it for Lexember 2020 and for 2020 as a whole. It’s been a good month. Thank you so much for reading my conlanging things! I will be back to poetry sometime in January or February.

Lexember 2020: Week 3

Day 16

Välit /vɑ̤.ˈlit/, 1. to focus; 2. to carve; 3. to sharpen.
Elt /ɛlt/, repetitive.
Ënselt /ɛ̝̤n.ˈsɛlt/, monotonous.

Il loft välssarri kolbhe.
I [will/expect to] sharpen the knives tomorrow.

Diphya ovälzabeneu?
Why can’t you all focus right now?

I tæsonas lịrelt välssa omnivæk.
I focus best with repetitive music.

Day 17

Vögnar /vo̤g.ˈnɑɾ/, climate.  From xovöair, and narlife, with the compound link -g-.
Vögnaradrak /vo̤g.ˈnɑɾ.ɑd.ˌɾɑk/, thermostat.

I ümi bæk agla ku vögnar Narahjịkmu.
The Great Canyons’ climate prohibits much snow.

Day 18

Mëra /mɛ̤̝.ˈɾɑ/, sign. 
Yịsamëra /jɪ.sɑ.mɛ̤̝.ˈɾɑ/, omen.
Nor /no͜ʊɾ/, 1. herbage. 2. A sign of flourishing.

I norbuhja ademlza il næba lịpål.
Full storerooms are a sign of flourishing.

Tarramlbe omnag i nor — ku yịsamëra näd.
Foliage is dying when it’s not supposed to — a bad omen.

Day 19

Uro /u.ˈɾo͜ʊ/, impression, as in the impression of a seal in wax. 2. Woodcut print, rubbing, or other image impressed onto a surface. 3. Form, manifestation, instantiated pattern.

I uro-æ̈ ademl ku phyatax lịbås?
Is the visible universe an impression?

Isen /i.ˈsɛn/, mold, casting, pattern. 2. Habit (behavioral). 3. Underlying structure.

I isen ranäd ademl kul su lịtönak.
Constant engagement with current events is a bad habit.

Kul su lịtönak literally means staying-current eyes.

Day 20

Xur /çuɾ/, 1. wiry, lean. 2. Uncomfortable.
Id /id/, chair.

T’id raxur domæla dok ku yịsapị.
That temple shrine has uncomfortable chairs.

Ku bexyë raxur t’umidas domælabe batsir båtịrre.
This adviser now has a wiry plant in the window.

Day 21

Ori /o.ˈɾi/, dough.
Ixo /i.ˈço͜ʊ/, fried.

Ku ori ranixo ku taxesgenahaitsidas ñudl Sabahjen.
The Sabaji eat fried dough at the winter solstice.

And today marks the winter solstice and Yule in Earth’s northern hemisphere, so here are two sentences to communicate the joys of the season:

Ku yịsanä Enaähjas rịbhozafịrra ïma i tsabakhjas karnibh. 
Give the Sun an incense offering today for good luck!

Ku hjịbå æ ku tsimædxå kyurhjas tenösa mær padåmänbåbæk.
Wishing you all light and happiness on this darkest night.

Day 22

Dzedzai /d͜zə.ˈd͜za͡ɪ/, to waffle, to be indecisive.

Dzedzoza av klåzmlbe ku kol. Tarramlzaịrra, yibæn tarramlzaerra kul tsir.
You are waffling, and time passes (lit. dances). People will die, forget people might die.

Lexember 2020: Week 2

Day 8

Kabsi /kɑb.ˈsi/, to light. Irregular root kazi /kɑ.ˈzi/
Osnet /os.ˈnɛt/, destruction.

K’ibånibhe kazisus.
We (excl.) lit the oil lamp.

Kazi æ kaz nakyæla Sabahjen — bhet i besun æ i kaza, i osnet æ k’ega.
The Sabaji Tveshi confuse [the words] to light [kazi] and wet [kaz] — thus fire and water, destruction and birth.

Day 9

Ịbsje /ɪb.ˈʝɛ/ 1. An arduous task. 2. A task that someone doesn’t want to do. 3. Someone a person is avoiding. 4. Spam message. 5. Busywork, usu. with prefix bhu- to make bhukịbsje /βu.ɪb.ˈʝɛ/.

Ku jeigëtsædoabhle mandanmælaịrru k’ịbsje.
The one I was avoiding pulled me into a convo about uni.

Kal ịbsjebuhja kịneizössa ku fæsnå ku kabismä.
The politics of breadwinning women gives us (incl) pause [freezes us] on account of the heavy work.

Day 10

Ịbai /ɪb.ˈaɪ/, to suck
Danmåvịbsuction
Bịmåvịb, sucker, as in the sucker on an animal. 

Nibhæ̈ glabdemlbe ku danmåvịb?
/ni.βæ̤ glɑb.ˈdɛ.ml.bə ku dɑn.mɔ.ˈvɪb/
Is the suction good?

Day 11

Æb /æb/, wide, broad. See kæl for a close synonym.
Æbit /æb.ˈit/ 1. To widen. 2. To extend an argument beyond the initial parameters. 3. To provide an out.

I bịnar ralæf domæla ku bizar lịbæb.
The wide river has thick vegetation.

Day 12

Dzo /d͡zo͜ʊ/, supple, malleable, flexible.

Lịdzo ademl iku ku gaxubë.
That committee is flexible.

Melë /mə.ˈlɛ̤/. celestial vault, sphere of the sky. Adjective melscelestial.
Ædzhje, /æd͡z.ˈʝɛ/, clay.

Ku tsorhjen ramels ædzhjemä ofæhjozmịrrabæn.
Never make a celestial divine image out of clay.

Day 13

Tzal /t͜zɑl/, gaudyin bad taste.

I baphaiyum ratzal bhædlịrru.
They built a gaudy satellite home.

Tzëit /t͜zə̤.ˈit/, to hang.

Tzëlarrị ku mora t’umidas.
The flower likely hung in the window.

Day 14

Ud /ud/, wreath, both adj and n. 
Änud /ɑ̤n.ˈud/, unadorned, plain.

Il ud ku taxesgenahaitsidas tzëlịrra ku pho.
My family will hang wreaths at the winter solstice.

Ukit /u.ˈkit/, to encircle.

Kul moratyas tsanukzaerroịts.
You possibly encircled yourself with flowers.

Day 15

Üd /ṳd/, arch. 
Üdxe /ṳd.ˈçɛ/, archway.

Il üd ruadåmskez domæla i baphaiyum.
The satellite home has painted arches.

Ademl t’ud i üdxedas.
The wreath is in the archway.

Lexember 2020: Week 1

This Lexember, I decided to work on Narahji because I felt like it was neglected. Here’s what I’ve been adding to my lexicon.

Day 1

Tson /t͡so͜ʊn/, artwork. Hjutson /ʝu.ˈt͡so͜ʊn/, the study of art, art theory, art critique.

Tsodzo /t͡so.ˈd͡zo͜ʊ/, mass entertainment, art for pleasure, often derogatory.

Oëmatsa /o.e̤.mɑ.ˈtsɑ/, a word to describe art that seems like it really gets at something.

I tsodzo ozolzosaneu, lel il tson yịsapịmu zolzosa. Glabdezyum lịxev!
I don’t enjoy crass art, I enjoy temple art. Be serious!

Day 2

Sevsa /səv.ˈsɑ/, Digital image, photo, video presence, esp. moving (video) or still (photo). Ves /vɛs/,  video conversationvesxus /ˈvɛs.xus/, lit. through vid (perlative case marker -xus), idiomatically translated on vid

Vesxus fyandanmos.
We (excl.) have them (sing.) on vid.

Kul sevsa kul kækåmä åtsu dzösaịrru.
I hunted for images of your (sing.) children.

Day 3

Yeb /jɛb/, bed.
Niät /ni.ˈɑ̤t/, cozy, luxurious, soft.
Bær /bæɾ/, intensifier.
Nex /nɛç/, A particle that appears at the end of the sentence, usually indicating that whatever happened was not positive.

Ku vomnas manatsösaịm nex.
I faceplanted.

Libhog glabdeml nex.
It’s a horrid green.

I yeb raniät momu manatsäiịm tenösabeli bær.
All I want is to be in my cozy bed. Lit. I wholeheartedly desire laying myself down in my cozy bed.

Libhog glabdeml i yeb bær.
The bed’s legit/all/totes green.

Day 4

Tebh /tɛβ/, quiet
Båtebh /bɒ.ˈtɛβ/, silent.

Lịtebh glabdeml i sæb nex.
The lake is eerily quiet.

Båtai /bɒ.ˈtaɪ/, to silence, to quiet. Reflexively, to fall silent

Ku tsærbịhjas manbåtosaịm.
I fell silent according to the religious custom.

Day 5

Sot /soʊt/, garland.

Il sot toblịrru tæsokri.
il soʊt tob.ˈlɪ.ʁu tæ.ˈsoʊ.kɾi
The musicians held garlands.

Day 6

Tamga /tɑm.ˈgɑ/, soap

Il ịmla i tamganas kovozmịrra.
il ɪm.ˈlɑ i tɑm.ˈgɑ.nɑs ˈkoʊv.oz.mɪ.ʁɑ
Wash your (plural) hands with soap.

Day 7

Toxklei /ˈtoc͜ç.leɪ/, to watch. Irregular root toxa.
Eiz /eɪz/, limited.
Ịg /ɪg/, unlimited.

Kul ịgzardas Saämatsra bå osnit ku ktuzëmä Såbäkolösxus ranläntoxaml ku eiz æ ku ịg.
Saämatsra stands upon the steep cliffs and watches limself ripped apart into Såbäkol, limit and unlimited.

I also did some grammatical things because I had to figure out something with osnit ku ktuzëmä, a phrase that literally means “to rip apart composed of spirit-being” in this context, and I decided that the partitive -mä suffix could be used to deflect from the subject to a verb when it is used as a noun in the infinitive.

To get another sense of what I mean, try this sentence:

Natsit il ñeifämä ranmohjuml nex.
nɑ.ˈt͡sit. il ɲʲeɪ.ˈfɑ̤.ma̤ ɾɑn.mo.ˈʝu.mɫ nɛç.
Le understands limself [as] falling ruinously bookish.

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.

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.

Lexember 2019: December 8-15

December 8

Sau /sa͡ʊ/, n. Class D.  JourneySauyi /ˈsa͡ʊ.ji/, relating to journeys. Asauyit /ʌ.ˈsa͡ʊ.jit̪/, to travel.

Iasaupilgrimage
Nusauyiculturally astute, well-traveled
Nusaukourisomeone who has made traveling a profession
Enasaureligious procession
Sauyåssị, any god to whom one prays for journey-related reasons. 
Saukhialight-distance, or the journey light takes from one place to another. 
Efịsau, hotel, hostel, or other room where a journeyer stays
Fågoim sauyi, a traveling teacher, typically a religious officiant or philosopher. 

Sau mėi vat kossori para mė noahet efịsauć shitarahi.
My journey was monotonous, except I hated the loud hotel rooms.

December 9

Shovė /ˈʃo͡ʊ.və/, n. Class N. Shore.

Ashovė /ʌ.ˈʃo͡ʊ.və/, inspiration after a long, fallow period.
Akaiashovit /ʌ.kʼaɪ͡a.ˈʃo͡ʊ.vit̪/, to stand someone up, as in not show up for an appointment or social function despite saying one would be there.
Anuashovit /ʌ.nʊ͡ɑ.ˈʃo͡ʊ.vit̪/, to beach, negative sense.
Ashovit /ʌ.ˈʃo͡ʊ.vit̪/, to beach, positive or neutral sense.

Gịssåt ret shovit nia vė mohuyem vannuonehio ratịtu.
/ˈgɪ.ʂɔt̪ rɛt̪ ˈʃo͡ʊ.vit̪ ni͡ɑ vɛ mo͡ʊ.ˈxu.jəm vʌ̃.ðʊ͡o.ˈnɛ.xio͡ʊ rʌ.ˈt̪ɪ.t̪ʊ./
The boat was beached and le wrote a letter to a/the sister.

December 10

Thåtotei /θɔ.ˈt̪o͡ʊ.t̪ɛ͡ɪ/, n. Class A. LonelinessThåtoti /θɔ.ˈt̪o͡ʊ.t̪i/, alone

Aithåtotei /a͡ɪ.θɔ.ˈt̪o͡ʊ.t̪ɛ͡ɪ/, digital isolation
Iathåtotei /i͡ɑ.θɔ.ˈt̪o͡ʊ.t̪ɛ͡ɪ/, a state of renunciation
Enathåtotei /ə.nʌ.θɔ.ˈt̪o͡ʊ.t̪ɛ͡ɪ/, a theological term describing the interaction between Gods and the world. 
Othåtotei /o͡ʊ.θɔ.ˈt̪o͡ʊ.t̪ɛ͡ɪ/, isolated
Athåtotait /ʌ.θɔ.ˈt̪o͡ʊ.t̪a͡ɪt̪/, to isolate; when reflexive, to go into isolation.

Mė mėis thåtotam helai tålịnė nia noaha ñirep lopesu dat reyani nia shueyi.
I isolated myself because the anger and hatred of everyone here was strong and dangerous.

December 11

Thui /θu͡i/, n. Class D. FootprintOthui /ˈo͡ʊ.θu͡i/, track, spoor

Aȯthuiyit /ʌ.ʔo.ˈθu͡i.jit̪/, to track
Aithui /ˈa͡ɪ.θu͡i/, technology footprint
Thuivekut /θu͡i.ˈvɛ.kʼut̪/, energy footprint, amount of energy used

Thuivekut vasa da olayi othuat tuahi.
/θu͡i.ˈvɛ.kʼut̪ ˈvɑ.sʌ dɑ o͡ʊ.ˈlɑ.ji ˈo͡ʊ.θu͡ɑt̪ ˈt̪u͡ɑ.xi/
Their energy footprint is far too massive. 

December 12

To /t̪o͡ʊ/, n. Class D. Metal

Sitoyi, metallic
Toyi, made of metal
Mịto, metal worn for adornment
Aimịto, prosthetic.
Uhoto, mine
Ånåto, recycled metal, lit. old-new metal. 

Mesh kouriaia peairahėo isi ånåto.
We do metal recycling for the planet.

Tosamiakha /t̪o͡ʊ.sʌ.ˈmi͡ɑ.ʁʌ/, n. Class N. Impermanence

Ñijė hidė nia sihata voiyauptu måtenui tosamiakha.
Everything suffers and suffering is necessary to illumine impermanence by means of teaching.

December 13

Tussi /ˈt̪u.ʂi/, adj. Soft.

Nuatussi, /nu͡ɑ.ˈt̪u.ʂi/ unstable.
Atussit /ʌ.ˈt̪u.ʂit̪/, to soften, to weaken.
Atusi /ʌ.ˈt̪u.ʂi/, pliable, supple.

December 14

/t̪ɛ/, n. Class D. Road.

Setė /ˈsɛ.t̪ə/, highway

Setua nia ennahjịć rikhaptu tịnnuåć. 
Highways and trains bind cities.

December 15

Ta /t̪ɑ/, n. Class A. Call

Tayi /ˈt̪ɑ.ji/, noteworthy, something to pay attention or respond to, important.
Atayait /ʌ.ˈt̪ɑ.ja͡ɪt̪/, to call, to transmit widely, to alert

Mė davajem nådịnui tayi karanai mėi. 
I solved my despair via important oracles. 

Vė tayaia odashinasio sejatho ćėis. 
Le will alert your (sing. inf., AKA “thy”) family after the decision.

Lexember 2019: December 1-7

It is once again Lexember, the time of year when conlangers work on our lexicons.

Looking Back

Last year, I wrote a language called Eamaru/Eamarubhe from scratch to support a creative writing project called Ossia, a story about the daughter of Salus Niksubvya who is solving the puzzle of who lived in the ancient ruins she finds in the Canyons while anchoring herself in the present by telling the story of her life — a mystery which grows into obsession as she entices the God of Time and Eternity, Saämatsra, through her repeated time travel. It allowed me to move from this:

A few younger adults followed me. They pointed and said something like ut-ta-ka-mia-de-sa, which I couldn’t break into words. The syllables ta-kam happened more often than others. Ta-ka-mia less often.

To this later on:

These day-sky blossoms are harvested during the night, when the air is cool, at this time of year. They will be crated and sent via air freight to a processing center that will dry and crush them for the pigments they hold. 

Flowers are less brittle when their petals are closed.

It’s a phrase I have heard from Aðokei several times now, that I heard from Ktanja before. In Eamaru, it is, Fhin itn-me ei jabh meða ẖam rak muto ziur llejabh ba. To think that all of that refers to this? Day-sky pigment is expensive — it is not made artificially, after all — but this is what it meant?

… but also the realization (hey, drafts, right?) that the younger adults were probably not speaking Eamaru, but Dásna, spoken by the Ékkivá (accents are high tones), even though Toma learns and is taught Eamaru instead.

Ossia has a draft that is 198,000 words. The main character, Toma, learns Eamaru during the story. And, of course, you can check out the words and phrases I made in the 2018 Lexember here (a link to my tag for Eamaru).

Moving Forward

The year before, though, I was working on my Tveshi dictionary. Tveshi was my first conlang, and it is old, cumbersome, and beloved. Basically, I was the lexicon and expanding it from brief notes that looked like this:

tha, mark
thåtotei (AN), loneliness
thåtoyė (AN), Criminal
thau (NN), earth
thaufoi (DN), cavern
thaukinị (NN), Earthquake
thena (DN), Practice
thie, smear
thau (NN), earth
thaufoi (DN), cavern
thaukinị (NN), Earthquake
thena (DN), Practice
thie, smear

to robust entries that incorporate polysemy, derived words via prefixes/suffixes/compounds, verbs, and more (basically, what you’ll see farther down here). Sometimes, I have to fix and clean things a lot, too.

This year, I’m continuing that work — starting in the Ns and going down as far as I can. Apart from Lexember, I’m finishing up a poetry project right now.

December 1

Nau, /naʊ̯/ n. Class N. Deep, a term for valley, ravine, or low place. When followed by an article, this indicates the Canyon region of Narahja: nau sof /naʊ̯ soʊ̯f/, sometimes nau aif /naʊ̯ aɪ̯f/ because the Canyons are seen as divine.

I also made a phrase, reyanakourić efa mėi. It uses the word reyana, strength, with the suffix -kouri to denote that someone does something (often professional, but colloquially, it often just accentuates that someone is performing a role), and for plural. Efa is the plural emphatic article, and mėi is a first person possessive pronoun. Roughly, it means those who bring me strength, but it has the connotation of my peeps, my comrades, et cetera, in a colloquial, endearing way. It can be shortened to reiekoufam.

December 2

Nea /nɛɑ̯/, n. Class N. Hand.

Aianea /aɪ͡anɛɑ̯/, cross purpose.
Uneayi /ʊ.ˈnɛɑ̯.ji/, wealthy/well-resourced.
Enanea /ə.ˈnɑ.nɛɑ̯/, Providence.

Nåneayi /nɔ.ˈnɛɑ̯.ji/, fresh, inexperienced, novice.
Anåneait /ʌ.nɔ.ˈnɛ.a͡ɪt̪/, to try out.

Ćė nåneat måtua. 
/t͡ʃɛ nɔ.ˈnɛ.ʌt̪ ˈmɔt̪.uɑ̯/
You.informal had tried out teachings/ways.

December 3

Ninna,/ˈnĩ.ðʌ/, n. Class A. Trace, track. Aninnait, to trace, to track.

Ver ninnamị thunoyėa naui vo athovamị vė.
They (formal) tracked the young woman through the gorge and killed lim. [no gender in #Tveshi 3PS]

Ninnashåsso, storm-trace, a fulgurite (fused trace left by lightning).
Sininna, argument following from a prior.
Uninna, talent, aptitude.
Uininna, an act of kindness done for someone whom one will never meet in a place before ler arrival to make things better for lim.

December 4

Nitha /ˈni.θʌ/, n. Class D. Ditch
Anithit /ʌ.ˈni.θit̪/, to drag down into the mud, to slander, to diminish, to defame

Sher nithoiyi henehågep fågoim mėi.
You-informal-pl most likely defamed/slandered my teacher without remorse.

But I did more on December 4 than just that.

Nuita /ˈnui̯.t̪ʌ/, n. Class N. Temporal flux, temporal jumble, time travel. A neologism created by the writer of a book called Ko Foali MånauptuTime’s Beginning/Momenting/Succession of Instants Is Endless, a horror novel about a woman who gets lost in the woods and must solve a time travel puzzle to avoid being devoured by forest spirits. The term has passed into pop usage.

… I would actually read something like that.

The forest spirits, incidentally, are called klamodya (sing. klamoda) in Narahji, and the reason a Tveshi woman would be harassed by them is that the Tveshi neglected the klamodya shrines when they conquered Shija. The Tveshi word for nature or tree spirits is atuat or enayoi; the term for a klamoda is enayoi thuani, or evil tree spirit. (They’re not actually evil.)

December 5

Rahị /ˈɾɑ.hɪ/, n. Class D. Mote, speck.

Rahi, invisible, dustlike, insignificant.
Oirahị, bacterium.
Nårahi, no longer relevant.
Årahi, irrelevant.

Sirahị, prioritization. This actually means something like, the art of identifying insignificant things. Setting priorities by eliminating what is actually unimportant, right? 😂

Thuyirahị, bribe. I was asked to explain this. Thuyi- is a prefix that indicates badness or wrongness, much like nua- (the two can be used interchangeably, but the latter prefix is increasingly used less for some social reasons in the culture). It’s an allusion to how difficult it can be to know that someone has been bribed — a mote or speck that can do so much damage, but that is invisible until close inspection.

December 6

Rout /ɾo͡ʊːt̪/, n. Class N. Crevice, openingRouti /ˈɾo͡ʊː.t̪i/, openAroutait /ʌ.ˈɾo͡ʊː.t̪a͡ɪt̪/, to make space

Mịroutorifice.
Oiroutlung or other respiratory mechanism, in the case of blood-vining plants. 
Thuyirout, a bad situation that has a narrow chance of escape. 
Kaiarouta softening of the heart, often seen as a reflexive verb, akaiaroutait.

Mė mėis kaiaroutaia helai sha amatara laihua tusa mėi.
My heart will soften if le takes care of my nine bowls.

After doing this, I did a few other words and learned I had a double entry for this word and that there were already some other things in the other entry. I then merged them together. From that previous work, I have:

Rout is also used colloquially to mean opportunity or possibility. Da routi is an achieved opportunity.

December 7

Sassė /ˈsɑ.ʂə/, n. Class N. Air

Aisassė /a͡ɪ.ˈsɑ.ʂə/, air filtration system on a space ship or submarine. 
Hosassė /ho.ˈsɑ.ʂə/, atmosphere. 
Oisassė /o͡i.ˈsɑ.ʂə/, exhalation. 
Nåsassė /nɔ.ˈsɑ.ʂə/, inhalation. 

Mė våsam saishehio aisassė. 
I fixed the air filtration system for a cousin.

#Lexember: Kinship, Gender, Society

This is the final leg of #Lexember! If you’ve been following my account @eamarubhe, you may be interested in following me @kayeboesme, which is active more often. I think @eamarubhe may transform into an account related to the fiction monologue podcast I am hard at work on. My development of Eamaru is related to the podcast.

December 22.

Leam /lɛ͡ɒ̈m/, parent. Leamn /lɛ͡ɒ̈m.ˈn̩/, something related to parenting.

Leamnzi /lɛ͡ɒ̈m.ˈn̩.ˌzi/, birth parent.
Leamnef /lɛ͡ɒ̈m.ˈnɛf/, legal guardian.
Leama /lɛ͡ɒ̈m.ˈɑ/, lineage.
Leam jun /lɛ͡ɒ̈m ʒyn/, non-birth parent.

I’ve used the term birth parent here because the social gender system offers some ambiguity about the gender of the person who gives birth. There’s a temple-based renunciation of gender called zaḥeim, and these individuals will often start families during a hiatus from temple service. Eamau gender is based on a combination of biology and the social role of an individual (AKA the push and pull of who someone is and society at large). Birth parents are always kuaẖe, kuall, zaḥeim, jiut veyrin, or nijmi veyrin.

Kuaẖe somewhat corresponds to our idea of women, and it’s a gender that is typecast into roles related to family and household, neighborhood, and city affairs. Kuall is a gender that is expected to be more warlike, outgoing/roaming, and less inclined to family affairs. Jinri means something similar to trans women, often used as an adjective, as in kuaẖe jinrin or kuall jinrin.

Jiut somewhat corresponds to men. This gender is expected to do physical labor, fighting, and physically dangerous entertainment and jobs. The gender nijmi is less so. They often work in finance and business, and their socially accepted role is similar to kuall-me, but they’re seen as softer and less confrontational than kuall-me or jiut-me. Veyri means something similar to trans man, often seen as an adjective in jiut veyrin or nijmi veyrin.

December 23.

Birth parent relatives:
Iẖar /i.ˈħɑɾ/, cousin.
Mokta /mo.ˈktɑ/, older relative.
Leal /lɛ͡ɒ̈l/, grandparent.
Leala /lɛ͡ɒ̈.ˈlɑ/, great(+)grandparent.

Non-birth parent relatives:
Jellan /ʒə.ˈɬɑ/, cousin.
Ral /ðɑl/, older relative.
Leal jun /lɛ͡ɒ̈l ʒyn/, grandparent.
Leala jun /lɛ͡ɒ̈.ˈlɑ ʒyn/, great(+)grandparent.

Generics:
Ðalle /ðɒ̈.ˈɬɛ/, older sibling.
Fhat /ɸɑt̪/, younger sibling.
Bea /bɛ͡ɒ̈/, relative. Beaa /bɛ͡ɒ̈.ˈɑ/, older relatives. Beaasum /bɛ͡ɒ̈.ˈɑ.ˌsym/, ancestors. Eḥ beaasum sak /ɛʔ bɛ͡ɒ̈.ˈɑ.ˌsym sɑk/, an ancestor.

December 24.

Eliu /ə.ˈli͡y/, the part of a family that lives together.

Meaz /mɛ͡ɒ̈z/, familyMeazn /mɛ͡ɒ̈z.ˈn̩/, familial. Meaznzi /mɛ͡ɒ̈z.ˈn̩.ˌzi/, head of household. Meaza /mɛ͡ɒ̈.ˈzɑ/, powerful family. Meazaszi /mɛ͡ɒ̈.ˈzɑ.ˌzːi/ someone disowned.

Meazaszi eze ei ðeḥe zei!
/mɛ͡ɒ̈.ˈzɑ.ˌzːi ə.ˈzɛ ɛ͡i ðə.ˈʔɛ zɛ͡i/
Those two must be disowned!

In the above sentence, ðeḥe is a particle that indicates the imperative future tense. It’s difficult to translate this into English because our word must could also mean that some speaker is incredulously referring to people who have done something scandalous. That meaning is not present in the Eamaru.

December 25.

Sautor /sɒ̈͡y.ˈt̪oɾ/, to conquer.

Siub sauto ba riu ẖam set ðalleta-me viuno ba.
/si͡yb sɒ̈͡y.ˈt̪o bɑ ɾi͡y ħɑm sɛt̪ ðɒ̈.ˈɬɛ.ˌt̪ɒ̈ mɛ vi͡y.ˈno bɑ/
We conquered them and killed their sages.

Today’s #Lexember refers to the political strife in Eamau society that has led to the teas (slums) existing in the first place within conquered cities — typically in the buildings ravaged by war while the new city springs up in walled areas.

It’s also a coy memorial reference to the destruction of temples and outlawing of non-Christian religions in Late Antiquity, plus the murder of philosophers like Hypatia. So.

December 26.

Yat /jɑt̪/, school.

Yat no eal-me
/jɑt̪ no ɛ͡ɒ̈l mɛ/
Grammar school

Yat vusn
/jɑt̪ vys.ˈn̩/
University

Yat no ðalleta-me
/jɑt̪ no ðɒ̈.ˈɬɛ.ˌt̪ɒ̈ mɛ/
Philosophical school

Yat no ifhea lloktn
/jɑt̪ no i.ˈɸɛ͡ɒ̈ ɬokt.ˈn̩/
Religious officiant school

December 27.

Uzmait /yz.ˈmɒ̈͡it̪/, regulation. Uzmaitn /yz.ˈmɒ̈͡it̪.ˌn̩/, regulated.

The two examples below use negation words that are applied to nouns or used on their own, naið and alli. The word naið is used to indicate negative-sentiment negation, and I’ve translated it as lack of in the example below, but it could also mean noticed absence.

Alli is just no — it indicates that the noun it accompanies is not present. Alem naið and alem alli, the word mistake attached to the negation particle, mean without a problem and no mistake respectively.

Zaut-me viuno uzmait naið.
/zɒ̈͡yt̪ mɛ vi͡y.ˈno yz.ˈmɒ̈͡it̪ nɒ̈͡ið/
Lack of regulation kills people.

Zaut-me viuno uzmait alli.
/zɒ̈͡yt̪ mɛ vi͡y.ˈno yz.ˈmɒ̈͡it̪ ɒ̈.ˈɬi/
No regulation kills people.

December 28.

Jal /ʒɑl/, snowJaln /ʒɒ̈l.ˈn̩/, snowyLlet jaln /ɬɛt̪ ʒɒ̈l.ˈn̩/, snow-covered ground. Lit. pane/surface snowy.

Llet jaln mubo ive iuka no leamnzi.
/ɬɛt̪ ʒɒ̈l.ˈn̩ my.ˈbo i.ˈvɛ i͡y.ˈkɑ no lɛ͡ɒ̈m.ˈn̩.ˌzi/
My birth parent’s property is covered in snow.

I was looking for inspiration for a conlang word at my mom’s house. In Upstate NY, even when it isn’t snowy, there’s often a layer of snow on the ground even when sidewalks and roads are passable. Llet jaln is a way to say that in my conlang.

December 29.

Fhai /ɸɒ̈͡i/, candidate. Fhai al leam jun /ɸɒ̈͡i ɑl lɛ͡ɒ̈m ʒyn/, spousal candidate.

Fhai ful al ktaðu no illete.
/ɸɒ̈͡i fyl ɑl ktɒ̈.ˈðy no i.ˈɬə.ˌt̪ɛ/
Light fiction sold for travelers to entertain themselves.
Literally, this means candidates for the role of a book belonging to the roadside.

December 30.

Zealle /zɛ͡ɒ̈.ˈɬɛ/, law. Zeallen /zɛ͡ɒ̈.ˈɬɛ.ˌn̩/, legal. Zeallea /zɛ͡ɒ̈.ˈɬɛ.ˌɑ/, law, emphatic. Zealleas /zɛ͡ɒ̈.ˈɬɛ.ˌɑs/, laws someone doesn’t like. Zeallesum /zɛ͡ɒ̈.ˈɬɛ.ˌsym/, laws (pl.), referring to the sets of laws that are written down.

Fhai zeallen /ɸɒ̈͡i zɛ͡ɒ̈.ˈɬɛ.ˌn̩/, bill, law-in-progress.
Zeallesum teitn /zɛ͡ɒ̈.ˈɬɛ.ˌsym t̪ɛ͡it̪.ˈn̩/, food safety laws.

December 31.

For this day, I had to make a lot of words because I also did not have a word for joy. In the sentence below, utkenez is joy, composed of ut + kenez, novelty + contentment. I also wrote a temporal-only version of in, usak.

Vauð /vɒ̈͡yð/, yearVauðn /vɒ̈͡yð.ˈn̩/, annualVauða /vɒ̈͡yð.ˈɑ/, cycle, with implied circularity. 

Utkenez vauð kutn usak bhei ðeḥe siub!
/yt̪.ˈkɛ.ˌnəz vɒ̈͡yð kyt̪.ˈn̩ ys.ˈɑk βɛ͡i ðə.ˈʔɛ si͡yb/
Have joy in the new year!

Thank you all for following me however you did this Lexember! I wish you a bright and happy new year filled with schwas, glottal stops, and so much linguistic fun!

#Lexember in the fatiguing darkness of winter

This week, how dark it is outside really hit me. The library where I work is in a basement, and the window in the pit courtyard has been taken away due to a construction site. We won’t get it back until at least midsummer.

At this time of the year given that windowless existence, the only sun I see when I don’t have meetings in other buildings is after sunrise and before I enter the building — essentially, ~7 AM when the sun rises until my commute is over at ~9 AM. It’s black as pitch by the time I leave for home. Even with the window, December is always a struggle. (The light doesn’t really reach our offices, but it’s nice to just know there’s a window a few dozen meters away.) I become constantly fatigued and lose a grip on my circadian rhythm despite using bright-light circadian glasses while I’m getting ready in the morning. They help marginally, so I’m sure most of this is psychological.

Thankfully, our university closes almost completely between the 24th and 1st, so I can do a reset and get more sunlight. I have today (December 21) off, and I am posting my Lexember stuff now before going off to bake lussekatt and pray to Helios because the winter solstice is this evening. We have a severe weather alert for high winds, flooding, and a deluge of rain.

Many of the words this week were themed after my growing restlessness about the short days.

Day Fifteen.

Kel /kɛl/. Sort of.

Febn kel ei rim.
/fəb.ˈn̩ kɛl ɛ͡i ɾim/
I’m kinda tired.

Febn kel ei alif-mi rim.
/fəb.ˈn̩ kɛl ɛ͡i ɒ̈l.ˈif.ˌmi ɾim/
I’m kinda done.

Feb /fɘb/, fatigue. Febn /fəb.ˈn̩/, fatigued. Feba /fə.ˈbɑ/, drowsiness. Feban /fə.ˈbɑn/, sleepy, drowsy.

Day Sixteen.

Alem /ɒ̈.ˈlɛm/, mistake. Alemn /ɒ̈.ˈlɛm.ˌn̩/, adj form.

Alem ful maso neð rim.
/ɒ̈.ˈlɛm fyl mɒ̈.ˈso nɛð ɾim/
I don’t like mistakes.

Vus alemn bhei za.
/vys ɒ̈.ˈlɛm.ˌn̩ βɛ͡i zɑ/
Le doesn’t have ler priorities straight. Lit., Le has [nonphysical] a mistaken center.

Day Seventeen.

Iunaḥ /i͡yn.ˈɑʔ/, darkness. Iunaḥn /i͡yn.ˈɑʔ.ˌn̩/, dark

Iunaḥn ei teltu. 
/i͡yn.ˈɑʔ.ˌn̩ ɛ͡i t̪əl.ˈt̪y/
Winter is dark.

Day Eighteen.

Es /ɛs/, on account of, because of, with the cause of.

Febn iunaḥ no teltu es ei rim.
/fəb.ˈn̩ i͡yn.ˈɑʔ no t̪əl.ˈt̪y ɛs ɛ͡i ɾim/
I am tired on account of winter’s darkness.

Day Nineteen.

Un /yn/, weakUnzi /yn.ˈzi/, something/one who is weak. Unor /yn.ˈoɾ/, to weaken.

Un ei kta no teltu.
/yn ɛ͡i ktɑ no təl.ˈt̪y/ 
Winter light is weak.

Ben /bɘn/, strongBenzi /bən.ˈzi/, strong one/thing.Benor /bən.ˈoɾ/, to strengthen

Ben ei vus za no.
/bɘn ɛ͡i vys zɑ no/
Ler foundation is strong. Lit. Ler center is strong.

Reflexively, benor makes to improve:

Beno teilva.
/bə.ˈno t̪ɛ͡il.ˈvɑ/
You-singular are improving. Lit. You strengthen yourself.

Day Twenty.

Kabek kɒ̈.ˈbɛk/, regimen. Kabek teitn /kɒ̈.ˈbɛk t̪ɛ͡it̪.ˈn̩/, diet. Kabek no ifhea lloktn /kɒ̈.ˈbɛk no i.ˈɸɛ͡ɒ̈ ɬokt.ˈn̩/, the register of rites performed by a temple. Kabek rusoḥn /kɒ̈.ˈbɛk ɾy.ˈsoʔ.ˌn̩/, preventative health plan. Kabekn /kɒ̈.ˈbɛk.ˌn̩/, regimented, allotted.

Teit teas ov avuyo kabekn-mi kaubo eam.
/t̪ɛ͡it̪ t̪ɘ.ˈɒ̈s ov ɒ̈.ˈvy.ˌjo kɒ̈.ˈbɛk.ˌn̩ mi kɒ̈͡y.ˈbo ɛ͡ɒ̈m/
The state has allotted food to the poor.

Day Twenty-One.

Fhor /ɸoɾ/, to go. Fhor us-mito return (used w/refl. pron).

Fho us-mi kta iuka no ebhari ẖezn!
/ɸo ys mi ktɑ i͡y.ˈkɑ no ə.ˈβɑ.ɾi ħəz.ˈn̩/
The sunlight returns!

H̱eznbhe fhor ðaḥav dei.
/ħəz.ˈn̩.ˌβɛ ɸo ðɒ̈.ˈʔɑv dɛ͡i/
You-dual will likely go home.