#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.

‘Twas the Second Week of #Lexember

So, before I get started, let me just say that I joined Pillowfort as kayeboesme. It is an interesting place, like if LiveJournal and Reddit had a technology child, but very similar to any other social media site out there. I wrote a conlang post to test how IPA performed there.

A thought occurred to me: If I introduced my conlang on Pillowfort, how would I refer to Pillowfort? The word fort doesn’t translate well because forts are generally where soldiers who kill other people are kept. They’re not associated with childhood pillow houses in a living room. Someone would first have to explain what that was.

For the sake of argument, though, it would be translated literally as ẖeaza jut ful e /ħɛ͡ɒ̈.ˈzɑ ʒyt̪ fyl ɛ/, indoor place composed of pillows. Maybe it would eventually become ẖeajuta /ħɛ͡ɒ̈.ˈʒyt̪.ˌɑ/ from ẖeaz + jut + a.

/z/ and /ʒ/ would merge into /ʒ/. The -a is an intensifying particle added to nouns, which is how words like kta (light) become ktaa (knowledge). There’s an example below of how ktaa is pronounced.

Day Eight.

Tat /t̪ɑt̪/. Pipe.

Tat ẖezn /t̪ɑt̪ ħɛz.ˈn̩/, plumbing system, usually of a residential home. 

Tat ẖeazn /t̪ɑt̪ ħɛ͡ɒ̈z.ˈn̩/, plumbing, generic.

Tat ẖezn ktuto ba siub.
/t̪ɑt̪ ħɛz.ˈn̩ kty.ˈto bɑ si͡yb/
They broke the house’s plumbing.

I also did a lot of work on pronouns. I decided that there is a singular/dual/plural system with them. These are most of the pronouns; there are additional ones that are occasionally used because the pronoun system is semi-open.

Third person singular
S/O/IO: za /zɑ/
Refl: zaur /zɑ͡yɾ/
Emph. refl: zalva /zɒ̈l.ˈvɑ/

Third person dual
S/O/IO: zei /zɛ͡i/
Refl: zar /zɑɾ/
Emph. Refl: zeila /zɛ͡i.ˈlɑ/

Third person plural
S/O/IO: siub /si͡yb/
Refl: sar /sɑɾ/
Emph. Refl: sala /sɒ̈.ˈlɑ/

Day Nine.

Kte /ktɛ/, Warmth. Ktea /ktə.ˈɑ/, heat. Kten /ktɛn/, warm. Ktean /ktə.ˈɑn/, hot.

Teb /t̪ɛb/, Coolness. Teba /t̪ə.ˈbɑ/, cold. Tebn /t̪əb.ˈn̩/, cool. Teban /t̪ə.ˈbɑn/, cold.

/t̪ə.ˈbɑn t̪əl.t̪y ys ɛ͡i əβ.ˈɑɾ.ˌi ħɛz.ˈn̩/
Teban teltu us ei ebhari ẖezn.
The sun is cold in winter.

Day Ten.

Te /t̪ɛ/. Periphery. Ten /t̪ɛn/, peripheral. Idiomatically, indicates unimportance.

Te ei neð rum kteafh.
/t̪ɛ ɛ͡i nɛð ðym ktɛ͡ɒ̈ɸ/
Electricity is not unimportant.

Day Eleven.

Vuru /vy.ˈðy/. Eating utensil. Vuru ven /vy.ˈðy vɛn/, stick used for picking up food.

Vuru eḥ /vy.ˈðy ɛʔ/, spork, slang term, lit. one utensil. Spork is biuð /bi͡yð/.

Day Twelve.

Ktaru /ktɒ̈.ˈðy/. Window.

Ktaru lloktn /ktɒ̈.ˈðy ɬokt.ˈn̩/, a window that looks upon an inner temple’s icons where the public may pray.

Ktaru kten /ktɒ̈.ˈðy ktɛn/, transparent solar power windows.

Ktaðu /ktɒ̈.ˈðy/. Book. Ktaðu eneð /ktɒ̈.ˈðy ən.ˈɛð/, cookbook. Ktaðu lloktn /ktɒ̈.ˈðy ɬokt.ˈn̩/, sacred text.

Ifhea lloktn sak ei ktaðu eze.
i.ˈɸɛ͡ɒ̈ ɬokt.ˈn̩ sɑk ɛ͡i ktɒ̈.ˈðy ə.ˈzɛ
The books are located in the temple.

Incidentally, these words are not completely non-distinguishable. Plurals are formed with particles. Ktaru ful means the windowsKtaðu eze means the knowable quantity of books. (If you visited the temple, you could count them.) 

Eze is a human pluralizer, which books take for a variety of flowery cultural reasons. Vusn ei ktaðu me uses me, the generic human plural. It means, Books are important.

Animates receive other pluralizers. There are no cats on Ameisa, but for argument’s sake, let’s say someone brought cats there. Let’s say ket became the word for cat (pronounced /kæt/ in Standard American English/SAE) because /kɛt̪/ is close, and the vowel in SAE cat isn’t present in Eamaru. Bufhi sak ei ket bathe cats are in the apartment. Jut ful maso ket meða, cats like pillows.

Day Thirteen.

Tiuðor /t̪i͡y.ˈðoɾ/. To explain, to describe.

Tiuðor ktaa-mi /t̪i͡y.ˈðoɾ ktɒ̈.ˈɑ-ˌmi/, to instruct, to teach.

Rim ktaðu lloktn fa tiuðo ktaa-mi kau zei.
ɾim ktɒ̈.ˈðy ɬokt.ˈn̩ fɑ t̪i͡y.ˈðo ktɒ̈.ˈɑ-ˌmi kɒ̈͡y zɛ͡i
Those two have been teaching me from sacred texts.

Day Fourteen.

Bhekor /βə.ˈkoɾ/, to give an account [of], describe.

Uta bheko bavo dei.
/y.ˈt̪ɑ βə.ˈko bɒ̈.ˈvo dɛ͡i/
You two described the novel thing.

The above is non-reflexive. To make something about your (the subject’s) account-giving and not the topic about which you are giving an account, the reflexive pronoun is used. In this case, that is salathey themselves. It’s the version of the plural used for 3+ people.

Bheko ðaḥav sala.
/βə.ˈko ðɒ̈.ˈʔɑv sɒ̈.ˈlɑ/
I expect they’ll give an account.

As #Lexember Begins, #Eamarubhe

This is the language that I am building.

ɛ͡ɒ̈.ˈmɑ.ˌðy.βɛ
bh = β
r = /ɾ/ in all places but before /u/, /ɒ̈/, and /ɑ/, where it is /ð/

ɛ͡ɒ̈.m is a root for empire, and Eama, great empire, is a global power. ɛ͡ɒ̈.ˈmɑ.ðy (Eamaru) means esteemed imperial language, and ɛ͡ɒ̈.ˈmɑ.ˌðy.βɛ (Eamarubhe) is just a more pretentious way of saying the language of the Eama. This is a language spoken in the Canyon region of Ameisa 20,000 years or so before the beginning of Epiphany.

Here are my first seven days of work.

Day One. 

H̱ez. /ħɛz/. House, domicile, dwelling. H̱ezn. /ħɛz.ˈn̩/, housed, stable. H̱eznbhe. /ħɛz.ˈn̩.ˌβɛ/, one’s own house or the house relevant to the discussion.

Llokt. /ɬokt/. Deity. Lloktn./ɬokt.ˈn̩/, divine. H̱ez lloktn /ħɛz ɬokt.ˈn̩/, divine house, the part of a temple where the deities’ icons are housed that can be shut off from the outer part of the temple.

Day Two.

I͡y.ˈkɛ i.ˈɸɛ͡ɒ̈ ðy.ˈsoʔ.ˌn̩ sɑk fɛ͡ɒ̈.ˈko ðɒ̈.ˈʔɑv ɾim.
Iuke ifhea rusoḥn sak feako ðaḥav rim.
I will probably hear it in the lecture hall.

Llet. /ɬɛt̪/ Panel, pane, thin flat surface. Llet kteafhn /ɬɛt̪ ktɛ͡ɒ̈ɸ.ˈn̩/, solar panel.

Day Three.

Rum. /ðym/. Blanket. Rum ebhan /ðym ɘβ.ˈɑn/, heated blanket.

Ðum. /ðym/. Brick. Ðum e dium tisn /ðym ɛ di͡ym t̪is.ˈn̩/, a brick of dried [plant name]. H̱ez e ðum ful /ħɛz ɛ ðym fyl/, house of bricks.

Day Four.

kə.nɑb.ˈn̩.ˌzi y.ˈny lɛ͡i.ˈso kɒ̈͡y ɾim
Kenabnzi unu leiso kau rim.
I have been searching for a fugitive.

Kenabor. /kə.ˈnɑb.ˌoɾ/, to run very quickly. Kenabnzi /kə.nɑb.ˈn̩.ˌzi/, fugitive, someone in flight. Zaut kenabn /zɒ̈yt̪ kə.ˈnɑb.ˌn̩/, a person who runs athletically. H̱ez kenabn /ħɛz kə.ˈnɑb.ˌn̩/, indoor track. Tavak kenabn /t̪ɒ̈v.ˈɑk kə.ˈnɑb.ˌn̩/, outdoor track.

Day Five.

Teas sak ei neð teita teitn.
t̪ɘ.ˈɒ̈s sɑk ɛ͡i nɛð t̪ɛ͡it̪.ˈɑ t̪ɛ͡it̪.ˈn̩
Satiety is not found in the districts of the poor.

Teit /t̪ɛ͡it̪/,  Food, generic. Teitn /t̪ɛ͡it̪.ˈn̩/, adj, related to the kitchen and cookery. Llet teitn /ɬɛt̪ t̪ɛ͡it̪.ˈn̩/, any type of flat cookware or dinnerware. Kta teitn /ktɑ t̪ɛ͡it̪.ˈn̩/, grow light. Teit nun /t̪ɛ͡it̪ nyn/, a type of cuisine eaten by mourners and ascetics.

Day Six.

H̱ale. /ħɒ̈.ˈlɛ/ Household shrine. H̱alea /ħɒ̈.ˈlɛ.ˌɒ̈/, a temple that is on a family’s private property. H̱ale tavn /ħɒ̈.ˈlɛ t̪ɒ̈v.ˈn̩/, an outdoor shrine on a family’s property.

Day Seven.

Avuyor. /ɒ̈.ˈvy.ˌyoɾ/ If reflexive, to bring. If non-reflexive, to take [to others]. Teit meða avuyo bo zalva /t̪ɛ͡it̪ mə.ˈðɑ ɒ̈.ˈvy.ˌjo bo zɒ̈l.ˈvɑ/, le may be bringing food. Teit meða avuyo bo za /t̪ɛ͡it̪ mə.ˈðɑ ɒ̈.ˈvy.ˌjo bo zɑ/, le may be taking food.