Hello, My Name is Jeff.

This is my monoblogue.

Lost and Found in Translation

with 5 comments

Several weeks ago, this very blog was approached by a visitor FROM BEYOND!  This visitor was, by means of Google’s translation service, able to read my post about pumping a bike tire, in a language that suited him/her/it better than English.  As chance would have it, visitors FROM BEYOND prefer reading Japanese to anything else.  The difficulty of written Japanese suggests that this visitor has mental capacities that exceed our own (which tells me we should pay more attention to Japanese sci-fi films, and spend less time giggling when they talk).

Curious to see what sort of messages this visitor might have received from the translated post, I checked it in Japanese myself (I am crazy).  However, I remained uncertain about just how much the language changed the message.  So I translated the Japanese back into English, for better clarity.  What I found could change the foundations of language and psychological research as we know it.  NEW MEANING and SECRET WARNINGS that my unconscious has been trying to tell me were pulled from my own writing.  I have placed the translated entry below so that we can mutually learn to restrain ourselves to see the femme fatale with scissors, along with other good life lessons, which have been highlighted for convenience.  Compare with the original for full effect.

“I swear afternoon around feel frustrated as well 3:30: I have my lips and moan, and words and how to actually form a syllable in the form of rambling in my mouth I have never learned how to achieve. I’m the last one has been successful is the crucible of Sisyphus improper repair the back of what I have spent hours on the long hard part: the fact that the puncture repair . Now, I fight, I’m on my tube of a bicycle tire pump should feel the air fill with my bicycle tires to create a seal, every time you try to get the pump, I have it If the very idea, the device, in particular, “put air in the tires” are not denied a bicycle tire pump called. Also, find much bad, I dislike, cracking the plastic mouth of the pump were also damaged, and the ability to achieve that purpose.

It is not my anger. My anger is an incredible hulk – has reached its peak. 1, as Samsung has provoked in the jawbone of an ass, I pump on the asphalt of the chef’s arms thrown back and get a pump in my hand I would clatters away a few feet, the target idea is to return the pump, while it is probably thrown in front, you have to restrain myself not to see a femme fatale with scissors.

“I was at that time, the position above, the curse, I can only manage the guttural language of all of my anger and try to really not knowing where to start,” awwwww, and poo and myself have been found. ”

25, I’m embarrassed, “poo” without saying, is an extreme threat, especially as most people feel that appeals to a number of other terms in English. And, it is my confession. It is 25, I still say the word “poo” is frustrated, sometimes even if you say it, I have no complaints. A few months ago, somebody talked about the conversation, I think, asked the first word ME “was poo.” And then I say that out of my mouth next. Needless to say, people are talking about the conversations that I do not come anymore.

In fact, I will confess my real topic, all of my bike, instead of suffering over the last two weeks on a bike ride, I remember. However, at this point I have written so much already, are you “I have a bike” entry of the rest were lying here.”

Notice the existence of the messages “I have my lips” and “I will confess my real topic”.  It seems that my unconscious predicted the discovery of these secret messages.
Much of this is still cryptic, and in an effort to decode the message I have included
Questions for Discussion:

1. I fear that the femme fatale could be my wife.  What should I do to survive the next time she has scissors?

2. What are these conversations?  You know, the ones that I do not come anymore?

3. What could I mean when I say “poo and myself have been found”?  Am I trapped in some sort of cosmic toilet, drawn by the swirling flow of time around an inescapable bowl, and doomed to share poo’s fate?  Is there no path that involves climbing out of the toilet like a mutant New York rat and shaping my own mashed potato destiny?  How can I learn to accept such a fate?


Written by Jeff

February 26, 2009 at 9:36 am

5 Responses

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  1. My head hurts. I guess that’s why I don’t speak Japanese.


    February 26, 2009 at 4:31 pm

  2. I could not help but envision Shannon, truly a ‘femme fatale with scissors”, leaping to perform some painful but (perhaps) necessary act of first aid at the merest hint of blood.


    February 26, 2009 at 11:10 pm

  3. […] Lost and Found in Translation « Hello, My Name is Jeff. […]

  4. sweet post dude.!?

  5. Is it wrong that that whole conversation made perfect sense to me? This is why you can never believe what people say in Japanese. Plus never trust a translator, machine or human.


    May 2, 2009 at 9:49 am

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