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Good question
Jun. 29th, 2009 05:43 pmIf people from Poland are called "Poles", why aren't people from Holland called "Holes"?
Jussara, you owe me a new keyboard!
Jussara, you owe me a new keyboard!
Jun. 29th, 2009
Hqiz and Mogg
Jun. 29th, 2009 07:55 pmExodus 20:7 - Don't use the name of the Lord in vain. OK, I do my best on that one. Sometimes I slip. Especially when something jumps out at me in the dark.
Matt. 5:37 - Don't swear by anything in the heavens or the earth, but say what you mean - "yes", "no". OK, I'm pretty good on that one. My intention is to say what I mean, and do what I say.
But, like unsalted meat, or one of those never-sufficiently-to-be-accursed puffed rice cakes, language without color is flat and tasteless. So when one comes nigh unto breaking a toe, or whanging one's thumb with a hammer, or any number of other tear-jerking vicissitudes of life happens to happen, what does a weak soul, struggling to live in True Choice and act like a Compassionate Samurai, do for comfort?
In the heat of the moment, as one's thumbnail turns an angry red and black, and one's vision clouds with coruscating sparks of high-voltage energy, it's hard to talk like O. Henry or Eudora Welty. These people, among many, many others knew how to use language that fills the mouth and the soul at the same time. Thus far, I have found few things that are as satisfying as calling upon The Man Whose Middle Initial is Reputedly "H". But having been asked by Him not to do so, I've been constrained to look for other alternatives.
Enter Mogg, a fictional deity inspired by two comic strips by Bill Redfern and the late Paul S. Gibbs (Haul Trek, later morphing into Freighter Tails). The God of a race of felines with so many relatives and so many parts that one can never run out of things to swear by, and not lose a moment of sleep worrying that one might get smitten. By Mogg's tufted tail, by his diamond-tipped claws (with a tip of the hat to E.E. Smith's Klono), by the holy skull of his grandmother, and by the silken breast of his mother, finally I have things to say when words fail me and/or I wax less than poetic.
When a single word is all that's needed, "Hqiz" (pronounced /hqɪz/, with that voiceless uvular plosive in there) does very nicely, and like other Anglo-Saxon lexemes can function as multiple parts of speech. I've tried many other substitutes for an echoing, resounding scatological reference, but most of them have failed me. So this one is mine, and mine alone (Google it - mine is the only semantically significant hit) - thus it works. I can use it freely, and nobody is offended. Unless they have a filthy mind, for which I'm not responsible. In which case, by the fuzzy ears of Mogg's sister, they can shut the Hqiz up.
Matt. 5:37 - Don't swear by anything in the heavens or the earth, but say what you mean - "yes", "no". OK, I'm pretty good on that one. My intention is to say what I mean, and do what I say.
But, like unsalted meat, or one of those never-sufficiently-to-be-accursed puffed rice cakes, language without color is flat and tasteless. So when one comes nigh unto breaking a toe, or whanging one's thumb with a hammer, or any number of other tear-jerking vicissitudes of life happens to happen, what does a weak soul, struggling to live in True Choice and act like a Compassionate Samurai, do for comfort?
In the heat of the moment, as one's thumbnail turns an angry red and black, and one's vision clouds with coruscating sparks of high-voltage energy, it's hard to talk like O. Henry or Eudora Welty. These people, among many, many others knew how to use language that fills the mouth and the soul at the same time. Thus far, I have found few things that are as satisfying as calling upon The Man Whose Middle Initial is Reputedly "H". But having been asked by Him not to do so, I've been constrained to look for other alternatives.
Enter Mogg, a fictional deity inspired by two comic strips by Bill Redfern and the late Paul S. Gibbs (Haul Trek, later morphing into Freighter Tails). The God of a race of felines with so many relatives and so many parts that one can never run out of things to swear by, and not lose a moment of sleep worrying that one might get smitten. By Mogg's tufted tail, by his diamond-tipped claws (with a tip of the hat to E.E. Smith's Klono), by the holy skull of his grandmother, and by the silken breast of his mother, finally I have things to say when words fail me and/or I wax less than poetic.
When a single word is all that's needed, "Hqiz" (pronounced /hqɪz/, with that voiceless uvular plosive in there) does very nicely, and like other Anglo-Saxon lexemes can function as multiple parts of speech. I've tried many other substitutes for an echoing, resounding scatological reference, but most of them have failed me. So this one is mine, and mine alone (Google it - mine is the only semantically significant hit) - thus it works. I can use it freely, and nobody is offended. Unless they have a filthy mind, for which I'm not responsible. In which case, by the fuzzy ears of Mogg's sister, they can shut the Hqiz up.