Undercover SS24

I 💗 oil pastel

ending a story in other languages

kurdish: “my story went to other homes, god bless the mothers and fathers of its listeners” (Çîroka min çû diyaran, rehmet li dê û bavê guhdaran.)

greek: “and they lived well, and we lived better” (και ζήσανε αυτοί καλά και εμείς καλύτερα)

afrikaans: “whistle whistle, the story is done” (fluit fluit, die storie is uit)

goemai: “my tale has finished, (it) has returned to go (and) come home.” (tamtis noe lat / dok ba muaan yi wa)

amharic: “return my story and feed me bread” (ተረቴን መልሱ አፌን በዳቦ አብሱ::)

bengali: “my story ends and the spinach is eaten by the goat” (aamaar kothati furolo; Notey gaachhti murolo) *means something is irreversibly ended because goats eats herbs from the root

norwegian: “snip snap snout, the tale is finished” (snipp snapp snute, så er eventyret ute”

polish: “and i was there [at the wedding] too, and drank mead and wine.” (a ja tam byłem, miód i wino piłem.)

georgian: “disaster there, feast here… bran there, flour here…” (ჭირი – იქა, ლხინი – აქა, ქატო – იქა, ფქვილი – აქა)

hungarian: “this is the end, run away with it” (itt a vége, fuss el véle)

turkish: “lastly, three apples fell from the sky; one for our story’s heroes, one for the person who told their tale, and one for those who listened and promise to share. And with that, they all achieved their hearts’ desires. Let us now step up and settle into their thrones.” (Gökten üç elma düşmüş; biri onların, biri anlatanın, diğeri de dinleyenlerin başına. Onlar ermiş muradına, biz çıkalım kerevetine.)

New drinking game: take a shot whenever Henry bites his lip in TSH

“Hindi, like Gaelic, is a colonised space. It is a language complete in itself, with its own history, literature, poetry and tradition. But more than sixty-five years after Indian independence, it has been surrounded and absorbed by English, so among the Indian middle classes it is no longer a prestige language. It is the vernacular, the language one speaks at home; one does not use it to write to the tax office, nor take one’s degree. So if it doesn’t matter if it’s not perfect – if it doesn’t matter if a noun is masculine or feminine; if a verb falls to be transitive in the past perfect; if you just use the English word, because who can remember the Hindi for mathematics or apartment or transubstantiation – then for all I wage my small battle, we’re losing the war. To speak our language perfectly – to choose to do so, despite decades of colonial influence – is another political act.”

— “A’ghailleann”, Iona Sharma. (via a-witches-brew)

instagram.com/bonjoursimonleclerc

food from my dreams

an ongoing list

Glenn Miller; an alcoholic drink composed of bourbon, scotch, maraschino cherries and a slip of something literally golden.

Enoki Mushrooms; mushrooms brought in a plastic box-marinated with garlic, spring onion, soy sauce and chilli sauce.

Sushi mix; a combination of Indian food and sushi, shoved into a laptop fitted for that purpose. The entree consisted of a sushi bento box inside the laptop, while the mains-a larger bento box of more varieties (rice, soup, large sushi-all heavily saturated in colours) were outside the laptop in a similar crevice.

Pistachio macarons; macarons with pistachio filling, resemblant of the ones in Coles that I really wanted to try

Ramen rice; a mixture of ramen with traditional Indian rice and curry that I made for a friend.

Buffet course; the first course was this strange baked cream roast chicken in bread and when you opened it and the waitress also poured a little crouton soup. The second one was this beef dish that looked genuinely so extravagant—the beef was carved like a flower petal on top of the rest of the dish which was a mix between a tartare and something cooked with lots of fruits/vegetables and garnishing

[LATEST] Donut Pistachio Tiramisu; Two or three Krispy Creme donuts that were used as the lady fingers of a tiramisu. Pistachio crumble. The cream that used heavy cream, sugar that melted into cream and vanilla extract. Coffee powder. And I left TeeVee snacks on the counter but never used it.

oi guys for the love of fuck, i’m not gonna be nice about it

if you’re a non black poc, or worse, white, do not fucking make this about you. do not make it about aesthetics. do not make it about anything other than it is.

can i come over and do this

“In cyclamen flowers the red of summer combines with the blue of autumn into a pinkish purple, and their fragrance recaptures all the sweetness of the past; but as you inhale it for longer, there is a quite different smell behind it : that of decay and death.”

— Marlen Haushofer, The Wall (tr. by Shaun Whiteside)