Hi there. The name is nacarat.
And if nacarat is too hard for you, you may also call me N or Nac or sth else as you please.
For the record...My english sucks to the bone even though I have spent almost two years, devoting my dacedant life to it. Well, I see Language as my solitude&salvation. I learnt for fun...Not for the purpose to get the better of sb or to get through those weird Chinese English tests...
Once again, I would love to confess that I am lame about english before you guys seeing me as a devoted learner...
I always make a point of trying the hardest to get rid of subtitles, which means one is able to understand fluent english. As tragic as we are, average chinese ppl find out that they are more comfortable to read, instead of listening, that is, cos we remember the "shape" of those words. That's a weakness of me as well; a fact to be reckoned with.
And here we go. I'm going to post my petty attempts of learning thereafter, as long as I can, as much as I want.
Btw......HOWEVER BEAUTIFUL AND RARE A LANGUAGE SEEMS, IT'S NO MORE THAN A LANGUAGE...AND THOSE PEOPLE WHO WERE BORN INTO IT ARE NO MORE THAN A LUCKY BUNCH OF SONS OF BITCHES. I HAVE SEEN TOO MANY YANK-WORSHIPPING GUYS...THAT'S UNCALLED-FOR. EVEN THOSE HEAD-STRONG YANKEES THINK THAT CHINESE CHICKS TREAT THEM WAY TOO NICELY.
ALWAYS REMEMBER WHERE YOU ARE FROM. DEALING WITH THEM MORE, YOU WILL SEE STH CALLED BLOOD.
[Oct, 06 2013] Listening comprehension&dictation
The source: Cloud atlas (19:35-
It was the night of the lamon prizes, through all that hospitality I recall a moment of introspection.
Why...Why would anyone in their right mind choose to be a publisher?
This was the precise moment that dermot found me. [1]
Dermot: Ey, Timothy.
Timothy: Aaah, Der~mot.
Bad news inexorably does.
Dermot: Fuckin waste.
Timothy: Never forget herman melville, writting a ripping yarn about a big white whale which is summarily dismissed, and yet today, it is lugged around in the backpacks of every serious student of literature in the world.
Dermot: I dont give a fuck what happens when I am dead. I want people to buy me book now!
Timothy: Well, as your publisher, obviously nothing would make me happier. But sadly, for whatever reason, Knuckle Sandwich hasn't yet connected to its audience.
Dermot: You want a reason? I'll give you a reason. Right there!
Timothy: Oh, you mean Mr Finch.
Dermot: Felix Fuckin Finch. That cunt shat all over me book in his poncy fuckin magazine.
T: It wasnt that bad?
D: No? "Mr Huggins should apologise to the trees failed for his bloated autobio novel. Four hundreds vein-glorious pages expire in an ending that is flat and inane beyond belief!"
T: Steady now, dermot. What is a critic but one who reads quickly, arrogantly but never wisely.
D: Fuck it.
D: Ladies and gentlemen! We have an additional award tonight "fellow book fairies" An award for the most eminent critic, Mr, oh, BEG PARDON, SIR, Felix Finchy, O, B and E.
F: And what might my prize be, I wonder? A signed copy of an unpulped Knuckle Sandwich? Can't be many of those left.
F: Well, just what does that endless pencil which you call it imagination have in mind to end this scene.
D: I think you are going to like this...
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