Michal is thinking about the potential of complementing his gigantic Fiction Corpus with a history of cool art; cites fatigue
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I accept the potential of administering English as a worldwide lingua franca. I don't accept the altogether average technique by which the English language is presented for study.
Polishing one's expertness with a language isn't like producing a stronger mast. A language - a common language - isn't just a tool that you can teach yourself to employ with greater amounts of precision. A spoken tongue can not be partitioned from the professed knowledge of a community of which it is a description. A language isn't recited; it happens - and keeps happening as long as a circle of people keeps using it.
To make people recite English is to strip them of its cultural context. A capable instructor has to develop a plan for introducing it; the wisest student goes out to seek it.
A dictionary can be an influential tool. The best dictionaries define words based on a particular corpus, a body of written works of varying size and consistency. A corpus could include anything from a book about literature to some real non fiction articles. I watched many nights pass developing my "insignificant" Fiction Corpus to form a unique kind of dictionary based on the ability of one man to tell a story in myriad forms. It is a labor of love and listening.
I have drafted a million words and I have ordered them, reframing them - not simply to teach American vocabulary but to describe the human spirit, and to coax that spirit or soul not just to recite but to happen.
A word can represent many things. First and foremost it represents a type of gesture. A specific way of speaking. A specific way of inscribing a mark. A specific way of moving your hand. To know one of these kinds of gestures is to know how to pronounce the word shot in some kind of way.
If you want to communicate an idea using the word shot, you will need to know what other people are made to think when you make the gesture. You will never have complete awareness of or control over the associations or identities that are invoked by a set of words, but you can know what was and what is a single word's jointly accepted definition, at least for a given place, thereby tracing a direction which will help you to understand what kinds of associations and identities are driving its use.
By using the word yourself, you enter into a long-standing albeit oftentimes unconscious debate over its definition, forever entangling yourself into the history of its use. The way you use it, and which other words you use it with carries weight.
The more you know about where the word shot is located in the fabric of a language, the better you will be at exploiting its cultural power.
Pronunciation of Shot
I have yet to publish a pronunciation for the word shot.
Video of me pronouncing "shot."
Definition of Shot
A shot is the act of having tried unsuccessfully to hit or actually having hit something by sending something else through the air, whether that something is a bullet or an arrow or around 50 mL of hard liquor in a glass. It can also refer to the act of having aimed at something with an object that doesn't actually go through the air, such as a camera, in order to make something happen. which instead receives something through the air. As an artifact, it can also refer to the opportunity to aim and hit something in this manner, or in fact any opportunity to do anything at all.
Common use of shot in illustrative example sentences
I have yet to come up with a sixth sentence using the word shot.
Audio of me saying the sentence:
I have yet to come up with a seventh sentence using the word shot.
Audio of me saying the sentence:
Usage of Shot in Michal's Fiction Corpus
Michal's Fiction Corpus of Acceptance Literature (FiCAL) is presented under the Bare Bottom imprint. It is currently comprised of six bodies of work, each representing a different pillar of culture and incorporating a wide variety of writhing styles.
I have yet to make a morphological analysis of the word shot.
That doesn't mean it's not high on my list.
Table of Frequency for the Word "Shot."
This table lists in descending order the total number of times that the word shotand any of its morphological derivations appears in the Fiction Corpus, along with a breakdown of frequency by title, the respective rank of each word in the complete list of all words in the Corpus, as calculated both densely and competitively, as well as the percent increase in frequency of the word over the frequency of the next lowest rank in the complete list.
A story bible for a comic book series set in a post climate-change California narrated by eight characters who live through a natural disaster that sinks Los Angeles and triggers a war with an expansionist Mexican government covertly supported by China.
Frame #7017
hulu's not sure when he dropped the phone. he thinks it was after the first shots. that means its 50 yards from the gate.
An experimental science fiction Christology that makes Jesus the hard boiled narrator of his own early years on a bizarro earth made dark by volcanic ash and informally ruled by a man from Mars who sells bottled air.
Before I finished this thought, the guard appeared in the entrance to the kitchen. He was standing there dumbfounded. He saw me holding out the gun in my right hand. His face suddenly registered shock as I threw him the weapon. He caught it. He was so surprised he didn't know what to do. He looked at me rather quizzically as I began backing up. He followed me into the lounge, not realizing that I was hiding another weapon behind my thigh. As soon as the guard entered a blind spot (I knew where all of them were), and my hand was blocked from the cameras by a bar, I shot him. I shot him in the right knee. He grimaced and fell. Trying to shoot me with the gun I threw, he realized it was empty. I hit the fool with the butt of my gun and knocked him out. When I returned within range of the cameras, my gun was hidden, I was alone and walking toward the stairs.
A literature book narrated by a pair of siblings on either side of the Atlantic whose profoundly weird sexual experiences pose a serious challenge to their traditional understanding of mathematicians, marriage, gay young men and God.
He hesitated momentarily but he agreed, kicking the snow off his boots and patting down his coat. I offered some rum that Luke had left behind one day; Macy was more than happy to accept, and the conversation became spirited. After only a few shots, we ran out of rum; I made some screwdrivers from cheap vodka. Macy, finding these palatable enough, allowed them to carry us well past midnight, as we continued discussing the drawbacks and merits of the production.
Such wonder I experience whenever I reflect on the origins of my relationship with Macy. It was so long ago, we were both so young then but I remember it vividly, and completely, unlike a great many other experiences that have distilled themselves into particular moments of feeling or have now decomposed into dark and cloudy snapshots of action. No, this memory is living. It accompanies me - you will enjoy this - whenever I pass a church drunk, and sometimes during general intercessions too.
Luke met us outside the door, and - surprise, surprise - he brought with him our beloved Nike. They said it was too crowded - the bar wasn't open yet - so they suggested we go down the street. Poor Babs was too nervous: she didn't want to go anywhere. But we told her there was nothing to worry about; we would make Luke buy her no matter what, and after she murmured how she didn't want to be late, we finally convinced her by insisting that we were only doing what was best for her; we would prepare her in the best way possible: by buying her a few shots of liquor - a strong one, so there would be no question of nerves.
I prayed. Nike could not harm this beautiful creature: this lonely woman framed by shadow: this faint white blur of something sacred - divinely profane: a strange creature of different fabrics, white and black, her veil was it? A disembodied head: a strip dangling in darkness: a bird with a shimmering tail. What kind of bird? a dove? a penguin? a beautiful canvasback pochard in flight? About to be shot?
– Title 3, Regarding a Dream, Chapter 2, The Second Day, Part 1, Labor & Economic Reform, Section 22, Encountering Poverty, Paragraph 49
My knees began shaking, and before it was too obvious, I got up and realized how weak my legs were. Walking as steadily as I could to the kitchen, I found it mercifully deserted. After pacing for a brief moment, I decided to take a shot of liquor, but my whole body was shaking: my legs were shaking, my shoulders, my arms were shaking and my hands were shaking. I leaned against the counter and my hands were calm, then my arms were calm even though my shoulders continued to shake. I tried to stand upright, but my breast began to shudder, and my breath was shuddering too. And then my whole body shuddered - mercifully so, because after that I was relatively in control, and could only complain of a little trembling.
A collection of stories featuring a sexy Parisian ghost, a spooky Moon base full of vagina-faced aliens, a policeman with an Irish name, a truck full of watermelons, a flautist, and a man who has to see another man about a diseased horse.
Shephard looked around. Pepsi held the policeman's pistol-her arms stretched out, a look of unmitigated shock plastered on her face. Everybody held his breath. After a moment, the policeman took back the gun.
To expedite their affairs, the two borrowed codewords from golf. 'Scotch foursome' meant they would alternate women. If Junior yelled, "Greensome," he was keeping his own. 'Scrambling' involved sharing one girl. As a matter of courtesy, she would have to attend the other player's flagstick. If there were very little green, a 'flop shot' would be called, which Junior enjoyed watching land either on the face or on the back.
As proficient as he was, there was something odd about Purse. He almost worked too hard, the way some nutjobs perpetually address the ball even though the hole is only two inches away. "What's the matter," asked Junior. He playfully tickled the bottom of his wingman's clubhead. "Can't you find your shot?" Purse grimaced. Junior realized his palm was sticky. Things turned awkward.
Shephard shot towards the bike. The man had stopped twenty yards away. He had killed the engine. He was taking off his helmet. Shephard reached him in two seconds. He yanked him off. "Sorry," he said. He climbed on. He kicked the starter. The engine fired.
Shephard sped down the road. He heard shouting behind him. He saw the humvee in his rear-view mirror. It was taking off in pursuit.
Shephard felt a foot on his back. He was kicked to his hands. He was bopped on the skull for good measure. Shephard winced. He wondered what was taking so long. A shot rang out. The investigator collapsed. Blood squirted from the back of his head.
A real play. With drama in it. Talk fast. It takes two hours. Set in a guest house. In a small community. After a murder. Lots of suspicion. The characters learn to listen to each other. It's funny.
FLETCHER: Trouble. The Tahitians were already upset. They hadn't been given any land when the island was divided, not to mention the fact that some of them were being beaten. Naturally, they started plotting. What they didn't take into account was the fact that To-ofa-iti, the blacksmith's new wife, was not complaining. The blacksmith was important. That made her important. She started singing a song, the words of which went, "Why does black man sharpen axe? To kill white man." When Fletcher Christian heard that song, he grabbed his musket, ran to the Tahitians, charged them with their crime, and pulled the trigger. The gun misfired. Two of the men ran; the rest protested their innocence. They begged for a chance to take care of it. They decided they should try to poison To-ofa-iti's husband. He didn't fall for it. He was too smart. Ultimately, one of the Tahitian men pulled a pistol on him in the presence of his wife. Again, the gun misfired. The two of them started grappling on the ground. Who knows who would've won? To-ofa-iti, however, was not about to take chances. She picked up the pistol with her own two hands and bopped her husband squarely on the head.
ALICE: She killed him?
FLETCHER: Eventually. Things were deceptively quiet for a few weeks. It didn't take long for judgment to fall upon the poor blacksmith. The Tahitians shot him down like a pig. Ironically, that's what the other mutineers thought they were doing. Being scattered all over the island, each man heard the shots and naturally assumed that somebody was hunting. Most of them found out too late that they were the prey.
ALICE: How many of them were killed?
FLETCHER: On that day, now known as Massacre Day, five of the original nine mutineers were fatally shot. Fletcher Christian was next. He was standing in his garden. Both of his hands were on his spade. He looked up at the sky and smiled. He never saw it coming. They shot him right through the heart.
ALICE: How did the others survive?
FLETCHER: Jackson was shot through the neck but he lived.
ALICE: Incredible.
FLETCHER: It's a miracle. Ned Young slept through the whole thing. The women didn't want to wake him. They all liked him and they didn't want to see him get hurt, so they stood around his hut and guarded him. Eventually, though, even he had to get his hands dirty. The women wanted revenge on the Tahitians for killing their husbands. After Ned's consort chopped off the ringleader's head with an axe, he was made to go and shoot the last remaining rebel. That was the end of the bloodshed - not counting when he and Jackson got Quintal drunk and murdered him.
ALICE: It's so barbaric.
– ACT I, lines 616-625
ALICE: You may.
FLETCHER: If the beautiful lady will oblige me thus, I know I shall play my part with an ardor heretofore unseen on any stage here or in any part of the Western world. 'Susannah.'
ALICE: 'Yes, Toc.'
FLETCHER: 'I wish to marry you.'
ALICE: 'Marry me!'
FLETCHER: 'I wish to be married to you.'
ALICE: 'Ton't pee sirry, Toc. I am ote enough to pee your mutter.'
FLETCHER: 'You're not my mother, Susannah - not by a long shot. You're not half as tall, nor half as old either. Nor is she as pretty as you are, beloved.'
ALICE: 'Man shoot haf yun wife.'
FLETCHER: 'Susannah, you have been kinder to me than anyone else I have ever known. I love you better than everybody else put together.'
A story book full of short fiction stories. An interesting bedtime mystery. A fairy tale. Science fiction romance. Adult life. Uninspiring gay fiction. Horror.
A few months later the professor was again observing Bill and Mark going up the hill. He noted the difference in time. He calmly consulted his formula. He calculated a 95% chance of collision. There had never been such a high probability. The professor rushed out of the house. Again he almost tripped and fell on the tripod. He set himself up on the side of the road. He made sure the lighting was adequate. He programmed the continuous drive. He heard the sound of two engines coming down the hill. He couldn't stop smiling. He was on the verge of a photographic masterpiece. Better than the shot of the two cars that got stuck trying to get into the same tollbooth. This would be a series of pictures framed and hung in a massive room in a famous art gallery. "Dueling postmen" he would call it. "No," he thought to himself. "Large Postman Collider. An Experiment in Physics."
Steve O confessed what he had done to Adam. "I was licking her asshole," he said. "What's worse. I think I liked it." Adam had become by this point a comrade-in-arms. Steve O shared everything with him. Like the time he was curing his headache on the sofa. And he accidentally shot the medicine into his mouth. "What's worse," Steve O had said, "I think I liked it."
A gunshot echoed through the house. Proctor realized he was still alive. He looked up. As Bob fell to the floor he revealed Elizabeth's quivering body behind him. She was holding the gun Proctor had given her. She dropped it. Proctor ran to her. They embraced. Proctor started smothering her in kisses.
"You said you wanted to talk," said Elizabeth. Proctor stopped kissing her. He looked into her eyes. "I thought it was time we did."
"I was at work that day," my father explained. "I would have told your mother to get out of the shot. The director, the producer, even what's his name. The actor. They all got on the megaphone. They screamed at her. She refused to budge. They made such a big fuss about it."
For the first time in my rotten life I was proud of my mother.
This table lists in descending order of frequency a selection of word pairs that appear in the Fiction Corpus and groups them according to the morphological derivation of the word shot that appears in the pair.
Type
WORD
Frequency
TOTAL # of occurences
MCDONALDS
JESUS
SEX
TSIGA
JACKSON
DINGBATS
modern/sloppy
biblical/terse
poetic/high-brow
hard/fast
talky
mixed salad
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
I have yet to perform a collocation analysis of "shot." I hope I can get it done sometime soon. -Michal
Life is a spinning sphere with Joy at one pole and Sadness at the other. Each continuously feeding its pair. Joy flanked by the emotions of Trust on one side, Surprise on the other. Trust leading to Anticipation; anticipation leading to Fear. Surprise leading to Disgust; disgust leading to Anger. Anger and Fear fueling our Sadness. Sadness giving way, in time, to Joy; through Hope, an orientation towards Love. Love, an openness towards Joy, Trust and Surprise; the sum of emotion; emotion amplified by others. Multiplied and divided, in equal parts. Such that to those from whom it has been subtracted, we must add. Until we are whole.
Help me keep the "Shot" page alive...
If you love women and art...
Michal's importing art...is he screwy?
Michal's Sales Pitch Lot 1: Silesian Handicrafts
T-shirt fundraiser for sale
Last T-Shirt with the logo that I designed.
From a set of, I believe, twenty produced by Margo and given out to a portion of the last 20 women to finish the 20th anniversary Fiat Road Race in Bielsko-Biała, cf. the movie. This is the last one left in it's original packaging and my supporters - like the poor women of Bielsko - are going to have to fight for it. Whoever invests the most money with me, and who lets me borrow it to invest in the next lot, will not only be rewarded with some beautiful piece of art, but will get this priceless t-shirt as a reward for being my top supporter. $1000.00 or best offer. Remember to authorize me to hold the sum as credit against a future purchase and to authorize me to borrow against it.
To purchase please mail a USPS money order in an envelope clearly marked Lot #1/Item #1 to M. Slaby at house number 201 on Ridge Road in the town of West Milford, in the state of New Jersey, one of the beautiful United States of America. The postal code is 07480-3112.
Felt handbag for sale
Felt bag by Dorota.
Entirely hand-sewn. Base: polyester felt, 100% PE. Motif: South American woolen yarn, dyed, 100% wool. Hand-worked with a needle. Unique and inimitable design. Inside: cotton fabric, closes with zipper, inside pocket. Available now for $220.00. Ships free of additional charge via USPS (uninsured) unless otherwise directed.
To purchase please mail a USPS money order in an envelope clearly marked Lot #1/Item #2 to M. Slaby at house number 201 on Ridge Road in the town of West Milford, in the state of New Jersey, one of the beautiful United States of America. The postal code is 07480-3112.
Decorative collar for sale
Decorative collar by Zuzanna.
Ethnic layered cloth jewelry constructed on a cotton base and adorned with ribbons, tassels, and a yellow fringe. Fastened on the side with 11 buttons, fitted entirely with a pleasant lining. The style is an Indo-Asian-African multinational color combination. The collar is very extravagant and an extraordinary addition to any clothing, guaranteed to attract attention. Just a simple dress and a unique image is ready. Dry-cleaning recommended. Available now for $200.00. Ships free of additional charge via USPS (uninsured) unless otherwise directed.
To purchase please mail a USPS money order in an envelope clearly marked Lot #1/Item #3 to M. Slaby at house number 201 on Ridge Road in the town of West Milford, in the state of New Jersey, one of the beautiful United States of America. The postal code is 07480-3112.
Seamless handbag for sale
Handbag by Sylwia.
Handmade from felted all-natural Australian and South American wool. Entirely felted, seamless. Finished with a white lining, inside is a small pocket. Lining is sewn and stitched in by hand. Available now for $180.00. Ships free of additional charge via USPS (uninsured) unless otherwise directed.
To purchase please mail a USPS money order in an envelope clearly marked Lot #1/Item #4 to M. Slaby at house number 201 on Ridge Road in the town of West Milford, in the state of New Jersey, one of the beautiful United States of America. The postal code is 07480-3112.
Patchwork quilt for sale
Patchwork quilt by Alicja.
Bedspread made of cotton and polyester material. Inserted with polyester lining. 90 by 70 cm. Available now for $120.00. Ships free of additional charge via USPS (uninsured) unless otherwise directed.
To purchase please mail a USPS money order in an envelope clearly marked Lot #1/Item #5 to M. Slaby at house number 201 on Ridge Road in the town of West Milford, in the state of New Jersey, one of the beautiful United States of America. The postal code is 07480-3112.
Nuno-felt shawl for sale
Shawl by Sylwia.
Scarf made with the nuno felting technique (wet felting fibre into a silk gauze) using South American wool. Two-sided scarf with latticework at the ends. Wholly in the colors red, black, green in an abstract pattern. Available now for $100.00. Ships free of additional charge via USPS (uninsured) unless otherwise directed.
To purchase please mail a USPS money order in an envelope clearly marked Lot #1/Item #6 to M. Slaby at house number 201 on Ridge Road in the town of West Milford, in the state of New Jersey, one of the beautiful United States of America. The postal code is 07480-3112.
Clara the doll for sale
Clara by Alicja.
Clara loves roses and greenery, adores tormenting spiders with long legs and sleeping soundly in the afternoon. Cuddly toy made of cotton and polyester, stuffed with polyester lining. Available now for $70.00. Ships free of additional charge via USPS (uninsured) unless otherwise directed.
To purchase please mail a USPS money order in an envelope clearly marked Lot #1/Item #7 to M. Slaby at house number 201 on Ridge Road in the town of West Milford, in the state of New Jersey, one of the beautiful United States of America. The postal code is 07480-3112.
Noah the doll for sale
Noah by Alicja.
Noah doesn't know what to like and what not to like but keeps wondering and thinking about it. Cuddly toy made of cotton and polyester, stuffed with polyester lining. Available now for $70.00. Ships free of additional charge via USPS (uninsured) unless otherwise directed.
To purchase please mail a USPS money order in an envelope clearly marked Lot #1/Item #8 to M. Slaby at house number 201 on Ridge Road in the town of West Milford, in the state of New Jersey, one of the beautiful United States of America. The postal code is 07480-3112.
Black suspenders for sale
Black suspenders by Zuzanna.
Two-sided suspenders from black material with a rose motif on one side and striped cotton on the other. Connected by a leather triangle. Adjustable length. Hand washing in cold water recommended. Available now for $50.00. Ships free of additional charge via USPS (uninsured) unless otherwise directed.
To purchase please mail a USPS money order in an envelope clearly marked Lot #1/Item #9 to M. Slaby at house number 201 on Ridge Road in the town of West Milford, in the state of New Jersey, one of the beautiful United States of America. The postal code is 07480-3112.
Orange suspenders for sale
Orange suspenders by Zuzanna.
Two-sided suspenders made of denim and orange material with a Polish floral folk design. Connected by a leather triangle. Adjustable length. Hand washing in cold water recommended. Available now for $50.00. Ships free of additional charge via USPS (uninsured) unless otherwise directed.
To purchase please mail a USPS money order in an envelope clearly marked Lot #1/Item #10 to M. Slaby at house number 201 on Ridge Road in the town of West Milford, in the state of New Jersey, one of the beautiful United States of America. The postal code is 07480-3112.
Green suspenders for sale
Green suspenders by Zuzanna.
Two-sided suspenders made of denim and green material with a mountain folk design. Connected by a leather triangle. Adjustable length. Hand washing in cold water recommended. Available now for $50.00. Ships free of additional charge via USPS (uninsured) unless otherwise directed.
To purchase please mail a USPS money order in an envelope clearly marked Lot #1/Item #11 to M. Slaby at house number 201 on Ridge Road in the town of West Milford, in the state of New Jersey, one of the beautiful United States of America. The postal code is 07480-3112.
Felt earrings for sale
Felt earrings by Dorota.
Material: South American woolen yarn, dyed, 100% wool. Hand-worked with a needle. Pendant of anti-allergenic metal. Available now for $40.00. Ships free of additional charge via USPS (uninsured) unless otherwise directed.
To purchase please mail a USPS money order in an envelope clearly marked Lot #1/Item #12 to M. Slaby at house number 201 on Ridge Road in the town of West Milford, in the state of New Jersey, one of the beautiful United States of America. The postal code is 07480-3112.
Round ceramic earrings for sale
Round ceramic earrings by Dorota.
Material: Glazed ceramics, hand-molded. Available now for $40.00. Ships free of additional charge via USPS (uninsured) unless otherwise directed.
To purchase please mail a USPS money order in an envelope clearly marked Lot #1/Item #13 to M. Slaby at house number 201 on Ridge Road in the town of West Milford, in the state of New Jersey, one of the beautiful United States of America. The postal code is 07480-3112.
Oblong ceramic earrings for sale
Oblong ceramic earrings by Dorota.
Material: Glazed ceramics, hand-molded. Available now for $40.00. Ships free of additional charge via USPS (uninsured) unless otherwise directed.
To purchase please mail a USPS money order in an envelope clearly marked Lot #1/Item #14 to M. Slaby at house number 201 on Ridge Road in the town of West Milford, in the state of New Jersey, one of the beautiful United States of America. The postal code is 07480-3112.
'Coral' necklace for sale
Corals by Sylwia.
Necklace made of cotton pieces with organdy and decorated with beads, suspended on cotton strings. Can be worn as a necklace, as a brooch or as a belt tied at the side. Available now for $40.00. Ships free of additional charge via USPS (uninsured) unless otherwise directed.
To purchase please mail a USPS money order in an envelope clearly marked Lot #1/Item #15 to M. Slaby at house number 201 on Ridge Road in the town of West Milford, in the state of New Jersey, one of the beautiful United States of America. The postal code is 07480-3112.
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