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Nihilio

Ποιο είναι το επίπεδο γραφής σας;

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Nihilio

http://www.wordscount.info/hw/smog.jsp

 

Δοκιμάζοντας Αγγλικό κείμενο πήρα 8.19 (Γυμνασιόπαιδο)

Σε Ελληνικό δε δουλέυει. Δοκιμάστε το και σχολιάστε

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RaspK

15.73

>13 - 15	[b]Educational Level:[/b] some college	[b]Example:[/b] New York Times;
16	[b]Education Level:[/b] university degree	[b]Example:[/b] Atlantic Monthly

[b]Basic Data[/b]					[b]Derived Data[/b]
Sentences		5			Words/Sentence		42.2
Total Words		211			Syllables/Word		1.53
Letters			984			Syllables/Sentence	64.6
Digits			0			Letters/Syllable	3.05
Characters		1227			Letters/Word		4.66
Lines			1			Letters/Sentence	196.8

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Ivan Gig Nth Yuk

Εγώ είμαι κάπου ανάμεσα στο 3 και στο 5. Αγκού! Πάντως αν αυτό έχει οποιαδήποτε επίσημη αξία ίσως το χρησιμοποιήσω για να βρεθώ στο νηπιαγωγείο. Καθόλου άσχημα! :D

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month

SMOG Calculator

Powered by SMOG Calculator - A Words Count Service

Detailed SMOG Analysis Δευτέρα, 27 Αύγουστος 2007 12:01:01 πμ

SMOG Grade

12.49

 

Of people who think that are smarter than us, and fail to prove it concistently.

Words:

318

 

Numbers(off):

0

 

Total Tokens:

318

 

Syllables:

472

 

Sentences:

11

Basic Data

Sentences 11

Total Words 318

Letters 1442

Digits 0

Characters 1795

Lines 1

 

Derived Data

Words/Sentence 28.91

Syllables/Word 1.48

Syllables/Sentence 42.91

Letters/Syllable 3.06

Letters/Word 4.53

Letters/Sentence 131.09

 

αυτό πριν την διώρθωση απο το word. μετά...

 

Ακριβώς το ίδιο! Και ειδού το κείμενο που έγγραψα.

 

It is a sad part of our times, that there are more and more people that are trying to pass themselves as geniuses and extraordinary, while they are not. It is a small insanity in their part that makes them gloat and shout their glory to the heavens and anybody willing or near enough to hear them, while, in reality, they are nothing but pompous and phanpharonic idiots that fail to accomplish even the smallest thing in their lives.

The problem lies not with them, not entirely at least. The problem lies with all the other people that listen to them, and unbelievably enough, are persuaded of the intellectual might and authority of those men that shout. And it is because of those men that governments and institutions all around the globe suffer from ineptitude of grandiose scale, something that will lead to the ruin of many things.

Grander example form my country, Greece exists not. For it is sad and true that in the birthplace of Democracy, imbeciles have taken control in the greater part of the infrastructure of our bureaucracy, something in the recent disaster, the fires that still rage and burn a great part of our countryside, was revealed in all it's unholy glory. Firemen and civilians alike, cry out in disdain, cry out for some help from those that are supposed to give orders, but do not know themselves what to do. Men of valour and bravery beyond normal ken, stand between the complete annihilation of our forests, and because of the stupidity and disability of those that give orders, all their efforts are in vain.

My only hope is that after this disaster, men with a greater ability than those that are now in command will be able to govern, and thus repair some of the damage that was done. Wounds that not even the children of our children will see completely healed.

Edited by month

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DinoHajiyorgi

Μου έδωσε τα παρακάτω:

 

Detailed SMOG Analysis 27/8/2007 12:38:08 πμ

SMOG Grade 7.9

Type document title here (optional)

Words: 586

Numbers(off): 0

Total Tokens: 586

Syllables: 788

Sentences: 60

 

Basic Data

Sentences 60

Total Words 586

Letters 2543

Digits 0

Characters 3252

Lines 1

Derived Data

Words/Sentence 9.77

Syllables/Word 1.34

Syllables/Sentence 13.13

Letters/Syllable 3.23

Letters/Word 4.34

Letters/Sentence 42.38

 

Για το αυτό κείμενο:

 

“Who are you?” The question, so sudden, so cold, hammered through his head smashing his serenity, spinning him out of his stupor. Something enormous had transpired. It was bigger and far more significant than his puny existence, of this much he was certain. He could not however home in on it, he was unable to explain it. He opened his eyes and white, blinding light burned his sockets. He shut his eyelids tight and started screaming. He was under a tremendous shock and instant discharge broke from his body. Tears, snot, drool and urine were released at once. He was crying unrestrainedly. He felt his inner throat as if having been torn; he could not utter a word. Even his unintelligible cries and screams were painful. He didn’t know who he was. He was terrified. His soul felt frozen so he shivered. Loneliness and death. He sensed these two words more than he was able to think them. He jutted his limbs and his anxiety increased. He was trapped, tangled in strange webs, like a fly in a spider’s nest. He remembered the spiders, the picture of the eight-legged creatures in their glass encasings flashed in his mind but that particular memory lasted an instant, a mere wink and then it was gone. He was in the dark once again. Who was he? The scarier aspect was that he was unable to hold a reasonable thought. His memory box was black, void of pictures, empty of words. The curtain concealing the answers was almost transparent, shadows moved visibly behind it, but he could not put together one tiny, hypothetical, even stupid conclusion and this made him mad. He was not alone in this darkness. There was another in there with him. He had felt him scurrying about. This other wandered like an intruder in his head, scraped on the walls of his skull, searching, looking for answers. It was the intruder who had asked the question. “Who are you?” The pressure was enormous, it stifled him. He wanted to shout “I don’t know” but he couldn’t. Such a response scared him. Then came a spark. He struck his forehead with the palm of his head, twice, three times. “Think, think!” shouted in his mind. New visions appeared before him. He was standing in a classroom, in front of a blackboard filled with mathematical equations. The calculation had reached some frustrating block so he was striking his forehead as was his habit. “Think! Think!” he was murmuring to himself. That piece of memory vanished too, like a dream. It was however a piece of truth, a reality of his own belonging to another place, another time. He placed once more the palm of his hand on his forehead, gently this time. Palm. Hand. Hand touching forehead. Hand, upper limb. Forehead, face, head. Body. Flesh and bone. Human. I am a man. It was an odd way to reach a conclusion but it looked like the way to go in his state. The intrusive inquisitor in his head was also very much interested in that first thought. Human, sentient being capable of thought and speech. He ran his hand over his face trying to read his features. Something was not right. There was a problem with his hand, it was wrong. He gathered all the courage he could master and dared to open his eyes for a second time.

Edited by DinoHajiyorgi

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Oberon

Αυτό είναι το κείμενο που έβαλα, από μια ιστορία ατελειώτη της οποίας τα πρώτα κεφάλαια είναι κάπου στις Βιβλιοθήκες.

 

"Her silver-white hair swirled counterpoint to the rhythm of the drums as she danced exuberantly, surprised at herself, at her abandon, at her self-indulgence. She actually felt the “methe”, the alleged mystical state of consciousness in union with the ocean – the soul-mother – through ritual music, singing and dance.

Singers on top of the nearby pyramids; an entire choir of adepts who also utilised the warm breeze blowing under the starlit sky, invisible in the darkness of the night; flutists lined up in a circle on the beach, while around her, the inner circle, eight priests and priestesses were seated on the sand forming the divine semi-circle of the eight. Her body was shimmering as the moon rose, her thick long curly hair, like spirals dancing wildly around the glistening center of her body. Along with the sound of the sea waves, most peculiarly, a whole school of dolphins were also singing in perfect harmony to the music, dancing on the moonlit surface of the ocean in perfect accord to her own movements.

The “methe” was more than just a realisation of the harmony, it was an experience she felt very deeply, like all of nature, humans, dolphins, and celestial bodies were an instrument of a millions chords, she, Miriam of Lemuru, one chord vibrating in the hands of a perfect musician in an orchestra both celestial and terrestrial.

 

She was almost bothered as she realized how easily and effortlessly she had reached that most-desired, by the priests, state, how easily she had left her misgivings go, her own refusal to believe in anything non-solid, non-sensed, non-visible; how easily she had abandoned her own beliefs, her own mentality that she had built and cherished for so many years.

She silently laughed at herself, remembering her flat refusal of a few days ago, her anger, how offended she had felt when the priests, the religious representatives had asked her permission, as head of the excavation site, to have the rites and celebration for this year’s Reunification of the Seven Plus Two Siblings here, just a few meters away from the excavation site on Verdant God Isle."

 

Kαι το αποτέλεσμα ήταν αυτό (Well....Αγγλικά διδάσκω...):

 

SMOG Grade

16.83 Type document title here (optional)

Words:

370 Numbers(off):

0 Total Tokens:

370 Syllables:

558 Sentences:

8

 

Basic Data

Sentences 8

Total Words 370

Letters 1719

Digits 0

Characters 2163

Lines 1

Derived Data

Words/Sentence 46.25

Syllables/Word 1.51

Syllables/Sentence 69.75

Letters/Syllable 3.08

Letters/Word 4.65

Letters/Sentence 214.88

 

 

SMOG Grade Educational Level Example

0 - 6 low-literate Soap Opera Weekly

7 junior high school True Confessions

8 junior high school Ladies Home Journal

9 some high school Reader's Digest

10 some high school Newsweek

11 some high school Sports Illustrated

12 high school graduate Time Magazine

13 - 15 some college New York Times

16 university degree Atlantic Monthly

17 - 18 post-graduate studies Harvard Business Review

19+ post-graduate degree IRS Code

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DinoHajiyorgi

Dain, RaspK Fog and month RULE!!

 

Isaak Asimov, Caves of Steel:

 

There was the usual, entirely normal crowd on the expressway:

the standees on the lower level and those with seat privileges above. A continuous trickle of humanity filtered off the expressway, across the decelerating strips to locaiways or into the stationaries that led under arches or over bridges into the endless mazes of the City Sections. Another trickle, just as continuous, worked inward from the other side, across the accelerating strips and onto the expressway.

There were the infinite lights: the luminous walls and ceilings that secmed to drip coo], even phosphorescence; the flashing advertisements screaming for attention; the harsh, steady gleam of the "lightworms" that directed THIS WAY TO JERSEY SECTIONS, FOLLOW ARROWS TO EAST RIVER SUUTTLE, UPPER LEVEL FOR ALL WAYS TO LONG ISLAND SECTIONS

 

Most of all there was the noise that was inseparable from life: the sound of millions talking, laughing, coughing, calling, humming, breathing.

No directions anywhere to Spacetown, thought Baley.

He stepped from strip to strip with the ease of a lifetime's practice. Children learned to "hop the strips" as soon as they learned to walk. Baley scarcely felt the jerk of acceleration as his velocity increased with each step. He was not even aware that he leaned forward against the force. In thirty seconds he had reached the final sixty-mile-an-hour strip and could step aboard the railed and glassed-in moving platform that was the expressway.

No directions to Spacetown, he thought.

No need for directions. If you've business there, you know the way. If you don't know the way, you've no business there. When Space. town was first established some twenty-five years earlier, there was a

strong tendency to make a showplace out of it. The hordes of the City herded in that direction.

The Spacers put a stop to that. Politely (they were always polite), but without any compromise with tact, they put up a force barrier between themselves and the City. They established a combination Immigration Service and Customs Inspection. If you had business, you identified yourself, allowed yourself to be searched, and submitted to a medical examination and a routine disinfection.

It gave rise to dissatisfaction. Naturally. More dissatisfaction than it deserved. Enough dissatisfaction to put a serious spoke in the program of modernization. Baley remembered the Barrier Riots. He had been part of the mob that had suspended itself from the rails of the expressways, crowded onto the seats in disregard of rating privileges, run recklessly along and across the strips at the risk of a broken body, and remained just outside the Spacetown barrier for two days, shouting slogans and destroying City property out of sheer frustration.

 

Αποτέλεσμα:

 

SMOG Grade 11.59

Type document title here (optional)

Words: 444

Numbers(off): 0

Total Tokens: 444

Syllables: 708

Sentences: 26

Basic Data

Sentences 26

Total Words 444

Letters 2226

Digits 0

Characters 2758

Lines 1

Derived Data

Words/Sentence 17.08

Syllables/Word 1.59

Syllables/Sentence 27.23

Letters/Syllable 3.14

Letters/Word 5.01

Letters/Sentence 85.62

 

Arthur Clark, Childhood’s End:

 

THE volcano that had reared Taratua up from the Pacific depths had been sleeping now for half a million years. Yet in a little while, thought Reinhold, the island would be bathed with fires fiercer than any that had attended its birth. He glanced towards the launching site, and his gaze dimbed the pyramid of scaffolding that still surrounded the Columbus. Two hundred feet above the ground, the ship's prow was catching the last rays of the descending sun. This was one of the last nights it would ever know: soon it would be floating in the eternal sunahine of space.

It was quiet here beneath the palms, high up on the rocky spine of the island. The only sound from the Project was the occasional yammering of an air compressor or the faint shout of a workman. Reinhold had grown fond of these clustered palms; almost every evening he had come here to survey his little empire. It saddened him to think that they would be blasted to atoms when the Columbus rose in flame and fury to the stars.

A mile beyond the reef, the James Forrestal had switched on her searchlights and was sweeping the dark waters. The sun had now vanished completely, and the swift tropical night was racing In from the east. Reinhold wondered, a little sardonically, if the carrier expected to find Russian submarines so close to shore.

The thought of Russia turned his mind, as it always did, to Konrad, and that morning in the cataclysmic spring of 1945. More than thirty years had passed, but the memory of those last days when the Reich was crumbling beneath the waves from the East and from the West had never faded. He could still see Konrad's tired blue eyes, and the golden stubble on his chin, as they shook hands and parted in that ruined Prussian village, while the refugees streamed endlessly past.

 

Αποτέλεσμα:

 

SMOG Grade 10.62

Type document title here (optional)

Words: 319

Numbers(off): 0

Total Tokens: 319

Syllables: 440

Sentences: 15

Basic Data

Sentences 15

Total Words 319

Letters 1438

Digits 0

Characters 1795

Lines 1

Derived Data

Words/Sentence 21.27

Syllables/Word 1.38

Syllables/Sentence 29.33

Letters/Syllable 3.27

Letters/Word 4.51

Letters/Sentence 95.87

 

Kim Stanley Robinson, Red Mars:

 

“. . . And so we came here. But what they didn’t realize was that by the time we got to Mars, we would be so changed by the voyage out that nothing we had been told to do mattered anymore. It wasn’t like submarining or settling the Wild West—it was an entirely new experience, and as the flight of the Ares went on, the Earth finally became so distant that it was nothing but a blue star among all the others, its voices so delayed that they seemed to come from a previous century. We were on our own; and so we became fundamentally different beings.”

All lies, Frank Chalmers thought irritably. He was sitting in a row of dignitaries, watching his old friend John Boone give the usual Boone Inspirational Address. It made Chalmers weary. The truth was, the trip to Mars had been the functional equivalent of a long train ride. Not only had they not become fundamentally different beings, they had actually become more like themselves than ever, stripped of habits until they were left with nothing but the naked raw material of their selves. But John stood up there waving a forefinger at the crowd, saying “We came here to make something new, and when we arrived our earthly differences fell away, irrelevant in this new world!” Yes, he meant it all literally. His vision of Mars was a lens that distorted everything he saw, a kind of religion.

Chalmers stopped listening and let his gaze wander over the new city. They were going to call it Nicosia. It was the first town of any size to be built free-standing on the martian surface; all the buildings were set inside what was in effect an immense clear tent, supported by a nearly invisible frame, and placed on the rise of Tharsis, west of Noctis Labyrinthus. This location gave it a tremendous view, with a distant western horizon punctuated by the broad peak of Pavonis Mons. For the Mars veterans in the crowd it was giddy stuff: they were on the surface, they were out of the trenches and mesas and craters, they could see forever! Hurrah!

A laugh from the audience drew Frank’s attention back to his old friend. John Boone had a slightly hoarse voice, and a friendly Midwestern accent, and he was by turns (and somehow even all at once) relaxed, intense, sincere, self-mocking, modest, confident, serious, and funny. In short, the perfect public speaker. And the audience was rapt; this was the First Man On Mars speaking to them, and judging by the looks on their faces they might as well have been watching Jesus produce their evening meal out of the loaves and fishes. And in fact John almost deserved their adoration, for performing a similar miracle on another plane, transforming their tin can existence into an astounding spiritual voyage. "On Mars we will come to care for each other more than ever before,” John said, which really meant, Chalmers thought, an alarming incidence of the kind of behavior seen in rat overpopulation experiments; "Mars is a sublime, exotic and dangerous place,” said John—meaning a frozen ball of oxidized rock on which they were exposed to about fifteen rem a year; "And with our work," John continued, "we are carving out a new social order and the next step in the human story”—i.e. the latest variant in primate dominance dynamics.

 

Αποτέλεσμα:

 

SMOG Grade 12.08

Type document title here (optional)

Words: 588

Numbers(off): 0

Total Tokens: 588

Syllables: 841

Sentences: 24

Basic Data

Sentences 24

Total Words 588

Letters 2619

Digits 0

Characters 3347

Lines 1

Derived Data

Words/Sentence 24.5

Syllables/Word 1.43

Syllables/Sentence 35.04

Letters/Syllable 3.11

Letters/Word 4.45

Letters/Sentence 109.12

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DinoHajiyorgi

Error - Real Text Above

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Darkchilde

Το κείμενο είναι αυτό: Crunching Numbers (Από το αγγλικό blog που έχω).

 

SMOG Grade 12.49

 

Basic Data

Sentences 22

Total Words 513

Letters 2353

Digits 0

Characters 2942

Lines 1

 

Derived Data

Words/Sentence 23.32

Syllables/Word 1.5

Syllables/Sentence 35.0

Letters/Syllable 3.06

Letters/Word 4.59

Letters/Sentence 106.95

 

SMOG Grade Educational Level Example

0 - 6 low-literate Soap Opera Weekly

7 junior high school True Confessions

8 junior high school Ladies Home Journal

9 some high school Reader's Digest

10 some high school Newsweek

11 some high school Sports Illustrated

12 high school graduate Time Magazine

13 - 15 some college New York Times

16 university degree Atlantic Monthly

17 - 18 post-graduate studies Harvard Business Review

19+ post-graduate degree IRS Code

Edited by Darkchilde

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month

Διακρίνω ένα σχετικά μεγάλο επίπεδο γενικά. Πότε θα πάμε στην Αγγλία να το παίξουμε κάπιοι; :p (για κάποιο λόγο δεν μου έβαλε τα smileys...)

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Nihilio

Για όσους ΔΕΝ το έχουν προσέξει ακόμα βέβαια, το τεστ μετράει το πόσο μεγάλες προτάσεις γράφουμε και τίποτα άλλο, το link μπήκε ως ένα είδος αστείου, οπότε όσο χάλια και αν τα πήγαμε/τε μην το πάρετε στα σοβαρά, στο γράψιμο μετράνε και άλλα πράγματα (Dino, παρέα θα το βγάλουμε το Γυμνάσιο :p)

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RaspK

Αυτό έλεγα και με το Διονύση: βασίζεται, προφανώς στην περιπλοκότητα των φράσεων. Το γεγονός ότι έχω συνηθίσει να πλέκω δευτερεύουσες προτάσεις τη μία μετά την άλλη, συν τα χαρακτηριστικά του κειμένου του το αποδεικνύουν, νομίζω, με αρκετή άνεση, αν και είναι κάτι που θα μπορούσε ν' αμφισβητήσει κανείς, αν το ήθελε· εκτός αν δεν πρόσεξα κάποια επεξήγηση του αλγορίθμου στη σελίδα. :blush:

 

Έχει την πλάκα, όμως, όπως και να το κάνουμε. :rofl2: Αν και δεν ξέρω πόσοι θα έχουν το κουράγιο να δοκιμάσουν όλους τους συγγραφείς, όπως ο Ντίνος.

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tetartos

Έβαλα τους δύο "αγγλοελληνικούς λόγους" του Ζολώτα (http://www.translatum.gr/etexts/zolotas.htm)

 

 

 

Ο πρώτος (1957) Kyrie, I eulogize the archons of the Panethnic Numismatic Thesaurus and the Ecumenical Trapeza for the orthodoxy of their axioms, methods and policies, although there is an episode of cacophony of the Trapeza with Hellas. With enthusiasm we dialogue and synagonize at the synods of our didymous organizations in which polymorphous economic ideas and dogmas are analyzed and synthesized. Our critical problems such as the numismatic plethora generate some agony and melancholy. This phenomenon is characteristic of our epoch. But, to my thesis, we have the dynamism to program therapeutic practices as a prophylaxis from chaos and catastrophe. In parallel, a Panethnic unhypocritical economic synergy and harmonization in a democratic climate is basic. I apologize for my eccentric monologue. I emphasize my euharistia to you, Kyrie to the eugenic arid generous American Ethnos and to the organizes and protagonists of his Amphictyony and the gastronomic symposia

 

πήρε 17.36

 

και ο δεύτερος δύο χρόνια αργότερα (1959)

 

It is Zeus' anathema on our epoch (for the dynamism of our economies) and the heresy of our economic method and policies that we should agonize the Skylla of nomismatic plethora and the Charybdis of economic anaemia. It is not my idiosyncracy to be ironic or sarcastic but my diagnosis would be that politicians are rather cryptoplethorists. Although they emphatically stigmatize nomismatic plethora, they energize it through their tactics and practices. Our policies should be based more on economic and less on political criteria. Our gnomon has to be a metron between economic,strategic and philanthropic scopes. Political magic has always been anti-economic. In an epoch characterized by monopolies, oligopolies, monopolistic antagonism and polymorphous inelasticities, our policies have to be more orthological, but this should not be metamorphosed into plethorophobia, which is endemic among academic economists. Nomismatic symmetry should not antagonize economic acme. A greater harmonization between the practices of the economic and nomismatic archons is basic. Parallel to this,we have to synchronize and harmonize more and more our economic and nomismatic policies panethnically. These scopes are more practicable now, when the prognostics of the political and economic barometer are halcyonic. The history of our didimus organization on this sphere has been didactic and their gnostic practices will always be a tonic to the polyonymous and idiomorphous ethnical economies. The genesis of the programmed organization will dynamize these policies. Therefore, i sympathize, although not without criticism one or two themes with the apostles and the hierarchy of our organs in their zeal to program orthodox economic and nomismatic policies, although I have some logomachy with them.I apologize for having tyranized you with my Hellenic phraseology. In my epilogue, i emphasize my eulogy to the philoxenous aytochtons of this cosmopolitan metropolis and my encomium to you, Kyrie stenographers

 

πήρε 17.35. Προφανώς χάνει, όσο γερνάει...

 

Το καλύτερο σκορ όμως το πέτυχε ο κ. Σουκάκος, καθηγητής Ορθοπεδικής με την ακόλουθη ομιλία (από το ίδιο website)

 

Τhe Ηellenic orthopedic physicians, have synchronized their dynamism and energy with the Εuropean Οrganization of Οrthopedics and Τraumatology, to generate this symbiotic and not ephemeral synthesis of charismatic, academic scholars, and are enthusiastic with the atmosphere of euphoria and analogous ecstasy in Dodecanisa, Rodos.

Rodos is a graphic Ηellenic metropolitan center in the Αegean archipelagos, with myriads of archaeological and historical sites. Rodos is a geographical paradise of cryptic and chimerical icons of idyllic charm, amalgamated with Ηellenic gastronomy of mousaka, souvlaki, ouzo emporia and euphoria of the rhyme and rhythm of bouzouki, Βyzantine and Spanoudakis music.

Α plethora of basic and didactic themes in the sphere of orthopedics and traumatology, such as trauma of the musculoskeletal system, arthroscopic and arthroplasty surgery, paediatric orthopedics, poly-trauma, podiatric surgery, carpus and dactylic surgery with traumatic and genetic anomalies, microsurgery, spondylopathies like scoliosis, kyphosis and spondylolithesis, osteoporosis and pharmacologic and prophylactic therapeutic policies will be emphasized.

Diagnostic methods and etiological therapy of traumatic, non-physiological and pathological syndromes, therapeutic schemes and strategies, will be analyzed and synthesized at this academic symposium on the basis of a democratic climate and with the scope of a non-dogmatic and egocentric dialogue, which Ι prophesize will be an historic phenomenon and paradigm of dynamic synergy and harmony between polyethnic orthopedic physicians of the Εuropean Εpirus.

Τo paraphrase, with the phobia and dilemma of being tautological, let me empasize that the logistics and machinations in this academic symposium, will generate the scheme and type of our harmonic synergy and syndesmosis.

Ρragmatically, it is my thesis and not hypothesis that the next phase and programmed orthopedic symposium in Ηelsinki which Ι eulogize will be as dynamic and with colossal kyros, as in Rodos, Ηellas.

Ι apologize for my eulogistic demagogy and if my etymological glossary is based on philosophic or symbolic metaphors and lexical hyperbole, please sympathize with me and Ι apologize for the idiosyncrasy of a zealous Ηellenic, practising orthopaedic physician who is also fanatically enthusiastic about the giant anode of Εuropean propaedutics and academics in orthopedics and traumatology

 

που πήρε βαθμολογία 35.63!!!

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month

Μπορεί κανείς να βάλει Lovecraft;

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Naroualis

7.35, για το παρακάτω κέιμενο

 

One autumn day, a young shepherd from Crimson Fields took his herd of goats –no more than eight- to the sea for a bite of sea herbs and a lick of salt. On the coast sand, covered by seaweed, the young shepherd found a man. He brought him around, gave him some water and a rusk to munch and asked him how he ended up there in such a terrible mess.

“My name is Upozor”, said the man with heavy accent, oddly using the words. “My boat went shipwrecked and I do not know how I ended up here.”

“Which port did you set sail from?” the young shepherd said. “Great Delta?”

“What’s Great Delta?” the castaway asked.

The young shepherd took him to the elders of his village. There Upozor said his story again. The city he was born in was Loneh. The port his boat –his sunken boat- had set sail from was Tolfee. The girl he was in love with was Iniet and she was one of the priestesses of god Abou.

The elders brought down all the books and maps they had, but found not a city by the name of Loneh, neither a port by the name of Tolfee, nor any report on the god Abou, who enjoys stroking ripe wheat. They showed him their maps, could it be that they were incomplete?

But Upozor appeared more puzzled than they, for he did not even recognize the shape of the land.

“This map is upside down,” he said. “Snow is in the south. There isn’t any strange crisscross river like that one; instead there are lots of small torrents that pour into the sea coming down from Mountainloop, the only mountain in the world. And this country, what a strange name! Crimson Fields. Never heard of them before.”

The elders shook their heads in sorrow.

“It’s obvious,” their leader said. “The foreigner is crazy. Crimson Fields possesses one quarter of all dry land. Is it possible that he doesn’t know the bigger state of world? And these city names that he keeps saying exist in no map or book of ours.”

“He is crazy,” the rest of them agreed. “His boat sunk, his shock made him create an imaginary world and there he lives now. Let us be merciful. Let us send him to the capital. Perhaps a wizard will be found to bring him to his senses.”

In the capital, Upozor told his story again, this time to the king’s wise men. But they shook their heads as well and agreed with the village elders.

“He is crazy”, they said. “He fools himself by believing that all these places and gods exist. There is only one piece of dry land in the world and it is surrounded by Broad-chest Sea. No one has ever travelled south of Broad-chest Sea because noth-ing exists there, but that seawater.”

“It’s a pity,” said the king of Crimson Fields in sorrow. “A fine lad like that, suffering like that… If only we could help him, being mortals ourselves... Prepare a mission. Take him to Essveessee’s Oracle, south of the Centre of the World. Perhaps god Essveessee and his Oracle might find a cure for him.

And thus Upozor found himself again on the road.

And from Essveessee’s Oracle he was sent to the east, to the necromancers of Ouram-Dal.

And from Ouram-Dal, to the south, to the priests of the Water in Great Delta.

And from Great Delta, to the north, to the Sybilles of Ferrous City.

And from Ferrous City to the hermits of Crimson Mountains.

To the charmers of the steppe.

To the healers of Southern River.

To the fakirs at the Oreemac marshes.

To the shamans at the Centre of the World.

To the witches of the Eastern Fields.

He is crazy.

He is crazy.

He is crazy.

And he believed it, too.

There is no city by the name of Loneh, nor a port called Tolfee. There is no god Abou who enjoys stroking ripe wheat and Iniet is no name for a girl. The Line of Eternal Ice is north and nobody knows what Mountainloop is. Upozor fools himself. He is crazy. And as a crazy man, he was pitied by the priests of the Sun in Great Delta and he was sacrificed to the Sun, at the Mid-Winter Festival.

Not until after a thousand years, dared a ship cross Broad-chest Sea. Her bold crew discovered an unknown land, inhabited by civilized men.

“What is this port’s name?” The seamen asked.

“Tolfee”, people answered with heavy accent, oddly using the words.

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Nihilio

Ευθυμία, μήπως πάμε στο ίδιο γυμνάσιο; :p

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Naroualis

Μπα εσύ είσαι πιο advanced, εγώ έχω ακόμη μέλλον στις σπουδές μου.... :lol: :lol: :lol:

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Blade master

Έγραψα το παρακάτω κείμενο:

 

supercalifragalisticexpialidotious supercalifragalisticexpialidotious supercalifragalisticexpialidotious supercalifragalisticexpialidotious supercalifragalisticexpialidotious supercalifragalisticexpialidotious supercalifragalisticexpialidotious supercalifragalisticexpialidotious supercalifragalisticexpialidotious supercalifragalisticexpialidotious supercalifragalisticexpialidotious supercalifragalisticexpialidotious supercalifragalisticexpialidotious supercalifragalisticexpialidotious supercalifragalisticexpialidotious supercalifragalisticexpialidotious supercalifragalisticexpialidotious supercalifragalisticexpialidotious!

 

Και μου έβγαλε το εξής:

SMOG Grade

26.24. Οπότε είναι μούφα :)

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RaspK

Όχι ακριβώς: το πρόγραμμα θεωρεί ότι το κείμενό σου είναι συνταντικά και γραμματικά σωστό, και βγάζει νόημα με μιαν απλή ανάγνωση - ότι, δηλαδή, δεν αποτελεί διαλεκτικό γρίφο - και μετά εξετάζει την πολυπλοκότητα της δομής του κειμένου (πιθανώς με χρήση στα σημεία στίξης, αλλά προφανέστερα με ανάλυση του μέσου μήκους κάθε περιόδου και λέξης. Δοκίμασέ το βάζοντας και τη λέξη antidisestablishmentarianism [που είναι το ρεύμα όσων αντιτίθονταν στο διαχωρισμό εκκλησίας-πολιτείας στην Αγγλία (anti- dis- establishment -arian -ism)].

 

Δε νομίζω, επίσης, ότι υποστήριξε κανένας ότι είναι κάποιο σοβαρό εργαλείο μελέτης. :atongue2:

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