Collablang

This is a collaborative piece, begun at the New Media UnConference 2025 <img src="boda.jpg" alt=a festive scene with diners in the foreground and musicians in the background wwith people moving around. There are colorful papel picados strung along the roof.> [[Amira]] [[Perla]] [[Lyle]] [[Annie]] [[Boda]] [[Mark]] [[Marianne]] [[Christine]] [[Favour]] [[No Fiesta Today]] [[Jessica Tremblay]]

lol roflol 😂hehe haha ahaha muahaha teehee chortle guffaw groan whawha *giggles* Laugh it up, fuzzball. 🐈 [[Wookie script]]

Alegría generaciones conversaciones celebramos con amigos y cantamos en un día de sol ¿Me cuentas un secreto? Creo que la abuela está haciendo la siesta. Estamos esperando los tamales pero no llegan….¿Por qué conversan tanto y no escuchan a la banda? Me encanta el aroma de esas flores. Esos ritmos me recuerdan a Oaxaca…y los colores a mi México lindo y querido Cuantas decoraciones…vamos a celebrar…Hagamos un brindis Tráigame una cerveza por favor. Parece que los músicos se han cansado..están conversando…

(my native language = terrible spanglish. Soy de Nuevo México!) The cumpleaños were feliz, and really were true birthdays. Or perhaps more accurately, re-birthdays. Tenemos la tecnología, and we’re going to use it, sí? Look at todos los viejos. They’re so grumpy, right? Because tienen dolor, y cansada, and they’re fed up with your chingasa. It’s all about to get better though. We went from AI to cyborgs to uploading your unconsciousness to some kind of cyberweb so fast the people in this foto still remembered rotary phones. Once they got their brains all codified, and they had avatar bodies to stumble around in, some of them even used rotary phone icons in the cyberworld, I guess so they could call their abuelas. Who else is gonna have some old chunk of dial-up, verdad? My tío told me he was gonna go pure bitstream, and I was like “Oh, sí! Whatever, tu loco.” But he did it. Now I can’t get him off my desktop.

The screen moves as others join. Hard to catch up. Looking on, from outside, at this gathering, relaxed I think. Eating, sharing food, music. Sun. Inviting. Is there room? Enough for me? Or only for relatives at the long table? Perhaps old friends. Long time no see. [[Birthday]]

So I am at Bill Bly and Rebecca's wonderful Boda--the wedding ceremony. I duck in and out of the music, taking as many photos as I can. My Spanish is less than ideal, and I can not read faces. I am, I confess, the worlds worst choice for a wedding photographer. I do not understand the quick Spanish floating around me. I don't even get the expat English. And I can not read body language.. And I am the official photographer for this shindig at El Refugio , where the walls stem from the 16th century as the Spanish took over this Purepecha city of Patzcuaro, the city of many temples along the lake. I do not know if people are happy or sad or what moment I have caught them in flagrante delecto, Or in the act of living. The act of celebrating. Later, Rebecca tells me that she is howling in laughter at each shot. For apparently, I have caught people as they live--not as they pose. Rebecca in the background and Bill conducting the [[music|Christine]]-the happy couple in a moment with their hands up. Bill wasn't too thrilled that I wanted this picture. Yet it is a snapshot in time. Who are these people? What are they thinking? Can you tell it from their faces? Como estan? estan feliz? Comen? Escuchan? What shall we play?

abuela decided not to come down from her room. She says she is re-enacting As I Lay Dying. She is such a drama queen. I am saving her place. Made her a plate, tacos, elote, arroz. And I guard her seat fiercely from Tìa Conchita. She would be furious if she came down and saw her here, squatting in her throne of honor. But the sad thing is, this was supposed to be a fiesta for her, and a moment for her to reconcile with Conchita, with Juan Carlos, and with her past. I swat the flies away like a sentinel of salsa. The afternoon has grown too hot, cut camilla flowers are wilting, peace lilies dropping their heads, if only I had bought her some other novel… Persuasion, To the Lighthouse (maybe Mrs. Ramsay could teach her how to host), Beloved.

A gathering A gathering like any, there’s laughter, drinks, music, colorful scene… But it’s not what we see in my country. Food is center stage in Egypt. People speak love in dishes. Music is a side dish. اللمة عندنا مش بس ناس قاعدة مع بعض، اللمة دفى في القلب، وحكاية بتتقال، ورغيف عيش بيتكسر ويتقسم، ضحكة طالعة من القلب، ونظرة فيها حب ما يتقالش، اللمة يعني ريحة الأكل في المطبخ، وصوت الطبق وهو بيتحط على السفرة، يعني الطاولة دايمًا مليانة، مش بس بالأكل... مليانة بالناس اللي بنحبهم. اللمة يعني العيد، حتى لو مفيش مناسبة، يعني العيلة في البيت، في الغيط، في الحارة، يعني الكبير بيحضن الصغير، والصغير يجري في حضن الكبير، اللمة عندنا وطن... حتى لو كنا في الغربة.

He hadn’t heard the band playing. He’d been lost in the past, staring into the future, wondering how much future he had left. Wondering how much future any of us had left. The band started playing again. One of the [[old songs|Jessica English]]. But he still couldn’t hear it. Stranded as he was between years and years ago and the minutes ahead. He felt alone and he was determined to remain [[aloof|Wookie script]]. Isolated. [[Welsh]]

Awon eniyan joko si waju ita, won n se faaji. Awon obinrin ati okunrin wa nibe. Awon obinrin joko, o da bipe awon okunrin lo fe korin. Gbogbo nkan ti a ri ni aworan yi ni afefeyeye, o kun fun igbadun. [[English Favour]]

“The tourists get older every year,” Christina says to her friend Isabella. “I know, I’ve seen one too many samba-ers today. Even the musicians are wondering if they should play the slow versions.” And the music plays on at “The playa by mer” in Indianappolis when suddenly Richard comes samba-ing in and no one notices.

Les ombres qui dansent sur le parasol. Les chapeaux qui protègent du soleil cachent aussi le ciel. Les grand-parents aux dos courbés regardent le sol. La tante secrètement enceinte garde les yeux baissés. Les musiciens se chamaillent, brisant le silence. De gauche à droite, les verres de vin deviennent des verres d’eau. Un enfant qui rêve d’être à la table des adultes. La piñata est tombée sur la tête de grand-papa. [[Jessica English]] [[Arabic]]

The shadows dances on the parasols. The hats that protect from the sun also hide the sky. The grandparents with bent backs look at the ground. The secretly pregnant aunt keeps her eyes downcast. The musicians bicker, breaking the silence. From left to right, the wine glasses turn into water glasses. A child dreaming of being at the adult table. The [[piñata|Amira]] falls on grandpa's head.

Amira’s Translated into WookeScript: https://markcmarino.com/hairwars/wookiedit.html lol WOOKIE roflol WOOKIE 😂hehe WOOKIE haha WOOKIE ahaha WOOKIE muahaha WOOKIE teehee WOOKIE chortle WOOKIE guffaw WOOKIE groan WOOKIE whawha WOOKIE MRRRROWWL WOOKIE giggles WOOKIE MRRRROWWL WOOKIE Laugh WOOKIE it WOOKIE up WOOKIE HRRRN WOOKIE fuzzball WOOKIE HRRRN WOOKIE

People are sitting in the street, dancing. There are women and men there. The women are sitting, it seems that the men want to sing. Everything we see in this picture is bright, it is full of joy.

The birthdays were happy, and really were true birthdays. Or perhaps more accurately, re-birthdays. We have the technology, and we’re going to use it, you know? Look at all the oldsters. They’re so grumpy, aren’t they? Because they’re in pain, and they’re tired, and they’re fed up with your bullshit. It’s all about to get better though. We went from AI to [[cyborgs|Wookie script]] to uploading your unconsciousness to some kind of cyberweb so fast the people in this photo still remembered rotary phones. Once they got their brains converted to code, and they had avatar bodies to stumble around in, some of them even used rotary phone icons in the cyberworld, I guess so they could call their grannies. Who else is gonna have some old chunk of dial-up, right? My uncle told me he was gonna go pure bitstream, and I told him “No way. You’re crazy.” But he did it. Now I can’t get him off my desktop.

[[Marianne]] اللمة تحلى لمة زي أي لمة—فيها ضحك، ومشروبات، ومزيكا، ومشهد مليان ألوان… بس مش دي اللمة اللي نعرفها في بلدنا. في مصر، الأكل هو نجم الحفلة. الناس بتتكلم حب بالأطباق. والمزيكا؟ مجرد طبق جانبي. A gathering, for us, is more than chairs around a room— It’s warmth that settles in the chest, a tale unfolding between sips of tea, a loaf of bread, torn gently, passed from hand to hand. It’s laughter rising deep from the soul, a glance that says what words cannot. It’s the scent of spices curling from the kitchen, the soft clink of plates finding their place on the table. And that table— always full. Not just with dishes, but with the hearts that make us whole. A gathering is joy without reason, a holiday in the absence of a name. It’s family—in the home, in the fields, down the narrow street. It’s the elder’s arms open wide, and the child running in, fearless. A gathering, for us, is a homeland— even when we’re far from home.

Nid oedd wedi clywed y band yn [[chwarae|Amira]]. Roedd wedi [[bod|Boda]] ar goll yn y gorffennol, yn syllu i'r dyfodol, yn meddwl tybed faint o ddyfodol oedd ar ôl. Tybed faint o ddyfodol oedd gan unrhyw un ohonom ni ar ôl. Dechreuodd y band chwarae eto. Un o'r hen ganeuon. Ond ni allai ei glywed o hyd. Strand fel yr oedd rhwng blynyddoedd a blynyddoedd yn ôl a'r munudau o'i flaen. Teimlai'n unig ac roedd yn benderfynol o aros ar wahân. Ynysig.