completely still oor Kornies
completely still
Vertalings in die woordeboek Engels - Kornies
stag yn tien
Geskatte vertalings
Vertoon algoritmies gegenereerde vertalings
voorbeelde
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Voorbeelde moet herlaai word.
completely still
Res vydh dhymm studhya a-vorow.langbot langbot
SPENDING TIME IN THE FAMILY CRYPT. I slept for a time out of sheer exhaustion – both mental and physical. Once the adrenalin stopped flowing, I was out cold. When I awoke, it was daylight. I could still hear the occasional report of guns – light and heavy – coming from outside. I even fancied that I heard a few tank rounds being loosed off and singing as they flew through the air. There was still audible screaming and roaring. The zombies had not yet been completely subdued but, surely, the military operation was now merely mopping up those who had survived the overwhelming force used by the military on the previous night. I didn’t need to use my imagination to visualise what pitiless slaughter was still happening beyond the closed steel door of the crypt. But, for the moment, we were spared from participating in it – either as victims or as perpetrators. (“Either as victims or as perpetrators”. What a choice. David and I, together, stood in a unique position.) For the sake of my ongoing sanity, I decided to block those events out – anything, in fact – even trivial, unimportant things. I had a lot of time to observe the inside of the family crypt in which David and I now sheltered. So, let me share my observations with you. The owners of the facility were plainly of Italian descent. Even if one could not have read the names which appeared on the plaques attached to the various niches, you just knew this was so, at first sight. The interior was festooned with statues of Jesus, Joseph and the Blessed Virgin Mary (including the one that Paul had used to dispatch the zombie that attacked Charles). The walls bore frescoes of biblical scenes which seemed to draw heavily on the images of the Sistine Chapel – and there were holy pictures and rosary beads placed, seemingly at random, all about the place. But my favourite artefact was a plastic model of a giant, but still avuncular, Pope John XXIII standing in the entrance of St. Peter’s Basilica. Why was this my favourite? Because, if you squeezed the plastic hand that was bestowing the papal blessing, a little light lit up in the cupola of the basilica!
Hemm yw da.langbot langbot
Softly caressing her hair As the sun was rising, before my love had awakened Did I see on looking closely That she was silently weeping, hiding her misery? Tear turned to frown And when I spoke... in one leap... Gone was my love, my sweetheart No doubt you would recognise her well No wonder, although my heart’s completely broken: She has left me I long for her She has left me She wants to forget She has left me And it seems I don't matter But she is to blame When I looked up she had gone No longer could I see her, only her track in the yellow corn The dawn sky was red The sun sparkling through leaves and a cow was lowing Though she had disappeared from sight Her anger and cruel words were still with me Gone was my love, my sweetheart. No doubt you would recognise her well. No wonder, although my heart’s completely broken: She has left me I long for her She has left me She wants to forget She has left me And it seems I don't matter But she is to blame But she is to blame But she is to blame But she is to blame
Yw da genes an cita ma?langbot langbot
The periodic table, also known as the periodic table of the (chemical) elements, is a tabular display of the chemical elements. It is widely used in chemistry, physics, and other sciences, and is generally seen as an icon of chemistry. It is a graphic formulation of the periodic law, which states that the properties of the chemical elements exhibit a periodic dependence on their atomic numbers. The table is divided into four roughly rectangular areas called blocks. The rows of the table are called periods, and the columns are called groups. Elements from the same column group of the periodic table show similar chemical characteristics. Trends run through the periodic table, with nonmetallic character (keeping their own electrons) increasing from left to right across a period, and from down to up across a group, and metallic character (surrendering electrons to other atoms) increasing in the opposite direction. The underlying reason for these trends is electron configurations of atoms. The first periodic table to become generally accepted was that of the Russian chemist Dmitri Mendeleev in 1869: he formulated the periodic law as a dependence of chemical properties on atomic mass. Because not all elements were then known, there were gaps in his periodic table, and Mendeleev successfully used the periodic law to predict properties of some of the missing elements. The periodic law was recognized as a fundamental discovery in the late 19th century, and it was explained with the discovery of the atomic number and pioneering work in quantum mechanics of the early 20th century that illuminated the internal structure of the atom. With Glenn T. Seaborg's 1945 discovery that the actinides were in fact f-block rather than d-block elements, a recognisably modern form of the table was reached. The periodic table and law are now a central and indispensable part of modern chemistry. The periodic table continues to evolve with the progress of science. In nature, only elements up to atomic number 94 exist; to go further, it was necessary to synthesise new elements in the laboratory. Today, all the first 118 elements are known, completing the first seven rows of the table, but chemical characterisation is still needed for the heaviest elements to confirm that their properties match their positions. It is not yet known how far the table will stretch beyond these seven rows and whether the patterns of the known part of the table will continue into this unknown region. Some scientific discussion also continues regarding whether some elements are correctly positioned in today's table. Many alternative representations of the periodic law exist, and there is some discussion as to whether or not there is an optimal form of the periodic table.
Seytek bloodh yw ow hothman.langbot langbot
1 CORINTHIANS 13 1If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. 2If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. 3If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing. 4Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. 5It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. 6Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. 7It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. 8Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. 9For we know in part and we prophesy in part, 10but when completeness comes, what is in part disappears. 11When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put the ways of childhood behind me. 12For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known. 13And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.
A wodhesta kewsel Sowsnek?langbot langbot
“T’” I said. (This time, I couldn’t even get the first word out – but the nurse understood my meaning well enough.) The short version was this: Ingrid and the Captain had burst into the infirmary late last night, furiously screaming and yelling at each other – their three confused goons in tow. I was on a hospital trolley, nine parts dead. Apparently, Ingrid had repeatedly called the Captain an ‘insane murderer’ – to which the Captain had, equally repeatedly, responded: “That’s insubordination, Doctor. I am your superior officer. You have assaulted me. You have disobeyed my direct order. I will have you court-martialled. I will! You can count on it.” (Or something along those lines.) This unseemly screaming match had apparently gone on for half an hour or more – during which time the nursing staff had quietly spirited me away and taken charge. They made sure that the spark of life within me had kept glowing until a doctor – i.e. some other doctor – could attend to me. The nurses had kept me going. But, according to the nurse attending me, it was not they who had revived me in the first place. According to the nurse, the ‘direct order’ that Ingrid had disobeyed was to leave me inside the decompression chamber after all signs of life had disappeared. It seems she had forcibly shoved Dr Mengele aside, rapidly opened the decompression chamber, dragged out my lifeless form – and successfully performed CPR on me. Hmm. Most curious behaviour. I still did not know what David had been doing all this time but hoped that I would find out – when I stopped feeling like complete shit. The raking coughing fits slowed a little and the nurse gave me some pain relief. I believe I slept for a time. When next I awoke, Ingrid was standing beside my bed, checking my charts. I supposed I ought to have thanked her because, despite all the abject cruelty in which she had participated, in the final analysis, she had saved my miserable neck.
Yw da gensi owravalow?langbot langbot
I put on the sergeant’s uniform. It fitted well. The boots fitted well also. But the slouch hat ...? It floated on top of my huge afro and then slid off the back completely. This was a problem. In any event, I thought, Sergeants in the Australian Army probably don’t have afro hair styles. I loved my afro. It was the object of envy of all my female friends. Many used to run their fingers through it – just to see if it were real. They were convinced, if it were real, that I used ‘one hundred and one’ hot rollers every night to maintain the style. This was not true. I didn’t do anything at all to it – just a very quick comb in the morning. Nothing more. However, the afro had to go – and go now. Fortunately, the person who had maintained the flowers in the crypt had left a large pair of scissors – used to trim the stems, I suppose. Anyway, in a few minutes, I had hacked the whole afro from my head. It lay on the floor like a dead creature. David retreated to a corner, staring at me. Perhaps he feared that his afro was next. But there was no need for that – not yet, in any case. So, how did the haircut look? Awful. But it would be hidden under the slouch hat. The hat fitted me now – and I didn’t look like Sergeant Hippy, only Sergeant Very Young. When I had completed dressing myself in the Sergeant’s uniform – and had duly straightened all the sharply pressed seams – I turned to David (who was still a little fearful) and exhibited myself: “Ta-dah! What do you think, mate? Do I exude an air of authority?” I’m not sure what, if anything, he thought of my new appearance. He remained stone-faced at the sight of me – though he did look me up and down. “No matter,” I said. “Now it’s your turn.” I bade him come forward to me but he merely retreated, grunting his disapproval. (Not a good start for my grand plan). I thus needed to gently cajole David for over an hour, a precious hour, before he relented and let me start removing his also recently washed – but even more stained and filthy – clothes.
Yma dhedha dew vab hag unn vyrgh.langbot langbot
It was these ‘spot-fires’ that the authorities had been concentrating on in the first days after the initial outbreak. If they could locate the source of a fresh outbreak quickly – and he (or they) wasn’t usually trying to hide – they could stamp out that fresh outbreak completely. Picking off one or two zombies ahead of the ‘tide’ was a much more achievable goal than successfully confronting a vast and uncontrolled army of the things on a wide front. There had been, apparently, hundreds of plague spot fires controlled in this way but many more were still occurring – according to the BBC, at least. I couldn’t argue with this part of the strategy – but, of necessity, it meant that we, in Melbourne, would remain on our own for some time to come. Or did it? The BBC newscast, somewhat cryptically, concluded by saying that overseas forces were on the way to reinforce the Australian troops (we’d guessed that much) and that, in preparation for their arrival, the Port of Melbourne would need to be retaken – and the facilities made ready - in order to receive and process troop and supply ships. (And, incidentally, to stop the infected from exiting overseas.) The Port of Melbourne? That was only a mile or so from the university. Perhaps we’d be seeing action sooner than we thought.
Henn yw hy harer.langbot langbot
And yet, of course, David could move about by himself, grunt a bit, eat people and so on. These were clear signs of life, of a sort. So, how come the flat-lines? Where was the brain activity that seemed to be going on? Don’t know. Not my problem. Then things got a bit more interesting – though ‘interesting’ is not exactly the word I would have chosen at the time. The Captain asked for one of the cattle prods. One of the goons duly handed it over. The Captain checked to see that it was on – by applying it to David’s ear. It was indeed on – as David’s reaction amply confirmed. Then: Zap. Zap. Zap. He applied it all over David’s grey-skinned body: face, hands, feet, genitals. He was very thorough, very thorough indeed. David roared loudly from start to finish and strained at the leather – doing his utmost to snap his bonds and get at his tormentors. One of the bolts holding a strap even worked loose from the wooden frame of the chair – but not enough to matter . The Captain was smiling that slimy smile of his. (Yuck – thrice.) He was obviously enjoying himself – particularly when he applied the electric charge to what would otherwise have been David’s most sensitive areas. It was at that moment that the parallels with the evil work of Dr Josef Mengele, the angel of Death, first came to my mind. While the torture of David was proceeding in a thoroughly well-planned and systematic fashion, Dr Ingrid was keeping her attention firmly fixed on the CRT screen and making appropriate notes of what she observed. It seemed she was less interested in the finer points of the Sadistic Arts class that was being conducted by her superior than in the ‘scientific’ data it was producing. “Still flat-lining, Doctor,” she reported, in a matter-of-fact way. “Remarkable. Truly remarkable,” commented Mengele. “But the readout of the other subject, the non-zombie twin, has gone completely wild, doctor,” Ingrid added. “Quite unexpected in my view.” The Captain looked at my own screen at the same time. She was right. The squiggles of my own readout were flying off the scale.
Yma ev ow mires ortharghpedrevanes.langbot langbot
“If you can get us there, we can just disappear,” I said. He looked at me in disbelief. “The Aussie guys here know that area, Scrub Hill, like the backs of their hands – they train there all the time. No-one can hide there for long,” said the Sergeant. I smiled: “I can promise you that they won’t find us – not even if they bring in a pack of bloodhounds. I know the area well, too – and there are some extremely good places to hide. Besides, David and I won’t be staying there for too long – we’ve got somewhere better to go now.” The Sergeant shrugged: “Okay, it’s your funeral,” said the Sergeant. “Scrub Hill it is. Just don’t tell me where you’re going after that. I don’t want to know.” He shook his head in continuing disbelief and chuckled at my confidence. We left the main base of Puckapunyal at great speed. We just flew through the main entrance. The barriers were in the raised position and there were no guards in the booths on that particular night. I still wonder if it had been arranged beforehand by the Sergeant or whether the guards had just left their posts to join the internecine fracas at the parade ground. In the end, none of that matters. What matters is that we left the base completely unimpeded. The Sergeant dropped us off precisely where I had asked, in the Scrub Hill Area of the Pucka complex, wished us well and left us with a kitbag full of essential supplies to carry me through the first few days on the run. (David’s own needs would be minimal but I quickly decided that, despite his protests, he could do the ‘heavy lifting’ of the kitbag.) I thanked that Sergeant of the United States Army Corps – he was a decent human being and I hope he had a long and happy life. (Perhaps, he’s still alive?) And, like Ingrid, I never saw him again either.
Henn yw y garr.langbot langbot
So, there I sat in the Rowden White, calmly observing events I never thought possible. I went into the listening room. Sure enough, there were several joints lying on the floor where their owners had left them as they had fled on Day One of the plague. The temptation to light up was overwhelming. You can understand that I felt the need for a bit of relaxation and cheering up. But I didn’t light up. Two reasons: I needed to keep my wits about me – and I couldn’t find any matches. Bugger! “Oh well, at least I can play some music while I’m waiting,” I said to no-one. The library’s collection of vinyl was quite extensive – ‘your taxes at work’, folks. After a time considering my options, I rejected the obvious cheer-up choice of Monty Python’s record of “And Now for Something Completely Different’ and went with the then-new “Living in the Seventies” by Skyhooks. I figured out how to pipe the music through the public address system of the Gallery and turned it up loud, very loud. I observed only the briefest of pauses among those still boisterously feasting outside the gallery door. “Perhaps they prefer jazz,” I said to myself. “I’ll put on Wynton Marsalis next.” Yes, the whole scene had an air of unreality about it. But, after all, what was real in the world of the Zombie Apocalypse? Eventually, ‘Shirley’ Strachan, lead singer of Skyhooks (and then still in his ‘fairy’ phase) finished warbling about the ‘Lygon Street Limbo’ (“How loooow can you go, go, go?”). By then, the obscene consumption of my recently deceased fellow student had slackened and the undead throng had started to drift away. Meantime, the idea of putting on some cool (i.e. calming) jazz had grown on me. I couldn’t find any Wynton Marsalis in the library’s catalogue (how gross!) but thought that Miles’ Davis ‘Kind of Blue’ might do the trick.
Ev a gemeras mel yn le sugra.langbot langbot
“When I saw a US F4 Phantom drop napalm on thousands of my fellow students, burning them all to death in a most painful and horrific way, I knew that it was killing kids that would soon recover – hundreds of them. It was like Dresden. It was like the fire-bombing of Tokyo. Gentlemen, that’s a major war crime. That’s not a battle. That’s not war. That’s why they hanged Generals at Nuremburg!...” Time was indeed short. I could see the guards hurrying to the stage. I had to raise my voice to be heard above the other voices that were now being raised. I started screaming: “...I can’t tell you why your government sent you here. That’s political. But I can tell you that you’ve been sent to war on the basis of a lie! Does that sound familiar? Well, does it? Have you heard of the so-called ‘Gulf of Tonkin Incident’? How many of you have still got brothers risking their lives in ‘Nam because of it? ...” These were the last words I managed to get out before I, too, was hit with a cattle-prod – and screamed very heartily. The hall was in uproar. There was complete pandemonium – just as I’d hoped. The Captain approached my cage as I lay spasming in the floor and hit me with another powerful jolt of electricity from one of the other cattle prods. (Perfect for my plans – but painful all the same.) “Leave him alone, you bastard!” shouted one of the GI’s. “You’re killin’ him!” And, with that, he and several of his buddies rushed on stage to protect me. Cosmic! For an instant, I thought they might actually free me – though that had not been my immediate plan – but the guards drew their side-arms and aimed them squarely at the stage invaders. Sensibly, they retreated. The Captain dropped his prod, came close and looked me in the eye. There was deep hatred in his look. I had wilfully robbed him of his moment of glory. Good. Now to see what the GI’s would do with the (quite plausible) disinformation that I had provided them.
Yth esen vy ow kwari omma.langbot langbot
12 sinne gevind in 5 ms. Hulle kom uit baie bronne en word nie nagegaan nie.