Task set for June 29 2011 was to use Random or Chaos in a piece. I chose to use the phrase random acts of chaos just because I thought it might be fun. The story that came up was nothing like I expected.
It’s just cosmetic
Wrinkle treatment.
Disaster happens often in our lives.
I like the use of the word disaster because disaster is such a widely abused term. Also it mostly overstates any event it is used to describe. In fact a disaster is coined for anything from leaving your keys at the pub, to a population destroying tsunami.
Such a flexible word.
Disaster.
It's on a personal scale the real sense of the word can be felt. A disaster, can be a death, or an accident or a health catastrophe. In these shaky times it may be a financial disaster played out in a microcosm of the world’s present fiscal calamity.
When disaster does happen, the person usually experiences a series of emotions. Initially denial, then anger, negotiation, sadness and finally, acceptance. (REF: Kübler-Ross Curve theorem of human reaction to grief)
I see large and some personal disasters played out on the screen of my wide HD and it never ceases to amaze me how concise these reactions are when displayed upon the faces of the ones experiencing the disaster.
The reactions seem not to be of any differing nature regardless if it is a person or a group. As the story is progressed through persistent journalism I commonly see creased looks of shocked disbelief flash across the screen as their reality dawns. Next we witness contorted grimaces of refusal or resistance, shown from a distance usually, with the mouths blurred, to prevent offending the lip readers in the audience.
It is then frequently the case that I notice an individual or group who, finally having realised they hold the lesser force, take their taught-faced countenances into discussion either directly or via an intermediary journalist.
Some time later we are shown either a forced smile of concession stretched over a loser's expression or, if the cameraman was lucky, a quick close-up of a tear rolling down a cheek from the eye.
I regard these emotional facial portraits as a predictable progression but I also note that the process leaves a trail of worn lines on the countenances digitized on my screen. I call them facial creasing, you may refer to them as age, worry lines or wrinkles, depending on your sensitivity.
Face creasing not only happens to the people on my TV but can be seen on everyone.
I became interested in this facial record of responses to life and I see the people I know, even myself, performing true to this 5 point emotive script in any occurrence of what each of us calls our disaster.
We all wear the lines from random acts of chaos on our faces in lines and overworked skin and I think they simply record the usual wear and tear from life.
It is good therefore my HD provides, handily, a wonderful variety of topical rectifications to cover these time worn histories, or which promise to de-etch the record of the past from our external facial covering.
I note there are creams, and scrubs and oils and cleansers and covers and fillers and un-blockers and dissolvers and highlighters and glosses and attachments and procedures and exercises and sounds and lights and pluckers and vibrators and removers and … well, an endless assortment of facial record alterers.
Mainly, I have to say, these are targeted at the female disaster facial record, a susceptible audience it seems as study shows females have been rubbing and peeling and smearing and dabbing and soaking and filling and covering for as long as history can track such things. Males on the other hand mostly wash their countenances and lament the passing of their looks and abilities. Although recently my HD is telling me now men really should be doing the same sort of countenance rectifications that their female counterparts have been doing for centuries. Why? I do wonder at the necessity for this as, by and large, males have not been doing much of it in the past and I am thinking the people I know of a certain age, regardless of gender, all appear to be,,, about that certain age.
It has been difficult I will admit, but I have separated myself from the HD on some occasions to visit with people I know and to witness some don’t know in order to substantiate my theory.
I have been scientific about this.
I have sought input from males and females whom I have not told of the purpose my observational exercise.
It has been with no small satisfaction that my research has revealed that when asked to estimate the approximate age of groups of people, all of a similar known age, both genders make a guess at the ages to within 5 years of the actual age of the group or person targeted.
I have set up meetings of old school friends, all of the same age and asked passers-by to guess the ages of the females and of the males. The same applies, reliably 4-5 years within the age for both genders. So the rubbing and creaming and cleansing and, and,… that the females dedicate so much time and resources to has no effect what-so-ever.
Well that is my conclusion.
To this end I was all ready to be starting a national awareness campaign that a few thousand years of rubbing, cleansing, spreading, scraping, etc…. has done nothing to make females look any younger than they are.
But then I thought if I took the international cosmetic economy apart before we sorted out Greece, Spain, Ireland and Portugal, and recovered from tsunami, nuclear contamination, crop failure, climate change, Afghanistan, the Arab spring and middle-east disasters,,,, my timing might be considered irresponsible.
I initially reasoned it was not that important. denial, But it did make me cross that so much money and time is wasted for no effect anger,. I tried to talk to Unilever about it negotiation, but got rather sad sadness as they ignored my calls and emails, so I guess I’ll just watch some more TV. and finally acceptance.
REF: Kübler-Ross Curve theorem of human reaction to grief :
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Monday, June 13, 2011
Guess the emotion
Task for the June 15 meet was to write a piece that others had to guess the emotion of.
I chose to set a scene and write two different emotive responses to the scene.
Grarwk.
I spat out a mouth full of gritty pap and drew in a desperate breath. A stabbing pain stopped it at a gasp.
There is a bloody and shattered hand right in front of my eye, I can’t look away. The flesh is ripped from its stark white bone and the pulsing blood is forming a pool in the dirt. Searing pains arc my back and I feel like I'm twisting out of shape. I can’t seem to move but there are now other things I’m aware of, the hand is hurting.
Its my hand.
I can’t move it. I can’t stop looking at it, I can’t blink, my eye hurts to move and now everything is blurring with a red haze.
I move my head and an agony stabs white hot tendrils through my face. My other hand comes and smears dirt and blood across my skin. The flesh on my face is shredded, my left eyelid doesn’t close and my eye is stinging madly and now goes dark.. Something soft but incredibly heavy is pinning my legs together and I want to roll away from the torture. Muscles spasm and I am in a world of woe and trouble.
A thicker blanket of agony descends as my life fills with a sound of tearing metal and a huge mass slides upwards and away. My body is lifted momentarily then flopped agonizingly supine and I can now see from my other eye. A flaccid human form hangs grotesquely suspended from a torn metal opening above me. I make a guess it was that softened lump of flesh which had cusioned me from the crushing mass. The twisted heap creaks again and settles with a shudder from it's graunching slide. The hanging body sways, ruptures, slumps momentarily then drops down towards me. I try urgently to escape but a wall of pain blanks me into unconsciousness. (so that's the scene, not the emotion)
(First Emotion , using that scene)
I am snapped back into my hellhole of agony. I am screaming and swearing . My body is getting tortuously moved. In a flash I am cognisant. I am freezing and wet but I recognise the strobe flashing of emergency lights. The air is rank with the smell of burning , I gag on the reek of charred flesh, flaming oil and smoldering plastic.
Now I am yelling again with the pain of being pulled at roughly and I cough up a putrid paste of bile and blood. I try to raise my hand but it's trapped and the effort drives a wave of indescribable agony forcing another inhuman scream from me..
An hoarse voice from somewhere near yells, “ Hold it! ... Morphine!, Vent kit!, Over Here!” and then closer and less urgent, another voice, firm, female ,
“Hi there, we need you to keep very still. You are badly hurt. We are giving you something for the pain. Please don’t try and move. Do you understand?” I can’t reply but I try to nod my head. It is trapped in a cage and I panic for a moment or two, then a sickly wave of euphoria sweeps over me. I give up all attempts to move, my body fails me and I lie, still, calmer.
Kind faces wearing hard hats are looking at me. A hand places something on my blank left eye and then other things are put on my face. The heads in hats move around as the scene moves and a voice says,
“Close your eye we are going to cover your face while we move you to safety”.
I am on a plank and I am floated to a brighter place which is quiet and smells clean.
A new voice keeps asking me to squeeze my hand if I can do things and it talks calmly to me and says many things. My plank jostles beneath me and I hear a muffled siren.
I am told it has been four weeks since the accident but my reflection in this mirror is still horrific to me. There is a slight familiarity as the swelling is going down but I still can’t recognise myself. Perhaps when the stitches come out and all the tubes are removed…..
I have had visits from the police, family, some mates have come. They all ask questions I can’t answer. Slowly, gradually, small fact at a time, I have been informed about that Friday night. I honestly still have no recollection of anything around it. I find the events as they are drip fed to me all but impossible to believe. As I look at the torn face in the mirror and I think of who he is, I can’t believe I am responsible. I wonder if there has been some mistake in the evidence, if a witness has got it wrong, if the blood tests got mixed in the lab. If half of it is true then the loss of a hand and an eye goes no way towards a just penalty for the devastation and destruction I caused to their families.
(regret)
(Second emotion, using the first scene again)
Grarwk.
I spat out a mouth full of gritty pap and drew in a desperate breath. A stabbing pain stopped it at a gasp.
There is a bloody and shattered hand right in front of my eye, I can’t look away. The flesh is ripped from its stark white bone and the pulsing blood is forming a pool in the dirt. Searing pains arc my back and I feel like I'm twisting out of shape. I can’t seem to move but there are now other things I’m aware of, the hand is hurting.
Its my hand.
I can’t move it. I can’t stop looking at it, I can’t blink, my eye hurts to move and now everything is blurring with a red haze.
I move my head and an agony stabs white hot tendrils through my face. My other hand comes and smears dirt and blood across my skin. The flesh on my face is shredded, my left eyelid doesn’t close and my eye is stinging madly and now goes dark.. Something soft but incredibly heavy is pinning my legs together and I want to roll away from the torture. Muscles spasm and I am in a world of woe and trouble.
A thicker blanket of agony descends as my life fills with a sound of tearing metal and a huge mass slides upwards and away. My body is lifted momentarily then flopped agonizingly supine and I can now see from my other eye. A flaccid human form hangs grotesquely suspended from a torn metal opening above me. I make a guess it was that softened lump of flesh which had cusioned me from the crushing mass. The twisted heap creaks again and settles with a shudder from it's graunching slide. The hanging body sways, ruptures, slumps momentarily then drops down towards me. I try urgently to escape but a wall of pain blanks me into unconsciousness.
I am brought suddenly back into a world of dust by the call of “MAN DOWN! Man Down!” The call goes back down the line and I try to repeat it. I choke on a lump of phlegm but cough up thick blood. I realise I am the man down.
I look around to see if I am alone.
Grant is lying beside me, at least half of him is.
I hear the sound of small arms fire nearby and wince as Mike dive-slides in beside me.
“Stay still mate” he yells as he drags me clear from what is left of Grant and the APC*.
“The boys are providing cover. Firing at fuckin' nothing they are.”
Then, closer he says “You caught an IED** dead centre mate.
We’ll get you clear, no worries, but keep quiet and don’t move”.
I do as he says.
I know he is risking his life but I know I’d do the same.
I also know I never want to have to.
(gratitude)
* (APC) Armoured Personnel Carrier
** (IED) Improvised Explosive Device
I chose to set a scene and write two different emotive responses to the scene.
Grarwk.
I spat out a mouth full of gritty pap and drew in a desperate breath. A stabbing pain stopped it at a gasp.
There is a bloody and shattered hand right in front of my eye, I can’t look away. The flesh is ripped from its stark white bone and the pulsing blood is forming a pool in the dirt. Searing pains arc my back and I feel like I'm twisting out of shape. I can’t seem to move but there are now other things I’m aware of, the hand is hurting.
Its my hand.
I can’t move it. I can’t stop looking at it, I can’t blink, my eye hurts to move and now everything is blurring with a red haze.
I move my head and an agony stabs white hot tendrils through my face. My other hand comes and smears dirt and blood across my skin. The flesh on my face is shredded, my left eyelid doesn’t close and my eye is stinging madly and now goes dark.. Something soft but incredibly heavy is pinning my legs together and I want to roll away from the torture. Muscles spasm and I am in a world of woe and trouble.
A thicker blanket of agony descends as my life fills with a sound of tearing metal and a huge mass slides upwards and away. My body is lifted momentarily then flopped agonizingly supine and I can now see from my other eye. A flaccid human form hangs grotesquely suspended from a torn metal opening above me. I make a guess it was that softened lump of flesh which had cusioned me from the crushing mass. The twisted heap creaks again and settles with a shudder from it's graunching slide. The hanging body sways, ruptures, slumps momentarily then drops down towards me. I try urgently to escape but a wall of pain blanks me into unconsciousness. (so that's the scene, not the emotion)
(First Emotion , using that scene)
I am snapped back into my hellhole of agony. I am screaming and swearing . My body is getting tortuously moved. In a flash I am cognisant. I am freezing and wet but I recognise the strobe flashing of emergency lights. The air is rank with the smell of burning , I gag on the reek of charred flesh, flaming oil and smoldering plastic.
Now I am yelling again with the pain of being pulled at roughly and I cough up a putrid paste of bile and blood. I try to raise my hand but it's trapped and the effort drives a wave of indescribable agony forcing another inhuman scream from me..
An hoarse voice from somewhere near yells, “ Hold it! ... Morphine!, Vent kit!, Over Here!” and then closer and less urgent, another voice, firm, female ,
“Hi there, we need you to keep very still. You are badly hurt. We are giving you something for the pain. Please don’t try and move. Do you understand?” I can’t reply but I try to nod my head. It is trapped in a cage and I panic for a moment or two, then a sickly wave of euphoria sweeps over me. I give up all attempts to move, my body fails me and I lie, still, calmer.
Kind faces wearing hard hats are looking at me. A hand places something on my blank left eye and then other things are put on my face. The heads in hats move around as the scene moves and a voice says,
“Close your eye we are going to cover your face while we move you to safety”.
I am on a plank and I am floated to a brighter place which is quiet and smells clean.
A new voice keeps asking me to squeeze my hand if I can do things and it talks calmly to me and says many things. My plank jostles beneath me and I hear a muffled siren.
I am told it has been four weeks since the accident but my reflection in this mirror is still horrific to me. There is a slight familiarity as the swelling is going down but I still can’t recognise myself. Perhaps when the stitches come out and all the tubes are removed…..
I have had visits from the police, family, some mates have come. They all ask questions I can’t answer. Slowly, gradually, small fact at a time, I have been informed about that Friday night. I honestly still have no recollection of anything around it. I find the events as they are drip fed to me all but impossible to believe. As I look at the torn face in the mirror and I think of who he is, I can’t believe I am responsible. I wonder if there has been some mistake in the evidence, if a witness has got it wrong, if the blood tests got mixed in the lab. If half of it is true then the loss of a hand and an eye goes no way towards a just penalty for the devastation and destruction I caused to their families.
(regret)
(Second emotion, using the first scene again)
Grarwk.
I spat out a mouth full of gritty pap and drew in a desperate breath. A stabbing pain stopped it at a gasp.
There is a bloody and shattered hand right in front of my eye, I can’t look away. The flesh is ripped from its stark white bone and the pulsing blood is forming a pool in the dirt. Searing pains arc my back and I feel like I'm twisting out of shape. I can’t seem to move but there are now other things I’m aware of, the hand is hurting.
Its my hand.
I can’t move it. I can’t stop looking at it, I can’t blink, my eye hurts to move and now everything is blurring with a red haze.
I move my head and an agony stabs white hot tendrils through my face. My other hand comes and smears dirt and blood across my skin. The flesh on my face is shredded, my left eyelid doesn’t close and my eye is stinging madly and now goes dark.. Something soft but incredibly heavy is pinning my legs together and I want to roll away from the torture. Muscles spasm and I am in a world of woe and trouble.
A thicker blanket of agony descends as my life fills with a sound of tearing metal and a huge mass slides upwards and away. My body is lifted momentarily then flopped agonizingly supine and I can now see from my other eye. A flaccid human form hangs grotesquely suspended from a torn metal opening above me. I make a guess it was that softened lump of flesh which had cusioned me from the crushing mass. The twisted heap creaks again and settles with a shudder from it's graunching slide. The hanging body sways, ruptures, slumps momentarily then drops down towards me. I try urgently to escape but a wall of pain blanks me into unconsciousness.
I am brought suddenly back into a world of dust by the call of “MAN DOWN! Man Down!” The call goes back down the line and I try to repeat it. I choke on a lump of phlegm but cough up thick blood. I realise I am the man down.
I look around to see if I am alone.
Grant is lying beside me, at least half of him is.
I hear the sound of small arms fire nearby and wince as Mike dive-slides in beside me.
“Stay still mate” he yells as he drags me clear from what is left of Grant and the APC*.
“The boys are providing cover. Firing at fuckin' nothing they are.”
Then, closer he says “You caught an IED** dead centre mate.
We’ll get you clear, no worries, but keep quiet and don’t move”.
I do as he says.
I know he is risking his life but I know I’d do the same.
I also know I never want to have to.
(gratitude)
* (APC) Armoured Personnel Carrier
** (IED) Improvised Explosive Device
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