|Here's what I've been up to "lately".|
MijuShe had been sitting in the coffee shop of the tourist trap, putting what was obviously ‘more’ beads into her hair. It was dark and knotted and he asked her how she washed it with so many decorations clinging.Miju by Goldfish-In-Space
“I don’t,” was her answer.
“It damages the beads,” she said.
With a clatter she turned her head to size him up. He had just got a haircut. Wearing a fresh pair of black pants and an untucked work shirt, he wished he had remembered to shave. Finished, she made eye contact with the owner, who shrugged at her. She peered at him past the dip in her nose, and he decided she must be half asian. The beads clashed cultures in his brain and she sipped her drink, already turned away.
“What are you drinking?”
“Triple espresso,” she said, still turned away.
He compared her to the fey waifs he usually went for and decided to embrace the confusion. He could see the curve of her, and something that might gl
Would we even Recognise itA planet it would never see broke the horizon, throwing light onto the spike growing taller than the crystals around it. It stood like a tree above the rest, its branches reaching towards sky. The light split through it and sent rainbows across the surface of the planet. It had no idea. It was unaware of anything but itself. There was inside it, a root memory of being something else. The dull awareness of being derivative lurked. In the old inside portions of its body that had not touched the air in ages, lingered the memory of a snap. The impression of suddenly being severed was held beside that of a balmy humidity. Body-memories like those made up the crystalline inside, keeping the new ones stable as it spiralled upward, recording the present. One spot-- the memory of a cold gust that had broken away after a point-- bumped up to something new. A new sensation. Memory from something else pooling under the encountered surface. It was an I. It understood its self-ness, and for the firsWould we even Recognise it by Goldfish-In-Space
Love in a GlanceThere was a moment when she looked at him, and he looked back, when she hated him so tenderly she could cry; love stopped her tears, so they ran down the inside of her, moving, etching a groove filled with water. The force of grand emotions whittled down to a tine -- a point he could not see. It was best, because something as innocuous as hatred, like air bubbles stopping the valves of her heart as irises locked, would, she knew, also be met with discontent. There was too much, and her love had to be something better than flocking butterflies, feeding on the mucus covering the eyes of a dead salmon. He was sure that every broken gaze was just a blink. Tasting the line of his jaw with the bottoms of her fingers; porcupine spines bit their way inside. She was not helpless. She brought him to kiss away the skin and leave it to be chaffed by air as delicate as his breath. She requested him. She received him. She hated him.Love in a Glance by Goldfish-In-Space
The heat in her body boiled all her blood away and she pearle
The Real-Life Stats on Spontaneous RomanceShe singled him out of the rest of the people in the waiting room, because he was wearing an ascot as a scarf like he didn’t know the difference. Maybe he didn’t. His shoes didn’t match; one was red and the other was black, though they were both chucks. Behind his glasses, his eyes peered out a pallid, self reflective grey.The Real-Life Stats on Spontaneous Romance by Goldfish-In-Space
An image of him smiling came to her, and made her smile in turn. Then she decided to notice the empty seat beside him and got up. She sat beside him with a whump sound and he didn’t look up. This one looked promising.
“So...” she said, “have you noticed that the lady over there, the one wringing her hands like that, is twisting a ring, but it’s on the wrong finger to be a wedding ring?”
“Uh...” he looked up at her, “no?”
“There, she’s the one in the only cushioned chair in here. The one with the hat.”
He looked over, and then down again.
“Yeah, I guess she is.
The Price of Opting OutShe woke up not in a pool of her own blood, but in the alley behind her house with one wrist healed new and pink. As light filtered down through the trees, she slapped her hand across her eyes and bolted the last few meters into her suite. Diane woke up with the sun. Slamming the door, she closed the blinds in the living room and blinked in the darkness. Making a small sound, she examined the scar on her wrist. Only the smallest traces of blood remained over what had obviously been a twisted wound. It tapered off in the impression of teeth, and she walked into the bathroom and closed the door.The Price of Opting Out by Goldfish-In-Space
The phone she had left on the sink sat dead, and she checked for her pulse.
“One, two, three...” she muttered numbers and patted her still sore wrist for a pulse. Her neck was next. Prodding, she found nothing. She tried with her other hand, and still found nothing. Looking up, she saw her reflection hover like a ghost in the mirror. Her eyes were a wide, milky white that turned sharp
A Brand New PlaceHe looked up at the silver film between above and water, in the place where it distorted with the flow from the river. He cut through the brackish tide to the edge of the world where he could grip the rock and see the place above. Safe from his mother’s cautionary glances he poked at the water’s end and found no resistance. A strange heat came over his skin, and he pulled his hand back. Something moved above the water. He jumped back and trunks came crashing into the sea. They popped in and out until they floundered, and a face uncannily like his own crashed into the water. It was missing the fluff of gills around its jaw, and had instead a strange mat of fuzz on its crown. It opened its eyes and let out a blub before thrusting its entire head above. Muffled, noise came through the ocean. More trunks and another face burst into the water.A Brand New Place by Goldfish-In-Space
The two creatures stood curiously in the sea, with two appendages planted onto the floor, with their top halves above. He heard them chat
Coffee Shop Blues“May you be blessed to live a nice, long life” were the words that echoed through his head every time he woke. It was the end of his dream that he tried to swat away like an errant fly. It followed the vision of the woman-- the wyrd woman as whispered by the locals-- and they surrounded her. Their faces were pale and stricken with the words directed at him.Coffee Shop Blues by Goldfish-In-Space
She had been sitting in the coffee shop of the tourist trap, putting what was obviously ‘more’ beads into her hair. It was dark and knotted and he asked her how she washed it with so many decorations clinging.
“I don’t,” was her answer.
“It damages the beads,” she said.
With a clatter she turned her head to size him up. Finished, she made eye contact with the owner, who shrugged at her. She peered at him past the dip in her nose, and he decided she must be half asian. The beads clashed cultures in his brain and she sipped her drink, already turned away.
Closeup of a StarRayne needed a chart to find earth among the points in the sky. The fact made her stomach relax, though the nagging feeling of proximity returned on any of the days the cruise ship stopped to stargaze. The engine quieted for a day and the tourists milled about, watching space. The ring Leanne gave her weighed on Rayne’s chest. It was the only remaining piece of earth she had, and she wondered what it would look like lost in the stars.Closeup of a Star by Goldfish-In-Space
“Relax, sweetheart.” Leanne said to her on the second day they stopped. The guide pointed out earth among the stars, any other relevant systems, and the nebulae used by the ship’s very own navigator to keep it on course.
“I am relaxed” she replied.
Leanne looked at her and rolled her eyes. The tiny Stargate nebula winked at them from outside the viewing window, and the guide pointed out a cluster to the rest of the excited tourists.
“What does space look like to you?” Leanne asked as she wrapped her arms aro
|Here's what I've been up to "lately".|
Ten Macro Photography TipsMacro photography is photography magnified. It is generally recognized as “macro” when you are increasing the size of an object in your picture from about half life-size, as represented on the image sensor, to five times life-size. Here are some top tips for capturing great Macro Photography. If you have any to add please leave them in the comments below the article!Ten Macro Photography Tips by Kaz-D
1) Lens choice...
Many lens choices have that very tempting 'Macro setting' on them which supposedly allows your camera to magically transform itself into the ability to be a complete perfect macro lens. It works sometimes! Depending on your camera. However if you want to capture true Macro photography then you need a true Macro Lens. What Digital Camera? gives readers some advice on which lens to choose and
Never Look AwayWe lost Jerry when he went out to feed the generator. At first, it just seemed like one of those sad, unfortunate things that comes with working in the Alterworld. We figured his lantern must have cut out. He’d stepped away from the safety line for just a moment, then realised he’d left his emergency flare back in the hut. With the door closed and the blackout shutters dropped all the way, there was no way he could have found his way back. Everyone knows that wandering off is the last thing you should do. Everyone knows that if worst comes to worst, you stay put, you wait for someone to come find you. But in practice, it’s hard. The total darkness, the total silence...it gets to you. Jerry wouldn’t have been the first to lose it, just walk off into the dark with his arms out in front of him like there was something to touch out there. But he didn’t. At least, not because of the dark.Never Look Away by DamonWakes
They say there’s nothing alive out here in the third layer. They sa
The North doesn't have TeethWhen the striking red sun of dawn appeared in Jack Fliften Aplen's foggy eyes, birds chirped all around in high and low tones, the whistling of the wind caused his long ears to ring, and the crisp cold air continued to nip at his frost bit skin. He flexed his fingers and could not feel a thing. He fell asleep in the midst of a coniferous forest. He already knew he was in Gishmimimis, but in what part?
A breath of panic escaped his throat as Fliften lifted himself to a sitting position. His hands fumbled at his person, groping for any kind of compass or map or device of direction-keeping, and when he ran his fingers over one of the pockets on his long brown and gold-trimmed coat, he could hear the crinkling of paper. After two immediate tries shoving his hand into said pocket to retrieve what was making the noise, he did. The paper he pulled out was folded up, so he unfolded it into something larger. It was a map! But was it of this region
Three StrikesJudy took a deep breath and popped open the top of another Red Bull. She could hear one of her nine children crying from the hallway, but she just shook her head. It was only nine in the morning, and already she had played piano for the church’s 2 a.m. early risers’ service, gone shopping, planted six new vegetables in her personal sustainment garden, mowed the lawn, and fixed the kitchen table. How much more could she subject herself to, what else was there to do? Her book club did not meet until eleven, and she had already read the section seventeen times. Once she fed Joshua, there would be nothing. Maybe she could lie down for just a minute.
No, no she could not. Judy already had two strikes on her card. If she would go idle one more time, they would terminate her. Who would take care of her children? Her husband had already been terminated two years ago following a biking accident that left him bedridden. They had no other immediate family, and her oldest child was on
|Sometimes I try to give constructive advice.|
I usually accomplish being a jerk. A jerk with jargon.
Uhg, even worse.
Tragedy is a genre most people are familiar with. Hamlet is a tragedy. Movies labelled as ‘tear jerkers’ are often tragedies. If you pare it down enough, it can be as simple as 'a story where a lot of bad things happen to the protagonist'. This would fit almost every tragedy ever written, but it's not very helpful for understanding the complexities of the genre, or what it contributes to storytelling. There are almost countless sub-genres of tragedy, and every one has specific rules and tendencies that further define it from 'tragedy' as a whole. This is a construct of ages of evolution in the genre, which started, alongside comedy, with the Greeks.
Thespis is the man credited with starting this transition because he was the first recorded person to take these ritual narratives and make them scripted. This introduced the concept of a solo ‘actor’, and paved the way for the rituals to evolve into the Festival Dionysia. Along the way, other people modified it, adding more actors, changing the way the stage was constructed, reducing the chorus and adding in (for their times) contemporary subject matter to their plays until they more resembled a stage play one might see today.
Forms and Famous Plays:
The plays performed at the Dionysia were subject to certain rules in their formatting. Each Playwright would write three related tragedies, followed by a humorous, and often unrelated, play. Inside were further fomatic rules.
Some famous surviving Greek Trilogies include Oresteia, by Aeschylus, and the pieced together trilogy of Oedipus by Sophocles. Though Sophocles’ version of the Oedipus Myth does not quite follow the general rules because it is assembled out of different festival years, the plays still follow the inner structures of the genre.
Inner Forms in Sophocles Oedipus Rex: The Play in As-Short-As-I-Can-Make-It
Brace yourself, Freudians:
Most Greek Tragedies start with a prologue, called the prologos. This is a device that gives us the setting, background and gives the current story a little bit of context.
In Oedipus Rex the prologue sets up that Oedipus is the king of Thebes, and has to deal with a plague upon his city. We learn he has sent Creon, his brother in law, to the Oracle at Delphi, and has returned with news-- which he thinks Oedipus should hear in private. Oedipus declines, and tells him to speak publicly. Creon tells the citizenry that the murderer of the previous king is in Thebes, and must be driven out for the plague to end.
The Chorus then enters the scene for the first time. This is called the parados. They call upon many gods, and in general function as the voice of the people. The Greek Chorus (usually) had twelve members, who spoke to the main characters or amongst themselves, moving the plot along and sharing aspects of the drama the other actors could not. Oedipus swears to the chorus, that he will find the killer, and then curses the man and all of his family. the chorus suggests that Oedipus call on the Prophet Tiresias.
An episode in this context means almost exactly what it means in the context of modern television. It is a part or sequence in a larger body of work, in this case the sequences between choruses. This episode continues with Tiresias entering, and confronting Oedipus with riddles. Oedipus becomes angry and insults the Prophet, who then accuses Oedipus of being the former king’s murderer. Further enraged, Oedipus accuses Creon and Tiresias of conspiring to overthrow him. The chorus-leader tries to reason with him, but is unsuccessful. Tiresias then hints at the mysteries behind Oedipus’s parentage and past, which makes him even angrier. The prophet says that the person who murdered the former king will be the husband of his mother, and the father and brother of his children. The episode ends when the chorus takes the stage, uncertain who to believe.
There are three more episodes in Oedipus Rex, all which break away and return to the chorus. In them we meet Oedipus’s wife, Jocasta, who calms him by telling him all prophets are fake. She says her first husband was prophesied to be murdered by his son, who was thrown out as a baby. Instead he was killed at a crossroads just before Oedipus came to Thebes. Hearing this, Oedipus asks for more information, and is no longer certain he is innocent of the murder. Having heard he was not the real son of his parents, he had gone to Delphie to speak to the oracle, who told him he was doomed to marry his mother and kill his father. Instead of returning home. He and Jocasta rush to find the other people involved at the crossroads killing-- a shepherd. The chorus takes the stage again, and muses on the workings of the world. Is everything ruled by fate, or can a man cheat the gods? The shepherd is sent for and a messenger takes the stage, announcing the death of Oedipus’s father. Jocasta rejoices in this further proof that all prophecy is fake, until the messenger reveals that Oedipus was not the natural child of his parents. He was given to them by a shepherd, who was given the baby by one of the former King’s servants. Oedipus wants to find out who his real parents are, but Jocasta begs him to drop the subject and exits. The shepherd who saw the murder enters, and turns out to also be the servant who gave the baby to the messenger. He says that the infant was the son of the King and Jocasta, cast out to ward off prophecy. Rattled by the realization that his prophecies were true-- Oedipus unknowingly killed his father, and married his mother-- he leaves to find her.
One unnamed element of Greek Tragedy comes into play at this point. There is never any overt violence on stage. All of this kind of action takes place ‘elsewhere’, and must be related to the audience by the actors not taking part in it. In this instance, a messenger appears onstage with tragic news. Jocasta has hanged herself, and Oedipus taken the pins from her robes and gouged out his eyes. Just as the messenger is finished speaking, a blinded Oedipus enters. He curses fate and his life and asks to be exiled. The chorus and Creon enter. The last chorus is called the Stasima, and in it the chorus speaks of restoring order. Creon as the new, tenuous leader, grants his friend exile and his last wish, to see his daughters.
The last scene is called the exodos. In it Oedipus embraces his two weeping daughters, until Creon sends him away. The chorus laments the fate of Oedipus, and the curtain closes.
That was a lot of stuff. In extra short:
The basic structure of any ancient tragedy will follow this trajectory: Prologos, Paraodos, Episodes, Stasima and Exodos.
Hubris, hamartia and catharsis are all key aspects in Greek Tragedy that escape the formatic rules of the genre.
Hubris is an excessive amount of pride, with an unhealthy dose of self-confidence. It’s an element that is required in protagonists, because it drives the plot forward. It keeps the protagonists driven, against all odds and sense, to go for unreachable goals. Oedipus has this in droves.
Hamartia is a fatal flaw in a character. There is no specific issue that will be the hamartia in any play, but it is the tragic error in judgement. It can, as in Oedipus’s case, be the lack of knowledge of his past, or something else entirely. The nature of the error depends on the nature of the play, and it doesn't exactly have to be the protagonist's fault.
Catharsis is the emotional release the audience feels when the tragic play (or book, or movie) is over. Similar to the idea of ‘having a good cry’, the catharsis brought by tragedy is supposed to purge and rebalance the audience.
These conventions are arguably the more defining features of the genre. Without them, even with the prologos, episodes and exodos, we do not have a Greek Tragedy. These are some of what makes up the substance of the genre, rather than just the form of it, and what wold define a play as acceptable or excellent. They are ideas that have taken root in the wider genre of "Tragedy", as well. It's easy to see the ghosts of hubris and hamartia in the protagonists of modern tragedy, changed by the years, but still very alive.
These videos explain everything here and more, in ways that are funnier and more concise than me! Give them a try.