View allAll Photos Tagged Humiliation
This is the statue of John Robert Godley, the Founder of Canterbury (area where Christchurch belongs to). It looked like the seagull was humiliating him.
Well..., I don't know what he had done so wrong to be humiliated like that ^.^!
Two of my sisters, my brother-in-law Rik, and I descended on Charleston, SC, just before Christmas 1972. I flew down from Nashville with only the clothes on my back and gifts for my family. And a tin full of untested marijuana brownies I'd made the previous night from an ounce of high-quality Jamaican weed.
In Charleston I stayed with my cute little Christian grandma Dana (on my left above) three blocks away from Tiz's house on Legare St, where the rest of the family was boarding.
The day after I arrived Tiz, my mom, told me that she and Dana had bought me a suit to wear for a cocktail party that afternoon a few blocks away in honor of Hank Stallworth--a guy I'd known at boarding school--and his fiancee: a blue blazer, a white-on-white shirt, an enormous red satin necktie, red double-knit polyester pants, and a shiny white belt.
"Where are your dress shoes?" Tiz asked.
"I'm wearing them," I said.
"Those are boots. Where are your shoes?"
"I didn't bring any."
"My God. All right, they'll have to do. Your stepfather has some shoe polish in his closet you can borrow. Now hurry up, you have to be there in an hour."
The only shoe polish my stepfather had that came close to brown was cordovan, which I discovered too late turned my brown boots purple. Now seemed like an excellent time to eat a brownie, so I had two. A half hour later I was buffing my boots to a nice shine when the full impact of the brownies hit me really, really, REALLY hard. I was much too stoned to go to this party and told my sister Ruthie so.
"Bullshit, Willie. We have to go and we don't even know these people. He's your friend! If we have to go, you have to go!"
This made sense, but it still didn't seem fair. I grabbed my new clothes and my purple boots and walked to my grandmother's. Dana greeted me at the door with a message: "Will, Tiz called and told me to tell you to hurry up." I said to tell Tiz I'd be there as soon as I showered and changed clothes.
Upstairs I was laying out my new clothes on my bed when Dana knocked on my bedroom door.
"Will?"
"Yes, Dana?"
"Are you all right?"
"I'm fine, Dana, thanks!"
"You were singing!"
"I was?"
"You were singing about The Devil!"
I froze. This was not good. Not only was I not even aware that I was singing, but I was singing loudly enough that an 83 year old deaf woman could hear me through a closed door. I explained my behavior somehow and she went away. A minute later I realized I'd been singing "Sympathy For The Devil" very, very loud.
The water in Charleston was so soft that after my shower my hair, which usually just hung straight down, was cascading down past my shoulders in ringlets (as in the photo above). And the shirt was three sizes too large for my neck. My eyes were BRIGHT red and I had the stupidest shit-eating grin on my face ever. Fully dressed, I looked like I'd been raised by circus people.
When I showed up at my mom's house to get my sisters and Rik, Ruthie answered the door and fell into hysterics. She hollered for the others to come see me at the front door. Rik and my older sister (seen above) almost collapsed from laughter.
We were met at the party by Hank, who introduced us to his fiancee. The inside of the house looked like a Brooks Brothers showroom--short-haired men, dressed in conservatively cut charcoal-grey/black suits, white shirts, club ties, and BLACK shoes, were everywhere. I, on the other hand, looked like a clown the host had thoughtlessly hired to entertain everyone.
I headed for the bar and buffet table. I figured cocktail shrimp and a couple of bloody marys would bring me down. I was so wrong; in a matter of minutes I was both drunk and stoned. I wandered away from the shrimp and passed from one group of strangers to another, not talking to anyone, just listening to their boring preppie bullshit about hunting, sports, and cars. I figured if I didn't actually talk to anyone, I could fake my way through this ordeal; so for 10 minutes or so people engaged me in conversations to which I contributed a nod, a laugh, or a handshake, but absolutely zero interest in or comprehension of what was said.
At some point I found myself listening to this older man talk, but I couldn't understand a word he was saying--it was all just "Blah blah blah blah blah" to me. I began to panic that he might actually ask me a question. Deciding I'd be better off doing the talking instead of the listening, I interrupted him. "You know," I said, "I was talking with Mr. Smythe earlier, and he was telling me this insane story about deRo Myers, how deRo had gone to Princeton and become a 'hippie'. And just between us, I listened as politely as I could, but he really doesn't know what he's talking about. DeRo Myers? A HIPPIE? I mean, I spent four years at EHS with deRo, and I know deRo Myers. And I'm telling you, Mr. Smythe doesn't know what the hell he's talking about. But what do you think? You must know deRo--do you think deRo's become a, quote, hippie, unquote?"
He swallowed uncomfortably. "Well, actually," he said. "Actually, I'm Mr. Smythe and I just finished telling you that story."
"Oh. Right. Well, I'm going to go have another drink."
I quickly made my way to the buffet table and never looked back. I had another bloody mary or two and some more cocktail shrimp. I saw this one really pretty girl standing by herself against the back wall. Having forgotten what I looked like, I approached her and started talking her up. I suggested we have dinner together while I was in Charleston. She politely turned me down, but I kept insisting. Dinner, a movie, anything. My sister Ruthie appeared and apologized for interrupting. "Do you mind if I talk to my brother for a few minutes?" The girl said not at all. Ruthie asked me what I thought I was doing. Hadn't we agreed my talking to people was a bad idea? I countered that I was in the middle of putting the blast on this incredibly beautiful girl and actually getting somewhere, so what's the problem?
"Willie," she said, "that's your friend's fiancee! God, you are such an idiot! Maybe we better go back to Tiz's."
"I'm ready," I said.
The photo above was taken by Rik the next day at Christmas dinner. I resisted -- with extreme unction -- having a record of me in this outfit. To no avail. My expression says it all.
Elliott wasn't one to put himself out there. He didn't strive to be the center of attention even with the Head Boy badge on his chest. But something about that blue glow of the Goblet of Fire pulled him in like a moth to a flame.
He knew what he wanted to do but was too scared to go after it. The fear of failure and humiliation held him down while he struggled against it with every ounce of his being.
Placing his name would wait another night.
The basis of shame is not some personal mistake of ours, but the ignominy, the humiliation we feel that we must be what we are without any choice in the matter, and that this humiliation is seen by everyone.
Milan Kundera
The worst part about getting an annual physical is the humiliation of being the only one in the room in a paper gown.
Blythe a Day - Least Favorite Outfit - 5/19/23
Hollywood Blythe
Littlechap vintage Doctor's Office
Gown - made from a tissue
Barbie medical accessories (some repainted)
{Le'La} Dark Finch
♥ Fit for Erika, GenX Classic/Curvy, Kupra, LaraX/PetiteX, Legacy/Perky, Maitreya/Petite, Reborn/Waifu
♥ Blazer, Boots, Collar, Corset, Garters, Shorts
♥ Garters for Regular/Maze
New at {Le'La}
♥-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------♥
For more details & pics:
Consonance and dissonance.
I the body would be sharing certain events cached in its data files.
I shall remove the text if anybody feels hurt, offended or humiliated by its contents.
The little Eden sans vicious fruits:
With each passing year, the child loved his school more and more. At one edge of the big gate, there's a Cork Tree that welcomes you with the delightful fragrance of its flowers in bloom, while the fallen white tubular flowers lay a carpet for you to step in. The vast assembly ground bordered with Mahogony, English Oak and Soap Berry trees, the assembly hall with arched door and wooden panel flooring, and the grand tiled edifices and chapel in British architecture provides a lovely and lively ambience to the place. On special occasions, the kids assemble in the Assembly Hall, which has a grand piano planted on one side of the stage platform. Sister Audry plays the piano as the kids sing along loud.
Aged five, the child got promoted to 1st standard, and he loved the class and the ambience. Miss Annie, the class teacher, is a lean young lady who always keeps her chin up and hardly smiles. Though she is calm and gentle, the child thought that she is sad or upset with something.
The child has a beautiful garden at home, with lots of roses and dahlias. One day, before he started to leave home for school, he remembered his teacher when he saw the giant dahlias in bloom. He thought it would make her happy, and so, with his mother's permission and help, he took a big dahlia flower in the garden as he set off to school. Of course, he cared to keep it safe from damage, and on the way to school, he envisioned her excitement when he hands over the iridescent, deep purple and violet dahlia to her.
His mind was with the dahlia as the school assembly started with the prayer, "Father, we thank thee for the night, and for the pleasant morning light", followed by the pledge and finally the national anthem. His mind was with the dahlia when he marched with his classmates into the classroom after the assembly. He kept the flower ready as the teacher entered the room. The students greeted the teacher, and before things got settled, he moved forward and handed the flower to her with a sheepish smile. She received the flower, kept a stiff upper lip, said, "Thank you, " and walked out of the class with it. He expected she would return wearing it on her hair, but she returned without the flower. The child sat lost in thoughts while she was busy teaching some lesson from the Radiant Reader. At the first break, he ran out to check whether she has kept the flower on her table in the staff room. No, it's not there. Dejected, he returned to the class and abruptly, he saw the dahlia placed in front of the giant statue of Mother Mary in the corridor. The child felt disappointed as he believed that his teacher didn't like his gift, and just like the teacher, he kept his chin up the rest of the day.
His father was quite determined to make him a scholar and so was keen to arrange tuition classes for the kid after school hours. He met the class teacher, and she humbly refused the request. So he took the child to Marrey teacher, a graceful, old Anglo-Indian lady who resides close to the school. Marrey teacher's old tiled house is in a compound with lots of plants and trees. The furniture is of colonial style, and along with some framed photographs, a velvet Japanese painted wall hanging banner and an antique pendulum clock decorated the walls. There is a chime hanging few feet inside the front door, and the child loved its continuous soft chime.
Marrey teacher wears sober-coloured frocks and has bobbed salt and pepper hair. She welcomed the kid with a token smile and asked him to sit on a tall bench with a desk in front. She sat beside, on a cane chair with cushions. With her head bent, peeking through from above her thick-framed spectacles, like an interview, she asked, "What's your name, child?". The kid proudly and somewhat loudly told his name. It was followed by the unexpected immediate question, "What's your father?". Confused, he wondered whether she thought his father is an ape or something. Right then, she got distracted by something, and lucky for her, she hurried inside without listening to his reply. She would have died laughing if she heard the child feebly yet rather boldly mumble, "He's a man".
The child, who never sleeps in the daytime, tried his best to be awake at Marrey teacher's house. She makes him write while she frequently goes to the kitchen for cooking. Occasionally she would come to check the developments, chewing a piece of meat, like chewing gum. Once she leaves, he would be struggling to keep himself awake with the sound of the breeze on the leaves of the big oak tree that stands covering the tiled house and the lullaby of the melodious chime accompanied by the tapping sound of the acorns falling on the roof. Though he felt sleepy, he loved the place. Marrey teacher was too gentle and caring like a grandma.
When the child got promoted to the second standard, his class teacher, Miss Catherine Periera, agreed to tutor him at her home. The first day, back home from school, he was taken to her house at dusk. The kid got a bit disconcerted with the thought of being left at a new place, especially at a time of the day that he loved to be at home. The house is hardly half a kilometre from home, but the child felt it's very far. On the way, there are few flour mills, and he could hear 'Tharakaroopini' blaring on the radio from somewhere. The song made him sad, and so he loathed the smell of fresh flour and the sound of those flour mill motors. However, once he reached the teacher's home, he liked the place, as he found it lively and pleasant.
Boy students have to leave the school after the fourth standard, so they consider themselves 'senior' when they reach fourth. Within four years at the school, other than what he's taught, the child also learned that, for survival, it's necessary to react rather than to take things lying down. Though he is the most well-behaved boy in the class, he didn't let others outsmart or bully him.
His old nursery mate Deepti is the class leader. She has changed a lot, though not for the better. He didn't like her serious attitude that she pretends to be superior and do not even smile. When the teacher leaves the class, she instructs the class leader to note down the names of those students who talk. The class leader notes down the names of boys only, except her old friend Pravin. She would note down other's names, even if they sneeze. Once the teacher is back, she metes out the most 'severe disciplinary action' that one could imagine. Anyhow, the kid just loved the punishment. He's often punished and made to sit along with the girls.
Though the usual punishment is to make one stand near the wall, the teacher probably pardoned him as she might have rightly reckoned that he might have talked, provoked by his bench mates.
The very instant he gets punished, he would rush to sit with Karthika and Deepika. Deepika covers her mouth with one hand and giggles even if he moves, and though he wondered what she found so funny, he enjoyed playing the jester and loved to see her giggle. Karthika is soft-spoken, poised and elegant. The eight-year-old boy felt that he knew her for ages. Something made him sense she is inseparable and loved everything about her. The sweet smell of her hair, the fresh smell of her starched and ironed uniform, the twinkle in her eyes and the dimples on her rosy cheeks when she smiles, everything attracted him. He didn't know what's his feeling for her, but he loved her without knowing what it is.
He gifted her many of those 'precious' things from his valuable collection of vivid tiny glass crystal stones, blazingly coloured gilt paper strips, colourful feathers including a peacock feather, and flowers from the garden at his home. One day he gifted her a small bunch of colour paper strips, and he gleefully watched her delicately keep it safe inside her foreign-made, beautiful pencil box, with a gleam in her eyes. Soon it was lunch break, and when he hurried back to the class after lunch, he saw her at her seat with her head bent down.
He asked, "Karthika, what's wrong?" and from the quiver of her torso, he realised that she's sobbing. He held her hand and asked again, and the sobbing escalated. He gently lifted her chin to see tears rolling down her blushed cheeks. With one hand covering her eyes, gasping for breath, she pointed at Ramesh and said, " He grabbed and stole the papers you gifted me". Downhearted seeing her cry, he promised her that he would get her more of those colour papers the next day. Even though her sobbing slowly subsided, her tears broke the child's heart. In the evening before leaving the class, he promised her again, and on the way back home and at home, his heart was feeling heavy remembering her crying face. At home, late at night, he was busy preparing new paper bundles for her, as his mom kept reminding him that it's bedtime. He didn't stop even though he's sleepy and weary and continued his work with a bleeding finger which got cut when the blade slipped. He kept the bundles safe in his bag and dozed off, with the day's incidents replaying in his mind.
The next day morning, he was longing to go to school and gift the papers to Karthika. He saw her in the assembly and felt happy when she smiled at him. As Deepti didn't get an opportunity to monitor the class, unfortunately, he didn't get the chance to sit with Karthika. Yet, at the first break itself, he hurriedly approached her with a smile and handed over the paper bundles.
Her beaming smile and gleaming eyes warmed his heart, and when he happily returned to his seat, he could see Ramesh watch her tidily arrange the bundles in her pencil box. When she lifted her head, she, too, saw the villain watching her. The child's heart sank as she looked at him, tensed and helpless. While the teachers were busy with lessons, his mind was busy devising plans to thwart Ramesh from snatching away the papers. He finally planned to attack the villain with 'paper bullets' if he attempts any misadventure. Paper bullets are V-shaped thickly folded paper bits used as projectiles, fired using a stretched rubber band, like slingshots or catapults. At the lunch break, he skipped his lunch to keep watch and was busy making paper bullets. He stopped once when he felt convinced that he has enough ammunition. After the lunch break, right when the bell rang, the children rushed back to their seats, and he could see Ramesh rush towards Karthika. The vigilant hero took out his weapon and started showering the 'villain' with those projectiles. The 'villain', taken by surprise, turned away from Karthika, who was on the verge of tears. That very moment the teacher entered the class with her eyes on the kid who is busy with his weapon. Followed the loud command "Anuj stand up". The kid was happy that his plan worked successfully, and he didn't feel any guilt or regret.
She asked, "Why did you do that?" and approached him. She opened his pencil box and found many more of his ammunition in it. She repeated, "Tell me, why did you do that?". The child boldly replied, "He hurt my wife yesterday. He was about to do it today too, and I wanted to stop him.". With a hard to read visage, the teacher hurried out of the class. The class was unusually silent, and as the kid stood confused, the teacher returned with all the teachers in the staff room. Addressing them aloud, she said, "You know, I have a husband and wife in my class", and burst out laughing. She walked closer to him and rather loudly said, "Hello husband, please introduce your wife to the other teachers". The baffled kid pointed out Karthika, and as there was loud laugher all around, he was apprehensive whether it would make her cry. Her innocent, smiling face soothed his mind as it conveyed that she is sure he would never do anything to hurt her. "Any more husbands and wives in the class?" the teacher asked, followed by another bout of hysterical laughter before the crowd dispersed. She asked him to be seated and warned Ramesh not to repeat such odious deeds.
After a few more months its exams and after that he has to leave the school forever.
After the vacation, when the exam results were declared, he was taken to the school, and his eyes desperately kept searching her everywhere around. She came running towards him from the porch of the chapel and just stood beside him with a smile, thrilled and gasping. Holding hands, without uttering a word, they strolled around the ground watching the shadows of trees dance on the floor. Holding hands, they listened to a Koel's desperate call answered by its mate from somewhere far. Holding hands, they stood, watching the mahogany seeds spiralling down towards them from above. Soon he got summoned to return home. He reluctantly eased the grip from her moist, tender hand and walked back, looking back again and again as she stood watching him leave. The child felt like he is getting separated from his mother forever. It seemed like he lost his soul. With a weak smile to conceal his true feelings, he helplessly moved away as she kept watching him walk out of the gate and vanish. He could hear "Ishtapraneshwari" playing on the radio from some shop at the roadside on the way back with a heavy heart. Back home, the child lauded at home and the neighbourhood as 'the kid who never cries', ran to the bathroom and silently cried his heart out.
He loved the song, but the child's heart sank whenever he hears it from then on.
"Hey Koel bird, in your midst, is it the male or the female who has the insatiable thirst for love?
The never satiable thirst for love".
Ishtapraneshwari: Ishtapraneshwari
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© 2020 Anuj Nair. All rights reserved.
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© 2020 Anuj Nair. All rights reserved.
All images are the property of Anuj Nair. Using these images without permission is in violation of international copyright laws (633/41 DPR19/78-Disg 154/97-L.248/2000).All materials may not be copied, reproduced, distributed, republished, downloaded, displayed,posted or transmitted in any forms or by any means,including electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording without written permission of Anuj Nair. Every violation will be pursued penally.
I had a bit of an epiphany while hiking up the mountain to reach this spot.
It's time to get in shape. I've let things slide for too long.
Our group was getting lapped by everybody on the trail. Granted, we were the only ones carrying multi-day packs and camera gear but still, it was humiliating.
5 hours of uphill slog with a 70L backpack almost broke me but I knew that this view would be waiting for me at the top.
With that kind of motivation it was a sure thing I'd get there eventually.
I lifted my massive gut over the bottom strap of my straining back pack and trudged on.
This moon rise was shot on the second night. I'd shot the moon rise the night before but somehow managed to knock the focus ring without realizing, so all my shots were out of focus and utter garbage.
On the second night though, the moon rose a little higher up the peak in a much more pleasing spot so I was kinda glad I'd messed up the first attempt.
For full disclosure, I totally added in those light rays in post. Very easy to do and the image was asking for it. because it was a full moon there were only a few stars visible so I pasted in a few extra ones to make it super tasty.
Thanks for looking
Gavin Hardcastle - Fototripper
eulogy
on july 3, 2022, tomorrow, chai would have been 14 years old. we took him to our vet and helped him along on his final journey on may 11, just 2 months short of that 14th birthday. for months he had been having what appeared to be night terrors and they had been getting worse. he spent a lot of time standing and staring. he had periodic episodes of not eating and of remaining in our, his and mine and nellie's and sometimes boo's, bedroom unwilling to come downstairs except for going outside to pee and poop. he didn't always make it outside and was humiliated when he had an accident even tho' I gave him hugs and told him it was all right. at the end of his life despite the horrendous nights he had started eating again, mostly, and was going downstairs more when I went down. he was also going out with his daddy and the others to play.
i would like to think that his last days were fun for him even when he wouldn't take his medications and I constantly worried about the return of his earlier seizures. he seemed content.
the Back Story:
I have a friend in the UK who saw Chai's photo on FB in 2014 and emailed me to see if I might be interested. [thank you again Fiona] I was interested so I contacted the rescue that was located in California down the coast from us. I filled out the forms and had a phone interview. the original owner had wanted to put him down because he had a seizure disorder. she was talked out of it and signed him over to rescue. I was told that the seizing occurred at most monthly and the seizures were short and mild.
I spent 20 years working in special ed and I've seen thousands and thousands of seizures so I wasn't too concerned.
Rain, our rescue lady, drove him up to us and he settled in with us on sept 14th, 2014. he was a little over 6 years old.
and then the seizures hit. they were not mild and were not infrequent. sometimes I had to tackle him so he wouldn't hurt himself they were so long-lasting and violent. but, working with our wonderful vet we finally found a combination of medications that worked. it took over a year.
Chai was an elegant dog, very beautiful, very quiet, and he adapted to life in our chaotic household. he never barked.
he loved his little red ball that the foster lady sent to us.
he loved running in the back field.
he loved taking a walk with his daddy and the others down the driveway to get the newspaper and the mail every day.
he slept with me and mr. jones before mr. jones died in 2017. when jones died he went into a tailspin and wouldn't eat. it took Leon and me almost 2 years to get him eating regularly again. he ended up eating on our bed upstairs and only there with frequent bouts of refusing food and medication, but he had no more seizures. we finally got him to put on some weight. I think he loved mr. jones.
he loved daddy's home-made cookies.
he loved his daddy. and he loved his mommy.
he loved visitors. he was shy but eventually approached them.
he loved getting bits of food at the dinner table when we ate. [actually I think I could have pulled up a chair and had him sit at the table and eat what we were eating. ]
he loved bathing in the sun.
what he didn't like:
mama going downstairs.
mama sneezing. or coughing.
the vacuum cleaner, the floor model and the handheld vac.
mama folding clothes [???]
marina, because she bit him in the ear once.
mama listening to music at night, even with the earphones on. [I wonder if he could still hear the music. ]
he preferred that mama do nothing in the evenings except sit next to him in bed. and rub his tummy until he'd had enough.
dog food
we were blessed with Chai Chai for almost 8 years. longer than I thought we'd have him.
he graced us with his quiet ways and we loved him dearly.
at the end of his life he got stubborn. I'm so glad he got to be him.
we picked up his ashes in a beautiful wooden box yesterday.
he will join our others.
this was hard to write. pardon any typos.
pictures below
and please, no icons just words.
"Treat them like kings and like kings they will humiliate you. Treat them like dogs and like dogs they will follow you."
You get yourself ready, you’re looking forward to the date, you go there, and "absolute nightmare" they stand you up. There’s the rejection, the humiliation. It’s certainly not nice.
Being "stood up":
If your date doesn’t show, doesn’t text, and you’re just left waiting with no sign of them – you’ve been stood up.
It also means that if you get yourself ready, get yourself there, you text to see if they’re on their way and they then tell you they can’t make it – you’ve still been stood up.
Keep Your Cool
First up then, if you get stood up, and you’re still out at the venue – whatever emotions start to wash over you, take some deep breaths. Keep your cool and stay composed.
Yes it hurts, yes perhaps it feels a little embarrassing. But no-one knows what’s going on, no-one’s watching you or judging you – no matter how self-conscious you may now feel. So try to relax and don’t get too worked up.
Dating for me was half a century ago so the memories have faded - but not entirely gone. The poor girl looks devastated.
Playing 4-square with my two nephews who spared no mercy in humiliating their uncle, even laughing uproariously when the ball in this shot smashed into the camera. . . kids today. . .
In the South, history is mother's milk and father's glare, nourishing and reproving, embracing and humiliating. Slavery, that particularly cruel institution, is the nervous stutter that makes the whites wince and the blacks smolder when mentioned amongst polite folk. History, once the perogative of the powerful, practices a silence here, adhering to a compact between the children of the oppressors and oppressed that things were what they were and shouldnt be resurrected in open conversation. In this complicit silence, your eyes become your ears.
Down the road a spell from my home lies an antebellum plantation manor, once the estate of the wealthiest man in the pre-war South, and its largest slave holder. Though considered benign in his treatment of his slaves, 3,000 souls toiled under his ownership, building his mansion, harvesting his crops, caring for his family. Living and dying as property.
Behind the manor, down a long dirt and gravel road, nestled in a hillside grove, is the cemetery where those slaves were buried. A visitor today looking for the graveyard could easily pass through it without notice. It is a slow sloping fold of land, opening to a fallow field where cotton and tobacco were once grown. Young pines and old cedars. Leaves from the surrounding hardwoods starting to brown and litter the ground. There is nothing to shout out and shake the wandering visitor that they are standing in the middle of a cemetery of perhaps hundreds. I say perhaps because there are no records of who or how many are buried here. No statues, no monuments, no engraved tombstones - only a curious repetition of granite stones jutting up from the ground - and then they realize where they are, and then all they can then see are the scores and scores of nameless rocks marking burials. Anonymous and forgotten, with only a field stone to mark their resting place, you see the trees surrounding them and remember the columns of the mansion they served. This is where laconic history fesses up one of its secrets and you meet the cruel face of slavery for the first time.
Just one drop
Is all it takes.
Just one drop
A universe makes.
Just one drop,
The ocean initiates.
Just one drop ,
A tear creates .
Just one drop,
A flower stimulates.
Just one drop,
Of dew evaporates.
Just one drop,
Of love our heart exaggerates.
Just one drop,
Of hope our mind appreciates.
Just one drop,
Of curiosity investigates.
Just one drop,
Of perfume satiates.
A drop.
Of sound resonates.
A drop.
Of honey ingratiates.
A drop.
Of venom terminates.
A drop.
Of acid eliminates.
A drop too many
Of alcohol inebriates.
A drop.
Of shame humiliates.
A drop.
Of virtue perpetuates.
A drop.
Of sunlight irradiates.
Just one drop,
A world to create.
When the drop evaporates,
A world disintegrates.
-John Herlihy
to take your humiliations with some measure of grace. In the end, you know, it's our own expectations that crush us." -- from Skippy Dies”
― Paul Murray
offline through the weekend, take care friends:-)
narcissus, large cupped daffodil, 'Court Martial', j c raulston arboretum, ncsu, Raleigh, north carolina
Although it's a bit cooler outside today, it's still too warm for Linus. He spent most of the day indoors and played cards with Monty the mouse. Mousie won and I don't think that Linus will ever play cards with him again. Linus hates to lose.
His head got shoved to the wet bog during the battle. The water is a lot easier to shook off than the humiliation.
"I'm a Karamazov... when I fall into the abyss, I go straight into it, head down and heels up, and I'm even pleased that I'm falling in such a humiliating position, and for me I find it beautiful. And so in that very shame I suddenly begin a hymn.
Let me be cursed, let me be base and vile, but let me also kiss the hem of that garment in which my God is clothed; let me be following the devil at the same time, but still I am also your son, Lord, and I love you, and I feel a joy without which the world cannot stand and be."
- Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Brothers Karamazov
What do you think your doing with my good crystal out here?????
Idioms: Eating Crow - humiliation by admitting wrongness or having been proven wrong after taking a strong position.
Are you in NYC and want to serve Me in RT? Well call Pandoras Dungeon and make an appointment with **MistressDelight**.
Little Debbie wanted to be the one to wish every one Happy Valentines Day this year so I granted her wish... Val didn't want to do it this year because he was afraid that I might stick him in a cup or something just as humiliating to him.. Happy Teddy Bear Tuesday, Everybody!!!!!
Naples' Calling
The city of creativity is shining again!!!!!!
For all these years, the deepest soul of Naples has been humiliated, destroyed, deprived of its beauty and creativity. Today, its cry for help desperately rises up. Naples is tired now, but the Goddesses hasten to help it and free it from this oppression. These new, modern divinities are the symbol of rebirth, freedom, creativity, beauty, elegance. With their touch everything comes back to life, and so Naples is brought back to life and becomes the symbol of creativity once again. The Goddesses’ goal is to save Naples, make it shine, and show to the world its new face!
The Goddesses come from a place where the key word is creativity. This place is Nineteen74.com.
Eleonora Esposito and Eugenio D’Orio inspired the project, influenced by elements present in some of Raphael’s and Alma Tadema’s paintings, combined with some mythological references to the origins of Naples.
The shooting took place at Studio Amnesia - www.amnesiasolution.com - Casalnuovo (NA), thanks to the availability of its owner, Linda Scala, and on the roof garden of the prestigious Hotel Excelsior in Naples - www.excelsior.it – thanks to the hotel management and Mr. Luigi Di Martino.
Team Leader and Womenswear Designer - Eleonora Esposito, who involved in this project the best and most promising Italian and international creative members of www.nineteen74.com.
Fashion Photographer - Eugenio D'Orio, whose talent managed to give the project the right motive to effectively highlight the abilities of all the creative people who participated in the project.
2nd Shooter Michele Cozzolino
Graphic Designers - Luca La Greca, Ciro Zeno, Riccardo Romano.
Video Maker – Didier Tommasi
Make-Up Artist - Alessandra Riccio.
Shoe Designer - Isabella Zocchi (with her made in Italy creations).
Styling - Serena Panebianco and Eleonora Esposito.
Backstage Photographers - Marco Tramontano and 2nd Backstage Photographer Diana Lauro.
Fashion Models - Ava Bergman, Anna Bihas, Tina Corrado, Noemi De Falco, and Tiziana De Giacomo, whose beauty and elegance have interpreted the new renaissance.
Project Assistants - Sara Cimino and Roberta Fusco
All together with the only aim to interpret and give a new face to the creativity that has taken shape and is reborn in Naples!
It can only be expected in a world so demanding. Anyone with a boss or client strives to do his or her best according to what’s asked. We're criticized or completely humiliated. We continue to be punished when we don’t succumb to another’s excellence. Why do we keep going? At some point the psyche figures it will never be enough- trial after trial- and we still keep trying. If it’s our best with the only information we have, is the consequence of a job well done really worth all the humiliation? Maybe, but think of the most demeaning duty one could possibly perform. How much money would retrieve your humility after performing the most degrading duty? It can’t. There is always someone willing to perform the worst job in the world though.
Are we conditioned to tolerate how much we degrade ourselves? We can quit and many do, but does that fix it from happening again? Growth, a learned skill, money and/or the possibility of a promotion can sooth stress a little, but not consistently because sometimes you get NOTHING out of hard work. We’re all a little masochistic.
www.youtube.com/watch?v=xdG8yw5D9bA
Thursday night, everything's fine
Except you've got that look in your eye
When I'm telling a story
And you find it boring
You're thinking of something to say
You'll go along with it then drop it
And humiliate me in front of our friends
Then I'll use that voice that you find annoying
And say something like
Yeah, intelligent input darling
Why don't you just have another beer then?
Then you'll call me a bitch
And everyone we're with will be embarrassed
And I won't give a shit
My fingertips are holding onto
The cracks in our foundation
And I know that I should let go but I can't
And every time we fight
I know it's not right
Every time that you're upset
And I smile
I know I should forget but I can't
You said I must eat so many lemons
'Cause I am so bitter
I said "I'd rather be with your friends, mate
'Cause they are much fitter
Yes it was childish
And you got aggressive
And I must admit that I was a bit scared
But it gives me thrills to wind you up
My fingertips are holding onto
The cracks in our foundation
And I know that I should let go but I can't
And every time we fight
I know it's not right
Every time that you're upset
And I smile
I know I should forget but I can't
Your face is pasty
'Cause you've gone and got so wasted
What a surprise
Don't want to look at your face
'Cause it's making me sick
You've gone and got sick on my trainers
I only got these yesterday
Oh my gosh, I cannot be bothered with this
Well I'll leave you there 'til the morning
And I purposely won't turn the heating on
And dear God, I hope I'm not stuck with this one
My fingertips are holding
Onto the cracks in our foundation
And I know that I should let go but I can't
And every time we fight
I know it's not right
Every time that you're upset
And I smile
I know I should forget but I can't
And every time we fight
I know it's not right
Every time that you're upset
And I smile
I know I should forget but I can't
And every time we fight
I know it's not right
Every time that you're upset
And I smile
I know I should forget but I can't
Third Saturday in June - International Surfing Day. I did grow up in SoCal, in a beach city, but the boards were so big 60 years ago, not like the mini-guns of today. One day I lugged my neighbor's board down to the beach, a wave caught me while I was paddling out, and carried me in backwards. I was humiliated and never went out again. Body surfing OK, no boards. But I do enjoy photographing the sport. I like this one particularly for the shape of the wave, free of any previous whitewater soup, just nice and clean. There's even a touch of the board reflecting.
the cry that always escapes
the low, humiliating
premise of union--
in my mind tonight
i hear the question and pursuing answer
fused into one sound
that mounts and mounts and then
is split into the old selves
the tired antagonisms
How can I rest?
How can I be content
when there is still
that odor in the world?
-Mock Orange by Louise Glück (Triump 155)
The Visitors
ABBA
These walls have witnessed all the anguish of humiliation
And seen the hope of freedom glow in shining faces
And now they've come to take me
Come to break me
And yet it isn't unexpected
I have been waiting for these visitors
Help me
Now I hear them moving
Muffled noises coming through the door
I feel I'm
Crackin' up
Voices growing louder, irritation building
And I'm close to fainting
Crackin' up
They must know by now I'm in here trembling
In a terror evergrowing
Crackin' up
My whole world is falling, going crazy
There is no escaping now, I'm
Crackin' up
Second image from our visit to Jamberoo. Made a right rookie error here.
I was shooting this scene with my 70-200 lens, on F8.
Focussed on the shed, took a few shots, cow wandered down, took a few more....but forgot to re-set and focus on the immediate foreground. The dirt road in the foreground is rightly out of focus, so I've given myself a good uppercut for that "rookie error".
Apart from that, loved that little inquisitive cow.
Lovely little fella, popped down to have a look, left the rest of them grazing away off to the left.
Love odd balls.
Hope you like "The Visitors"
Cheers, Mike
I’ve just (for the second time) entered the “Landscape Photographer of The Year” competition and like thousands of others I’m eagerly awaiting to find out if I get into the second round. To be honest, I’d be incredibly surprised if I won the £10,000 (not that I’d have any problems with this) but my main motivation with participating, is to try and reach a wider audience for my work, in the hope it will develop new opportunities...Anyway entering this competition has highlighted some interesting questions...
First I’m slightly nervous being so open here, as my entries may be total ignored in the competition, initiating public humiliation, “look at me, I’m such a looser”. but then again....cough....cough, I’ve some pretty strong defence mechanisms lined up...but seriously I’m not sure winning this competition is a guarantee of quality, I mean it should be! Winning this competition in my view should highlight the very best in landscape photography from the UK. (What the hell is the best anyway?) I do wonder how many professional landscape photographers enter? (I know Adam Burton does), but what of the other big boys, Is it beneath them? I wonder if it would be just too humiliating not to win? Or from the top of the profession, is it considered an amateur competition? Anyway I suppose the fly in the ointment is a balance between the ‘popular’ view of landscape photography and the more bespoke experimental work that has a more refined target audience.
Anyway is anybody else prepared to admit entering as well and bring their cards to the table?
Is there any point second guessing the judges? Personally I don’t think so. It would be ‘possible’, but a tough task to predict each judges general preferences, let along impossible to accurately assess their mood after seeing thousands of clichéd shots. You have no way of controlling when your shots will be viewed, (after several crap shots, or after several good shots). So giving them some “stock shots” because there is a stock library judge is too simplistic. I do however think second guessing general trends will be productive (please can somebody let me know what they are), but will the winning shot have a dog, cat or bridge in it this year?
Will people try to emulate last year’s winning shots? Famous locations? Animals? Blatant plagiarised compositions? I suspect lots of people will try to do this, (sigh...), but I do wonder if it’s a judging prerequisite that if a shot is similar to last year’s entrants, it is subconsciously disqualified on grounds of unoriginality? I suspect the judges will have their own favourites, but it will be interesting to see if the popular compositions from last year’s book turn up again this year...
I also wonder just how far can one push a popular location to be “different” from the last year’s entries? Yes there is a ‘classic view’ category that I suspect will be very similar to last years, but what of the ‘your view’ category. I wonder if there will be any evolution in vision to last year’s cohort? Is landscape photography subject to trends and fashions like, well, fashion is? Or has everything been done before and the illusive original shot of Bambrough or Whitby Harbour just around the corner?
So is there any point second guessing? I personally don’t think so. It’s our jobs as the creators of landscape photography to lead this change, not to try and give the competition what you think it wants...(or am I naive?) anyway here is my entries, I’d like to think I will get another shot in the book, but there are of course there is no guarantees...
Note: I’ve been sitting on this shot for some time now. I like it allot, but I’m not sure if brings anything new to my development...Anyway I made it in the Lake District this spring, I'd just descended Cat Bells and found a lovely little woodland at the edge of Derwentwater. I would like to go back in better light, but will have to be patience as I doubt that I will go back to the lakes this year...
Edit: just found out that I have seven images into the second round...wow such a coincidence, considering my post today...I’m thrilled to bits (o:
Note:this,this,this,this,this,thisandthis image made it through to the second round (o:
All Rights Reserved. All images on this site are © copyright Juan Pedro Gómez-51.
Please, don’t use this images in websites, blogs or other media without my explicit permission. Use without consent on my part of it, will report the formal complaint to the registration of intellectual property. Thanks.
the longest bus ride ever
i just wanted an easy day out for groceries
people on that bus exhibited infuriating behavior towards me,
humiliated me - including the bus driver -
because i have some crippling conditions
and i got in their way
sometimes the lack of compassion in my brothers and sisters -
maybe even some of you -
make me want to holler, throw up both my hands
BTW
for the record, this isn't about self-pity. i "stood up" for myself quite readily, and confronted every person in the smack-down. as a matter-of-fact, a couple of the people tried to save face and hurried to get off the bus and transfer to another, in order to get away from me ;-)
like i quoted in another recent photo:
" ... don't cross the little lady ... "
~ saving grace
everlast
wish you all the best weekends in life!
Never ever offend people u just like or adore. It really hurts when we are humiliated by someone. Believe me, none of us would like to be hurted.
“Shoot yourself. Give us a glimpse of your photographic primal scream.”
- Stuart Paton
---------
Last week a doctor threaded a snake with a movie camera in its eyes through my mouth. It crossed my tongue, my throat, oesophagus, duodenum and stomach as if my guts were stations of a subway line. I've felt like screaming because of the discomfort, humiliation and the fear that cancer was discovered. However, I could not shout anything loud, just silence and saliva. I think this is my truthful primal scream: a fake silence. And saliva. Shame I hadn't my mobile with me to make a selfie: I might have shot a cool response to Stuart Paton's instruction.
So, I just have my bats, now. I explain. I've almost given up street photography. The cause? Since Arindam Thokder's instruction, I've become obsessed with the bats that live under a massive bridge near my home. Eptesicus serotinus is the species they belong to, or perhaps Eptesicus isabellinus, or both. Or Rip-rip, Adaleria, Arthurius, or even Xnyjfcgnjfcwcgyvozitch. Almost every twilight I take a walk with my camera and a flash, and I try to photograph them. It's a bit ridiculous: I'm using a prime 28 mm lens equivalent, and they are such tiny creatures... And I have no more than fifteen, twenty minutes - then, the night falls, and they become invisible.
I think bats experience the world as an always mutating stuff as a result of their unpredictable flight that defies any inertia laws. I don't fly, but I see the world in that way too. Because time flies. Moreover, bat's primal screams are silent as mine; it just happens they manage to use them to avoid walls and trees and to hunt mosquitoes, and I am too clumsy for that. So, they are like me, just in better.
The night has fallen, and now I'm returning home. I can't see any bats now, but I know they are still flying over my head, hunting mosquitoes through a dark city sky where no stars can live. And inside that gloom, screams no human is able to listen to are happening everywhere. Perhaps darkness filled with silent screams should have been my submission, but I'm too coward to submit a black frame. Yet. And, apparently, nothing too serious was detected through the endoscopy.
So, I prefer one more photo of the crepuscule with a bat. It's just fifteen, twenty minutes. Our lifespan. But with primal screams everywhere and their source slightly visible.
We paused on the hilltop in the sculpture garden. A nearby father explained to his daughter what we were doing. "See, now you're aware of it, because you asked," he told her. Photograph by Elton Lloyd Davis.
Members of Witness Against Torture form a massive blockade which shuts down the Department of Justice in Washington, DC. Photograph by Bill Hughes.
We walked in front of the stage where some terrible pop-rock was being performed. Security attempted to forcibly move me, but to no avail. Later, two audience members yelled at us for being a "Fucking disgrace." Yummy venom. Photograph by Elton Lloyd Davis.
dress and Circus back drop Gacha from W-Zero Main Store
{Limerence} Lusy hair group gift main store
BALACLAVA!! Creepy Twins - Particle Lighting Add-ON
main store for Balaclav
Skin group Gift Zombie Glam AFFAIR
JESS POSES
HALLOWEEN 4 and 6
HEAD Aida Lelutka head
Body Lara
Shape Glam Affair
Bloody Clever from VIKI GACHA
This lovely cardinal is missing her tail feathers as many of the other birds I see are. It is the molting process and she will get them back soon. They fly fine though a little differently with no tail feathers.
wielding only stubby gelatinous arms, the gummi army faced swift and humiliating defeat
[goofin' with my new nikkor 60mm micro - someday, I hope to use it for the forces of good...]
Ai-je aimé ou seulement rêvé,
parce que tout me ramène au silence maintenant,
tout s'est tue, tout à coup,
alors que je me penchais sur cette soudaine anomalie de l'instant présent,
je vis un abîme, ouvrant sa gueule de maudit et crachant le silence comme on crache des insultes au temps qui fuit.
Un souffle douleureux est parvenu jusqu'à moi, humiliant mes sens,
alors,
mon coeur s'est arraché à l'impossible amour,
celui qu'on doit abandonner.
©Elsa Aumiroir 5 mai 2024
Have I loved or merely dreamed,
for everything now leads me back to silence,
everything has hushed, suddenly, as I pondered this sudden anomaly of the present moment,
I glimpsed an abyss, opening its cursed jaws and spewing silence like insults hurled at fleeting time.
A painful breath reached me, humiliating my senses,
and so,
my heart tore itself from impossible love,
the one we must forsake..
©Elsa au miroir 5 may 2024