So a more complex scenario would be what? asked Belle et Bonne.
A more complex scenario would be where someone recites Farquhar! Farquhar! or Here boy! Here boy! and I run away, replied Farquhar.
Your emotional response being? asked Le Bon David.
My emotional response being that I don't want to come, said Farquhar.
That's not an emotional response, said Belle et Bonne.
Yes it is, said Farquhar MacTaggart. If I really don't want to, it is. Take that day on the beach, when I wanted to attach myself to your friend Jesus. I responded negatively to the poem, by not coming.
Ah yes, said The VeloDrone. I was meaning to ask, seeing you wanted to attach yourself to Jesus, where is he?
He's busy during the day, said Farquhar. He's doing a course.
A course? said The VeloDrone. What course?
Creative Writing, replied Farquhar. At TAFE.
Waste of time, said The VeloDrone.
Yes, agreed Farquhar MacTaggart. But try telling him that.
Showing posts with label emotional response. Show all posts
Showing posts with label emotional response. Show all posts
Friday, May 6, 2011
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
The Simplest Scenario
By taste, said Farquhar MacTaggart, chewing on a Meaty-Bite, I mean 'yum yum this tastes good', or 'yuk that tastes bad', or in the case of things which are rotten, 'yum yum, this tastes really amazing'.
I see, said Le Bon David. By taste, I mean the sorts of things one takes pleasure in for their own sake. Such as reading a wonderful and moving poem.
I am not averse to a good poem, said Farquhar, contemplatively. Farquhar! Farquhar! that's one of my favourites, and Here boy! Here boy! is another.
How do they go? asked Belle et Bonne.
That's them, there isn't any more, said Farquhar.
In what sense may they be considered poems? asked The VeloDrone, who had been listening with interest.
They rhyme, said Farquhar.
Poems should do more than that, observed Le Bon David. They ought to elicit some sort of emotional response.
They do, said Farquhar. When someone calls Farquhar! Farquhar! I leap and jump for joy, and then I run towards the person who recited the poem.
No you don't, said Belle et Bonne. I saw you that time on the beach. You ran away from your family.
I was only giving you the simplest scenario, said Farquhar.
I see, said Le Bon David. By taste, I mean the sorts of things one takes pleasure in for their own sake. Such as reading a wonderful and moving poem.
I am not averse to a good poem, said Farquhar, contemplatively. Farquhar! Farquhar! that's one of my favourites, and Here boy! Here boy! is another.
How do they go? asked Belle et Bonne.
That's them, there isn't any more, said Farquhar.
In what sense may they be considered poems? asked The VeloDrone, who had been listening with interest.
They rhyme, said Farquhar.
Poems should do more than that, observed Le Bon David. They ought to elicit some sort of emotional response.
They do, said Farquhar. When someone calls Farquhar! Farquhar! I leap and jump for joy, and then I run towards the person who recited the poem.
No you don't, said Belle et Bonne. I saw you that time on the beach. You ran away from your family.
I was only giving you the simplest scenario, said Farquhar.
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