Rolling media coverage of disasters, as we’re currently getting from the earthquake in Japan, both freaks me out and numbs me, leaves me not knowing what I feel, not knowing what to feel.
The news reports seem to come from nothingness, sit there in nothingness. They fail to acknowledge or contextualise themselves or their audience. What purpose are they intended to serve? How are they intended to make us feel?
Is learning of death and destruction on an unimaginable scale not supposed to make us feel anything? There’s no recognition that many of those listening or watching will haul themselves out of bed in the morning and trudge off to work feeling overwhelmed by fear and sorrow, having no idea what to DO about what’s happened, and no idea either how to carry on with our own stuff regardless. Instead, there’s kind of a tacit assumption that we'll want to know, but that we don’t really care.
It’s bizarre, detached from any sort of meaningful humanity, a horrible apotheosis of the way we live now. We get so much information that it’s worse than getting none, just as we live with so much of everything, so much access to everywhere, that it’s like being nowhere and having nothing.
I wish I could think of a useful, or even slightly redemptive, observation to conclude with. Well, perhaps acknowledging how I feel is a start.