I love death. Not the twisted arms and legs, torso cut into pieces, struck down by a heart attack, kind of death, but a particular character in a series of books by a now (sadly) deceased author. And if you haven't figured it out, his name was Terry Pratchett.
But this isn't really about Sir Pterry, or even Discworld. Its about appropriation.
I didn't mean to steal this character, and two others (The death of Rats, and Quoth the raven he rides on) for my own nefarious ends. It happened some years ago, sort of by accident.
Few people can fail to have encountered those posters who, WRITE IN ALL CAPS, NO MATTER WHAT THE TOPIC. Usually making statements and claims one thinks are, lets say 'odd'. (Or.. flying mammal poo bonkers) And I am no exception. And every time I have, the first thought in my head was of Sir Pterrys anthropomorphic personi…

Changing minds.

It is can be frustrating when I notice, someone was about to say something but suddenly changed their mind.

Because now I'm wondering what they were about to say. Why did they change their mind? Is it something important to them? Or to me?

This is not a criticism.
I do not plead they should always speak their thoughts.

But sometimes wish, they would get it off their chest.

To relieve me of my curiosity at the very least.

And sometimes, more often than not, I think I mostly know what the unspoken thought might have been. Having listened to what they were saying beforehand.

But, f we really study and understand the fleeting expressions on a person's face, do we really understand them? Or not?

Why are some people such good liars?

Amd I'm not talking about Trump. He isn't actually a very good liar, he keeps tripping himself up.

Sociopaths in general, psychopaths and malignant personalities in particular. These are the really good liars. The ones that can fool professional …
I have been fascinated with eye contact for a lot of my life.
Its importance seems to me to be that its a time when we mostly intuitively pick up each others micro expressions. And tell ourselves stories about how the other person is feeling. And even what they are thinking about.

Some people are good at reading micro expressions, some people are not. Such people that have a talent for it,  are like lie detectors. Good authors, good journalists, even dare I say it good lawyers, good psychoanlysts, psychologists.

For many years I have tried to understand consciously the stories I see, about myself, and about the person in whos eyes I see the stories.

Some stories occur over and over.

One such story I have seen is the cis gendered man's sudden realisation that he has just been fantasising some very carnal thoughts about me, and he's just noticed I am not a cis-gendered woman.

O.K. so it doesn't happen so much these days, I am 54, but I was young and gorgeous once, and memor…

Manchester, London and Sun Tsu.

O.K. so... following the recent Terrorist incident in London. I posted the following.

"The Islamists seem to have found the measured response of the British people to the Manchester bombing unbearable. And have further tried to provoke hate, through acts of pointless violence on and near London Bridge, tragically with serious injuries and reported deaths.

The result will be the same. The British will still keep calm and carry on."

In a comment on the thread linked to the post, another poster +Christian NNalletamby, asserted the following....

"There is no peaceful Islam, check the sources.

There are "peaceful" Muslims, who finance and support the killers.
Willingly or not, at this point, makes no difference."

I felt I wanted to distribute my response to this a little more widely. Mostly because it seems to represent my view well. And I think it is a constructive view. So essentially this is me casting seeds wide.

Because as soon as I thought this, I had …

The Tranny and the 'Great debate community'

Which sounds a bit like Harry Potter, or Tin Tin, or a whole host of Enid Byton novels.

In my mind I have already re-named it, the 'safe debate community'. For reasons that might become clear or they might not.

I have been a member of this community for a number of years. Never contributed much, mostly a bunch of people showing off their symbolic logic. However, a recent post caught my eye.

Not because of the post, but the content of one of the comments, by the original poster. Steve McRae I forget what it was exactly now, but the practical upshot was someone arguing that atheism is a 'belief', or requires 'belief'.  This was still related to the original post, loosley speaking. So off we went. This all became a bit odd, as the complaint was people 'hijacking' his thread. Odd since he introduced the new theme.

If the thread had been 'hijacked' it was by himself. The practical upshot of this was another thread popped up on the actual theme, and o…


Some poems they rhyme you know.
Though I know I like blank verse.
But sometimes I need to show
Words into line I can nurse.

Not for any reason
but just because I can
Not just  for a season,
A woman or a man.

But for the fun of it all
Just to see the symbols
dance like couples at a ball
speaking clear, then in riddles.

Words are fun.
Words are Joy
Words show the one
Words shy and coy

Rhyming and rhythm,
Bouncing on tongues
Framing a prism
To beat life's drums.

And to end in the hope
That tied like a rope
the words can grope
for meaning with scope

That entertains and holds
A reader in thrall
perhaps for a moment
perhaps for more.

Biker secret.

Things move in the depths,
Strange things, odd things.
Things without names
Things without form

Dreams cast upon winds
Time drawn in the hollows.


Beauty on two wheels.
I rode with him.
Arms holding him,
Feeling he was mine,
Relishing every moment
Wind in my hair,
Alone with him,
On the road.
The two of us

And then it would end.
at my own door.
Stepping off the bike.
Handing him back
His spare helmet.
I say "thanks"

His beautiful face
Smiles at me
I melt,
If only..

"No problem mate," he says.

I smile back.

He puts down his visor,
That big engine revvs,
He turns
And is gone
Sooner than it takes to write it.

And I know soon,
Other arms will circle him,
On the open road.
Arms he will seek
For affection and more.

And I know I can never have him.
And I hide sorrow behind my eyes,
As I say Hi
To family,
Who must not see,
A love I cannot tell.

And later alone,
I weep silently upon my bed.