THIS BLOG POST MAY NOT BE AS MORBID AS THE TITLE MIGHT SUGGEST. ALTHOUGH IT MIGHT. I SUPPOSE IT COULD DEPEND ON YOUR POINT OF VIEW. 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 Pterr
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
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