Well, there was a chance once and I fucked it up.
|Aye, pretty normal stuff.|
Anyway, yes, the title of the post and the song by Gilbert O'Sullivan. In the song, our Mr O'Sullivan asks what's in a kiss, as you would expect given the title, postulating that it may perhaps be more than one moment of bliss. In a lesson today we were discussing divorce and marriage and we got on to love - all the students agreed that love was the main reason for marriage and agreed that it was better for a child to be in a lone parent family than have two parents who didn't love one another. This led to a discussion on how one could know that one was in love - what does love like? Of course they asked me how I knew that I loved my wife. I'm not too hot on outright lying - though I am pretty good at it - so after some prevarication I murbled about various lofty sounding things but couched them in a way that made them sound a little less high and a little more soulless and logical - as that is the persona that I have adopted for the class.
|What's in a kiss?|
Enough germs to catch pneumonia as I recall.
|It's the militarism that does it I think.|
I'm no militaristic person, well, not much;
but there is an inescapable kind of logic
and progression to rank and the military.
Now, there are cases where I have identified as made up names. One of these was the name used for a character (and several characters in my own stories) in a role playing game with some friends back when they were still in University and I had recently started my teaching gig. That name was a surname and had rank attached. At a friend's wedding some of the people from the role playing game were trying to help some other people get my attention and they succeeded by, in desperation, calling the name of my character - I responded nigh instantly because that name registered. So, apparently, I have a surname that works and that I can use to identify myself. It bears no resemblance to my actual name and was stolen from a flyer, when I was growing up, for a window-cleaner. the flyer was on photocopied white paper and lay in a gutter outside the church my brother and I attended. I remember the day clearly and I have no idea why. Hardaker was the name, pronounced hard-acre, and, for some reason, this has stayed with me to the point where them shouting this name had a greater effect than using my actual real name or any of the nicknames that friends have called me for years. At school I respond far more quickly to 'Sir' than I do to my name or my title. At home I have managed to create a system where Tilly doesn't use my name or even a substitute (lately she has started using 'darling' as I use 'honey' for her - and always have - but I'm not sure that counts).
|I searched for the name suggested, this|
But what is, exactly, in a name?