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In ‘Sexual Identity and Cultural Identity: A Crash Course’, he writes about the politics of sexual attraction from the perspective of a gay Asian man: Before I felt comfortable talking to friends about sex, I looked to books to feel less alone. We all come to sex with different values and assumptions, but some are more acknowledged, more likely to be deemed ‘normal’, than others. ’ Then again, perhaps this story is not about me and M, nor the specifics of how we fucked, but rather about what women are taught to expect.What I couldn’t find in Australian literature or Western feminist texts I sought elsewhere, working my way from essays and memoir to fiction and poetry. The former, a story about two lovers who don’t speak each other’s language, is a heartbreaking meditation on dislocation, growth and the self lost in translation. I didn’t think my upbringing was backward, but until I saw Chinese female sexualities accurately represented, I did question whether my guilt was unreasonable, a symptom of cultural repression. ’ * ‘It took me four years to learn to enjoy sex,’ I write in a pitch. When I mention I’m writing about sexual awakenings, a friend exclaims, ‘How many can you have? Scrolling through texts and tweets, I construct a chronology of books and fucks.Similarly, in Through the Looking-Glass, Alice impulsively goes through the glass over the mantel and into the Looking-Glass room.
Both Alice and Looking-Glass, while drawn from Carroll’s extemporaneous stories, were later refined and infused with a wealth of allusions to both his own experiences and Alice’s.
In her travels through Wonderland and the chess-board world behind the Looking-Glass, Alice encounters a multitude of curiosities, many traceable to experiences in her own life.
Alice’s adventures begin on a lazy summer day when a “White Rabbit with pink eyes” races by her.
While it was unremarkable for a rabbit to run by her and it was not “very much out of the way” to hear the Rabbit talk, she hurried after the White Rabbit when it “actually took a watch out of its waistcoat pocket.” Alice scrambled to her feet and followed it, without a thought, down a large rabbit-hole.
In the opening poem to the story, Carroll wrote: Thus grew the tale of Wonderland: Thus slowly, one by one, Its quaint events were hammered out —And now the tale is done, And home we steer, a merry crew, Beneath the setting sun.
The Anthropological Looking Glass Essay How To Wright A Business Plan
In its initial form, this tale told on July 4, 1862, was simply another entry in the oral story tradition that Carroll forged on the numerous expeditions on the “quiet stream.” Years later, Carroll wrote, “many a day we had rowed together on that quiet stream—the three little maidens and I—and many a fairy tale had been extemporised for their benefit.” He indicates there were numerous other tales that “lived and died like summer midges,” but in this single instance “one of my little listeners petitioned that the tale might be written out for her,” and thus began Alice’s adventures.INTRODUCTIONIn his diary on July 4, 1862, Lewis Carroll wrote, “Duckworth and I made an expedition up the river to Godstow with the three Liddells: we had tea on the bank there, and did not reach Christ Church again till quarter past eight, when we took them to my rooms to see my collection of micro photographs, and restored them to the Deanery just before nine.” Although Carroll did not know at the time, this excursion proved to be the catalyst for the fairy tale which he initially called Alice’s Adventures Underground.In later years, Carroll, his friend Robinson Duckworth, and Alice Liddell all alluded to this day as the origin of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland.All the best and if we bump into each other again, hope we can be friends xo I refrain from adding ‘What if we just have sex? Two months (and 19 books) later, deciding I have nothing to lose, I text: Within thirty minutes, he’s at my door. ‘I want…’ ‘I want…’ ‘I want…’ I write the words thirteen times. ‘I think I know who dies.’ * I first read In the mirror I can hardly recognize myself—I add another finger, thrusting hard, watching my expression change, watching the look on my face, angling myself to see what I look like when I get fucked, and it occurs to me that Dolores probably looks similar. Curious, I touched myself weeks later, head tilted to my bedroom mirror. I used to be embarrassed about the noises I made during sex, about my body twitching.’ I read book after book, three in as many days, but I keep thinking about him. I write of being caught between wanting sex, not wanting to give M the flu, and being worried my period will start the following week. I don’t ask M much about his life; I don’t want it to seem like I’m tricking him into a relationship. It’s just that I kind of need to try it before I know if I like it or not.’ ‘Don’t take this the wrong way…’ he hesitates. I’d turned to feminism earlier that year to understand why I’d been coerced into sex, again and again. I learnt about misogyny, rape culture and sex positivity.The sex is always at my place and, like our texts, to the point. We learn about each other and our preferences over time. Six months after our first meeting, M asks me, ‘Do you have any fantasies? I tend to just replay sex I’ve had in my head.’ ‘Is there anything you want to try? ‘But the sex we have is pretty vanilla.’ I’d been thinking vaguely of ways to keep sex interesting, but other than suggesting we try it against a wall (M had said it was too difficult with our height difference), I didn’t know where to start. As I read, thought and discussed, I realised my experiences were part of a bigger picture.He closes his eyes and leans back against the pillows. I was learning to forgive myself, but something was missing. I thought of all the times I’d been hit on, all the times I’d been coerced into sex… It resonated with me in a way most feminist texts did not. All I know is his name, where he works and that he’s a good kisser.I learn which city he’s from in the lift up to his apartment.‘I should probably see a doctor but I keep putting it off.’ ‘You should get checked out,’ he says, turning to me with concern.‘You’re missing out on a lot.’ M texts the next evening, apologetic.