UNCANNY VALLEY/RUINS.

In anatomical geology, uncanny valley ruins represent the feelings of revulsion, eeriness and confusion elicited by observers when encountering afterlife replicas (objects of venerable decay) that appear almost but not exactly like “living” human beings.

The term “uncalley valley ruins” captures the idea that an almost passing afterlife (existing in a state of partial or innate disrepair) will seem overly "strange" to some observers, produce a feeling of uncanniness, disappointment, and disgust, thus failing to evoke the empathic response required for productive life-afterlife interaction.  The existence of anatomically displaced but humanlike entities (progressively derelict over time due to long-term weathering and scavenging) is viewed by many societies as a threat to the central concept of human identity. A number of theories have been proposed to explain the cognitive mechanism underlying the phenomenon of uncanny valley ruins: mate selection, mortality salience, pathogen avoidance, violation of human norms, conflicting perceptual cues, and varying religious definitions of life and afterlife.  In continental folklore, anatomically displaced beings are often perceived as dangerous, as with the hollow born or fossil born, whose perceived absence of human empathy and spirit can lead to disaster, no matter how “alive” or “loving” or "passable" they once appeared.  

           Stared at me like I was missing a part of my face.  Or as if I was wearing two faces, tells on top of tells.   An uncanny valley of obvious giveaways, past lives practically in plain sight.  Canyons for shadow, cheeks covered by makeup and clay, eyes close enough to crater me. 
           Deep blink, rolled over iris, blanket gaze.   A longer, less recognizable stare.  Resentment scratched to repeat in seconds or less. I wanted to understand what scared you first (recency bias, a whole life in an empty room, feelinglessness in your fingertips), how you could forget I killed myself in that valley too.

          Extinct already, first and last of no one’s kind.  There are are certain things you ought to have known by now.  At least ask.   

          Tells: watch, arms (over shaven, bare), fingernails (unpainted, clipped short), hair straight (light brown starless), shoulder broad.  Shoes flat and broad. 

           Anti-Tells: No uses of specific definition.  No standing water.   No window screens.  No pinpoints to claim property.  Ambiguous.



           Used to scrape off my skin with fingernails and rough fabric.  Carved out circles of cheek, jaw, forehead, chin, jaw again.  I was trying to rip the reflection off.  I wanted a topsoil of scar tissue, a surface level of red and violent and bleeding through.  Raw and bruised.  That was the closest I would let myself get.
          An inclination of not quite human.  Blood count well behind.  More ruins of overuse.
          Slept alone in attic eaves, stuck behind wooden doors (without knobs and handles).   All I ever said was, leave me alone.  I'm never coming out.  Leave me alone.
          In theory you could just walk it all back.  Out of the valley and back from revulsion.  You're the closest you could get without being there.

          Tells: short tempered, always getting into altercations with others (and self), hyper masculine, uses others as hostages.  Lack of anger management.
          Anti tells: Jawline perfect.  Cheeks and chin perfect.  Face bones plain and uninjured.  Eyebrows nuanced, framed by research.

          If you saw me how I see me.  If there was a marrowful of impostor syndrome in every bone.
          My face was just another valley that went on too long.  Exhaustion near the skin, sweat and emptiness.  Sounds too small for words.  A meantime too far for either of us to reach.  Ruins.

           You looked at me just like that.  Like the sky burned down (on the first day of spring).  Held your head in your hands like the sight of it (me) made you sick.  An allergic reaction, an oncoming cold, common.  It wasn’t a surprise anymore.  More than a lot had to go wrong for me to understand it wasn’t a choice.
         What was the cumulative effect?  The end of my apology?  Stay with me please.  I’ll only ask you once or twice.