Tag Archives: week five

Wild Under Ground

greatbearrainforest

“My desire for him is like an earthquake.”

Lily feels the pull, this earthy impulse, to roll in the moss of his eyes, soft and green, naughty and raw. Standing in this muddy cavern, leaning against twisted roots that line the wall, she wants to writhe against him and bring down the dirt, make rocks crumble and shake.

I want you.  I want you. 

“I want you is all I think and feel when he looks at me.” Lily turns to Janis, who has lowered her rose-tinted specs to peer at the boy Lily can’t stop moaning about.
Janis squints, “I’d put him at about a 7.2 on the Richter scale.  He’s do-able.”

“I want him to fuck my brains out.” Lily sighs.

Janis cackles and waves for the attention of the bartender.

Everything has been leading me to you.

“Go talk to him,” says Janis.

“What would I say?  There are no words.”

“Don’t you go and turn your sweet back on love.” Janis orders a honeysuckle-whistle-pop-shot. “Suck this down and get it while you can, Sugar.”

Lily drinks the sweet fizz without taking her eyes from the boy.  Spicy fire hits the back of her throat and she feels courage rise.  Janis asks for another round, but Lily is already floating across the dance floor.  Beyond her control, she is moving closer and closer, without a clue of what she will say when she gets there. The giddiness of connecting with him in this unlikely space pulses through her arms and legs, her hands are cold and her fingers start to shake.

Now she is infront of him, and still he does not speak.  Neither of them say a word.  His eyes are wide and focused on her, and she falls.

In his stare she remembers the wolves of her home.  He shows her the white bear of the rainforest, the pink salmon splashing against the waves, the icy pacific crashing against a fern-covered floor.  Around him she sees a rainbow mist, like the spray of river falling over cliff and rock.  It’s like the book from her English class, as though he is projecting images into her, his thought forms, taking shape in a sensory overload, inside her mind.

He is silent but his eyes show me my mother’s tree. 

He is a part of the island as much as he is a part of me. 

I can feel the gritty ocean salt in the glisten of his smile.

Lily feels her lips move and she hears her voice.  “I want you.”

Benjamin wraps her in a cashmere soft embrace. He smells like spices and pine; sunrise dew and bonfire smoke clings to him like an all night beach party; salty hair, sandy skin, charred chocolate s’more, burnt to the core, grinding on a damp forest floor.

I want you I want you I want you. 

As they kiss their tongues melt like chocolate-mallow perfection. Their bodies breathe heavy.

 I want I want I want.

Wild love in the underground.

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Wild Thing – The Troggs

I heard today on the radio that the lead singer of this band died today. I don’t know any other songs of theirs, but I really like this one, and would like pay some kind of tribute by making it part of the Collective.

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by | February 5, 2013 · 12:59 am

The Thing

I have something living inside me. I can feel it moving, in the quieter moments. Moments that belong to the stirring breeze. It feels to be about the size of an egg, if I could hold it in my two hands cupped together. But it always unravels, in the quieter moments, sending out its long living tendrils to follow the paths my arteries and veins take to my vital organs.
The breeze is sweet on my neck, a kiss. It stirs, the living thing, it growls.

When we are alone together, the living thing makes for very genial company. We are almost friends. I sit in the garden and dig my feet into the earth, toe by pink toe, and listen to it gnatter on about all our grand plans for ‘life’, as if it is not a happening thing. I blow bubbles with my own spit and let the ants crawl up from the concrete path onto my legs, and I listen to it spouting dreams, like smoke rings into the clear day.

But there are times when I don’t want to dream, or even listen to dreams. There are times when I am distracted, by lights, and sounds, and conversation occurring outside of my mind. I do not pay enough attention to the living thing, and sometimes it can become frustrated, or resentful, and can sour my mood. Sometimes it will express itself in different ways; I will find myself laughing louder than I meant to. Or diving into the ocean still wearing my party dress. Or asking people if they wished that magic was real, and the promising them that it really, truly, is, it just doesn’t happen like it does in the fairytales. It makes me ear three pieces of birthday cake and wash it down with three flutes of champagne and I cannot control it unless. Unless there is music.
Through music I can inhabit the living thing, I can tap into its magic. And when we dance together I can step into the dreams, I can absorb the colour and touch the petals and taste the sweetness. When we dance, I feel like I am brave enough to start living them.

                                                                                                   
Sometimes I am scared of this thing that lives inside me. I am scared of the consequences of its actions, and I am scared of it getting fed up with my soft yellow belly and leaving me for good. It is the wild thing, and without it I am just dead wood.

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Week Five: Wild

As some of you may know, I took some time off from writing my novel to do some research on shamanism and curanderismo. But, as you also probably know, “doing research” can be code for “freaking out about what the hell I’m trying to say to the world and balking at the fact that I’m even attempting to write a novel that encompasses these – let’s call them eclectic – belief systems.” The fifty pages I’d written for Francesca Lia Block’s novel writing class – and that’s not including several previous drafts of my own – seemed to taunt and mock me.

So I took a deep breath and started over. I asked myself one question: What is the theme/subject that I think is the most important in this book? And the answer that I came up with after writing several lengthy, personal essays about soul loss and retrieval, body image, physical vs emotional healing and, of course, love was (much to my surprise) only this: wildness.

We run ourselves ragged. In between work and school and attending social events, trying to build our homes and paychecks and keep the bonds of our relationships strong and secure, we grow tired. We forget that we are animals first. Our lives are dictated by hunger, seemingly base, physical needs and instinctual responses to our environment. No kidding, sometimes it takes all I have in me to not scream at a co-worker. Sometimes it takes everything in me to not walk out the front door and run through the forest, finally stretching my cramped, computer-hunched back and leaving this world far, far behind. Of course, reminding myself of certain creature comforts (in my case, hot chocolate and fuzzy slippers) usually stops me from performing such acts of lunacy. But a girl can fantasize.

So, are you wild? Where does the animal in you reside? Show me your inner savage, the garden in your heart overrun with weeds. Show me what it means to act on instinct, and instinct only – pay no attention to curious or baffled onlookers. Everyone has a beautiful beast pacing back and forth just beneath their ribcage. Show me yours.

-Genevieve

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