Tag Archives: wild thing

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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You Make My Heart Sing

Wild makes me think of Witch Baby and her snarls, digging herself into the mud and flinging herself around in silence. She makes me think of emotional turmoil, unease, unrest. And while I’d never typically relate myself to some sort of “wild thing” when I think of what Witch Baby makes me think of, I can relate. Oh. Can I relate.

I never rebelled as a teenager. I didn’t act out. I just acted as myself. My tattoos might be considered rebellious by my family, but ink was never etched into my skin for that purpose. If anything, their reactions to my choices with my body make me cringe and not get tattooed. I’ve always been one of those people who did not want to be part of the norm. It didn’t feel right to want a husband and 2.5 babies and a white picket fence. Fuck, I never wanted to work in an office or consider myself a 9-5er. I just wanted to be. I wanted myself and my freedom and creative juices always flowing. And now I have a 401k and benefits and some sense of responsibility.

I’m pretty sure my insides are acting out.

And I realize that it’s not my actions that make me wild. There’s something else. There’s some deep rooted everything that’s unfurling inside me, the quiver deep in my belly that recognizes excitement, the aching as I delve into fiction writing. It’s like that unkempt part inside of me is leaking out into the page.



fuck all of that
like wind and
moans of un-
those days
that meant anything


right now
your heart
is marathoning
and dodging
your mind is
tangled in a
mess of

you are you are you are
wild inside
covered in dirt
biting your lips
sucking on blood

you are youare you’re
but only 

a mask of
skin hair and smiles
keeps you

if i unzipped
my seems
would everything
fall out
into a heap
on the floor
to be brushed away
beneath the carpet?


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