elinox: (Default)
[personal profile] elinox

I was thinking this morning that I should submit something here and these thoughts came to me. Warning: some of this might be a little gory for some folks. 

 “From one monster to another.” – Dr. Whale, Once Upon A Time

Wolf is not a cuddly puppy. Despite the romanticized ideals society has attached to wolves, they are not the soft and gentle, noble creatures, often portrayed in popular media. Sometimes, I am not a noble wolf.

During the winter months, when wolf is more prevalent, I want to use my teeth to tear and bite at my meat. To sink my maw into hot, fresh blood and sate my hunger on my prey. I want to use my blunt claws to rip at the underbelly and get at the tender innards too.  I want to crack bones with my jaws to get at the delicious marrow inside. Then I want to lick my fur clear and sleep for days.

In the midst of hunger, I see weak humans around me and children as prey. Easy prey. Soft, tender flesh which is easy, too easy, to tear into. Wolf sees humans as lazy, slow and fat and there for the taking. If it limps, my attention is instantly snapped towards it. If it shows any sign of being weaker than the herd, it’s also singled out immediately. Wolf’s mouth has been known to water at all the food nearby.

But the hunter is also wary, knowing these pink monkeys are nothing if but intelligent and therefore dangerous. When I find myself slipping into the starving wolf’s mindset, I need to remind myself that humans are not food, despite being so easy to kill.

My fur is not clean, but rather is flea bitten, has burs, sometimes with patches here and there, and is mangy. Not cat-clean. Not rabbit-fur soft. Rough and wiry to the touch. And wolf does not like touch. Humans touch to show affection, but they do it wrong to wolf. Wolf touches noses, and smells companions, rubs heads and along bodies, wags tail, paws at the ground. Sometimes mouths pack mates. Wolf does not like to be petted, wolf likes to initiate contact.

Sometimes wolf will lick in fondness, to invite proceedings and nuzzle. But then wolf wants to bite during romantic interludes, to pull away and snap to draw blood. To snarl and growl and not in an enticing way. The reaction to pain, intense sensations, heightened emotions, is always to bite. Wolf courtship is rough and not romantic.

Wolf wants to hunt, eat, sleep, fuck. Wolf is definitely not the family dog.

yourdeer: (kenn monster)
[personal profile] yourdeer
I realize I haven't really introduced myself.

My parents, Polish immigrants, call me Mania (Mah-nyah); it is my nickname since childhood. As a little thing my fingers were always bent to form hands into paws, arms spread as wings, toes pointed into hoofs - I was any animal, all the animals; I could find a home in cat, dog, mouse, horse, hawk. I remember my mother urging me to uncurl my fingers and hold my hands normally, her discomfort with my need for paws. I remember my dad helping me make a jumping course in the backyard by hammering nails into picket stakes that I could force into the ground and place a dowel across and gallop around, leaping over, whinnying.
My childhood friends christened me Mare - with my deep love of horses - drawing, riding, pride in imitating snorts and whinnies, it was naturally what made sense when we sought nicknames in a childish pledge of eternal friendship.
My best friend, and I in our quiet teenage mischief lived in the symbols of fox and raccoon - she with her quiet rage, pride in her tail, and physical playfulness, me a little more friendly with stripes and little deft hands and curious nose, we gave testament to this with countless drawings, figurines, and matching fox and raccoon plushies.
I wrote a lot of stories in high school, and found it easy as one heavily invested in fantasy novels to create a species that would be the focal point for my drawings and fictions for four years: a patchwork and exaggerated combination of horse, deer, hyena, and raccoon: a blunt, toothy head with long delicate ears, a long maned neck, long thin legs ending in deft and ankled paws, a barrel chest, arching hip, matriarchal social structure, and vastly bushy striped tail. When I made prints at the local Staples they knew me as "the girl with the bunnyhorses".
My ex-girlfriend called me a lion, and it perplexed and somehow hurt me - I did not feel, at the time, like lion was anything pleasant - entitled, possessive, lazily male. She had meant it lightly, a pet name referring to my then-spiky mane and boyishness, but I was doubtful for a long time before embracing it as a sleepy, possessive, protective, and sexually starved identity of the adolescent lion with half-grown mane, lanky legs and stark ribcage, of not-there-yet, of waiting.
Deer had been building slowly for years and then came to the surface all at once. One of my favorite books as a child was about deer; at home in northern New England the white-tail and its tracks and bones were a common finding; across the road a hunting camp had a buck every season and brought venison to my parents which I refused to eat; I found a skeleton of a doe the first winter after leaving home and cleaned and disassembled it and reassembled it in sections - it hangs in my bedroom at my apartment. Deer was woken up within me by another animal-person who was living as such, while I had been tucking away any animality for years. It was pointed out to me that I was doe, skittish with a long, quiveringly sensitive neck, long thin legs, alternating indignation and readiness to flee. I have heard "You really are a deer" numerous times from numerous people over the past year.

At the present juncture I let these all flow through me as distillations of the aspects of my character, I am each at different times. Sometimes it is the stress and strength and powerful destructive jaws of the hyena that I feel; sometimes the deft paws, mischief, indignity and confidence of the raccoon; sometimes the willingness to pull for another, the heavy hoofs, steady gate and flat teeth of the horse; sometimes the desire, entitlement and sleepy possessiveness of the lion; usually the swiveling ears, skittishness, the long neck and the quiet of the doe.
feralkiss: Clouded leopard walking up to the viewer, intense look and tongue licking its lips. (raveneye)
[personal profile] feralkiss
It's me again, 'just wanted to let you know that I also have a new article up at Beyond Awakening if you're interested; you can comment either here or there. :)
[identity profile] faileas-grey.livejournal.com
Based off a rant on my LJ, sparked off by someone saying something stupid ;)
besides.. this place has been way too quiet. Crossposted to my own LJ and a few other non LJ places.

Not A Furry )
[identity profile] makhsihed.livejournal.com
(Note: I originally wrote this up in pieces, just a description of each animal-person I know. But then I had to come up with something for a creative writing class, so I turned it into third-person, slapped "bookends" on it. The ending "bookend", the second-to-last paragraph especially, feels fake and melodramatic and stupid. But it made the descriptions into a coherant piece, so I used it and submitted it and the prof loved it. Eh. Anyway - I finally got around to finishing all the write-ups/descriptions of the animal-people I know, so I added them into the "bookended" piece and here it is.)
The Wild Within )
[identity profile] distantembers.livejournal.com
I suppose my thoughts reign control at the moment. I'll let them out. This is no plea, and I respect any and all opinions, positive or negative to this. Feel free to discuss.. I've been thinking about these things for a while.

Community and Place )

Companionship )

Short.

Mar. 8th, 2006 09:57 pm
[identity profile] liesk.livejournal.com
Just a short thing about my relationship to other animal folk.

~

The fact that other people exist who feel similarly about their species identity never ceases to amaze me. Sure, it logically follows that if I'm an animal-person, there are probably others. But it's astounding that there are people who "get it." They experience the same, or similar, things as I do. Considering that this is a rare thing for me given only the general population, it has an impact.

I don't need these people simply for their animalness, and I don't necessarily need to discuss my animalness with them (but I would like to sometimes). Simply the fact that I know they, too, feel fur and muzzles and have thoughts that don't seem to match what is expected, that they feel the oddness of how flimsy the padding beneath our fingertips are -- and most confusing to me, the disorienting way my feet are so incredibly short and the other parts of my legs so damned long, the heel too muscular, simply to allow for some bizarre plantigrade walk -- the enjoyment of when you feel it as it should be, the frustrations of when it's not... all of it adds up to some role that other animal people play in my life.

That role being something along the lines of, "hello."

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