foxboi: brushwork fox, black ink. (dreamer fox)
[personal profile] foxboi
Mods, I apologize if I've already crossposted this here- checked, and at a glance it did not look so.

Fox is like a companion.

Sometimes we are one as one can be, just me with pointed flicked back (but usually only one) ears; all my teeth at the ready to smell the wind and neatly flick-and-curl around every leaf in the forest on my way home. Or persons in a crowd, more likely.

Sometimes, we are less we, but halfway only me, in an odd ephemeral place that doesn't really distinguish itself well to words or thoughts. Not an in-between point, but still a liminality.

Sometimes, I'm just borrowing a little extra silence powder; my feet are no longer all toes and flat, but tiny lit-in-the-night pinpricks of pressure, the kind of... - remember when you did this on all fours in another life, in another book, many moons ago? You remember how it is to fly sing and dance so now let's combine all of those and put on a soundless (mundane) show of being invisible and stealing those damn sweet things and getting away. Cross reference.

Fox is I, me, companion, not separate, always there, sometimes sleeping like a cat-yawn-stretch-turn. Sometimes dis-consciously forgotten, but never never never not there.

I notice. Others don't unless they're animal too, and even then, we don't read minds, just habits and quirks and, if we're good at it, smells.

(Fox guide is sometimes not there, despairingly empty and I'll keep on trotting forward into my sleep without whispers of guidance, but it's not His or their jobs to be there all the time - just send me mail every once in a while with ordinary things like the milk and my groceries.)

It is my job to listen, always.

It's come to a point where, like learning literary theory, though I'm very capable, intelligent, even by about half of the people I know's standards, I still feel like I've gotten tired of distinguishing between things, tired of the specifics, tired of having to retell a story of an ever-changing beautiful picture.

(Can't you just see all of those be’s and inbetween’s and really - just go and fucking read the whole book will you already? It's all there, I’m all here, plain as day, dusk, and night. I’m separated and distinguished in flames and pages and phrases, writing for myself and you, except, I don’t really have to for myself, so why do I describe and redescribe myself to you?

I feel as if I should be present in your imagination, crystalline, legible… I should I should- But I know this and I may also be dismayingly as clear as mud.)

I don't feel this feeling that I do now in a deflated sort of way for the most part, but really, I know all these atoms and thoughts and furs are one and one only and I can see the parts and pieces, not usually all at once, but I'm slow and aging-edging away from wanting to try and gather words to describe the flash of teeth that are snapping in a strong stance, or just the melting into a warm cozy space and sometimes curling belly up... - back scratches are really the best.

(I digress…)

And the best may simply be to just be and quit describing. It's one thing to want to excavate and discover, another to just feel and be and record the occasional thought that is usually forgotten until it's rust-melded into its surroundings.

I do not like being prompted and forced to search for my calendar and toolbag of words, but every time I read something, it prompts me to have pictures and sounds that jangle in front of my eyes, only to skitter away when it's time that I decide yes, I have enough of these that I could take my ark and rebuild the world in a paragraph.

Fox is an intersection of body, physicality, tweaked and colourful mentality. Fox is with me always, when I'm lonely, sad, - maybe then I don't feel so lonely, except they-and-we also feel lonely so it's twice as lonely sometimes. An odd distinguishing thing, we are.

Him and I; I and me.

(We're wild gods, you and I.)

faolchu_rua: (discovery)
[personal profile] faolchu_rua
I hesitated posting this here, largely because it was stream-of-consciousness this morning and doesn't necessarily aim to make any real argument or point. If it doesn't really suit the goals of the group, please do let me know.


I am sitting in a small classroom at the run-through for national conference presentations. Men surround me, older, physically larger than I.

Is there ever a moment when I am completely unaware of how out-numbered I am in this place? Thinking, and yet not -thinking-, of survival strategies in any new territory?

I scope out safety: the new, female capoeira scholar to my front-right, a young female professor behind me to the left, the trans-identified man directly in front of me. In their own way, in their queerness and in their gender, I know they will protect me if this goes sour. I have established a pack of four in an inherently volatile space.

The presentations progress; my potential dissertation advisor -- huge, arrogant, intimidating to everyone, including the younger professors in the room -- gives a bumbling presentation in which technology fails and a shallow argument is made. No one questions him; even amongst humans hierarchy is recognized. One other professor, male, makes a largely complimentary comment.

Annoyed by the silence the presenter turns on me, eyes angry though his voice is mockingly amused.

"You know this material, Kaitlyn. Say something."

Blood rushes to my face as my heart pounds thick against my chest. I do not count the beats, but take some comfort in the awareness that my body is doing as it should in the face of a potential threat. A tail I do not have tucks, though my every physical muscle is taut, ready to fight or flee if the words coming out of my mouth -- submissive, agreeing with the statement given moments before, expanding on them just enough to get the aggressor to leave me alone -- are not enough of a display to prove that I am nothing. Nothing to pursue. Nothing to hurt.

He backs away, and I realize that I have been staring at my desk since he confronted me. A quick glance to those named earlier reassures, and I exhale. I take in air once again through my mouth, allow the tension in my back to release. The tiny hairs behind my neck fall as though they had risen as ruff, protective in display and in function. I played the game successfully, but even such a brief encounter is enough to leave me yearning to move on and away. I allow my mind to wander through the bulk of the remaining presentations; the freedom of imagined movement through a familiar Maryland forest soothes. I do not see the body in which I run, for I am behind the gaze, wholly myself.

This is red wolf to me of late. Instantaneously, fluidly here; albeit most often in moments of duress or physical pain. There is little conflict between something human and something not; I am what I need to be in any given moment and thus inherently, permanently both. I have created myth around her in order to have a way of putting the identity into words that others would understand, I have pondered psychological definitions as well, given the recognition of how that aspect of self comes to the fore when I need protection or strength.

But red wolf, in and of itself, is not something so readily written in words, just lived. Accurately conveying that way of being continues to elude me.
[identity profile]
Hello, I am new hence the subject. I wanted to introduce myself properly so you all can accept me into the community a little better.

My name is Shadow_Searcher, Or you may call me Kristi if you like. I don't want to beat around the bush so I will just come out straight, I have been soul searching myself, studying and meditating for a long time. Just recently I was searching online for essays to help my search.
I came along a site called Thebaide. I looked over the essays there and the links, and found this community. Of course I jumped on the chance to talk with people that have been doing this longer then me. So I signed up, and am now hoping to be able to be as active as I can. I prefer to observe more then be in the conversation myself, but if it interests me, or something of that matter know that I will make time to post.
Be assured I do NOT plan to spam this place with junk, lie/rp things, mess with people, or involve myself in idiotic arguments or posts. Because I am not a fan of conflict. Sorry for being so formal and serious, I like to search. So getting into stupid things, is a waste so I'd rather avoid it.

I apologize in advance if I say something that isn't what you believe, but insults are not needed just give me your opinion on it. I am open to suggestions/ideas/ and everything else. I don't have a set of beliefs that I would hurt some one over if they didn't agree. Because having a closed mind isn't all that fun now is it? =)
[identity profile]
The Watcher )

X-posted to my personal journal, [ profile] primaldog. A response to a prompt almost two months late--I'm still getting my steam back, as it were.
[identity profile]
Ok so… I’m not exactly sure where to start with this post.. Except I guess with an actual introduction and then moving on from there... goes..

Short History )

I’m not quite sure where else to go with this post… and I’ve written much more than I thought I ever could on such short notice/so quickly. But hopefully I’ve explained it in a manner that you can all understand, without the usual cliché’s and stereotypes.
[identity profile]
This short essay was originally a stream-of-consciousness thing I posted as a regular entry to my personal journal. I've since added to it a bit and decided to post it as an essay on my website Cynanthropy, and can also be found archived at the Animal Folk Discourse site . Reposting here to share for those who may not've read it, if this is acceptable.

Cut for convenience )

Slowly breaking out of my writer's block, so I might have more to share in the coming months.
[identity profile]
(Cross-posted from my personal journal after some thought...)

I have to wonder, when Rudyard Kipling wrote those words as part of the lupine Jungle Law, the law that young Mowgli grows to live by while raised by the Mother Wolf Raksha, if he could have known just how accurate he was?

Continue reading... )
[identity profile]
This isn't a response to any specific prompt, but after reading [profile] primaldog's musings, I was sufficiently inspired; hope he doesn't mind. :3 This is also the first serious, cohesive animal writing that I've been able to finish in some months, so I'm happy to be back into the swing of things.

[identity profile]
Well, I haven't written in a while, and I've kind of been preoccupied, but I decided to write one for you guys, because I'm a lazy, lazy, bad corgi *hits self with newspaper*

This one's going to be on my relationship with other animals, and I'm kind of writing as I'm going, so it's rough, to say the least.

[identity profile]
A short disclaimer on the title - I don't speak welsh, nor to I claim to. I just used a translator to create an appropriate name.

I have always been an animal lover. My mother can tell ridiculous stories about how she cringed when I smothered my face into the goats at a petting zoo; though that’s a bit besides the point. When I was old enough, I started to seriously explore dogs – and when I stumbled upon one breed in particular, it all hit me.


I know I just joined like half an hour ago, but I'm posting my essay on my theriotype and how I see myself. It's not really polished - but you should understand the jist of it. If you have any suggestions, fire away!


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Animal Quills

The Gist of It

Animal Quills is a creative community for animal-people to share and discuss their written works. Over a hundred essays are archived here (many of which in locked entries). We focus on the concrete "here and now" experience of being animal inside, and other related musings (see our About page if you want to post).

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