Val Sivilli


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Naming the beast

We write stories about ourselves on our head. Even write and rewrite them, and tell that story to ourselves over and over again. The more we tell ourselves that same story, the more that story is enmeshed into our being. We then become that story. We could not possibly ube anything else. And the world continues to prove it to us over and over again.

I have a beast that lives inside me.

It is my story.

I’m not sure how to free it. Do I pry it out with a crowbar? Do I kill it with poison and let it eventually rot and then it will finally ooze through my pores like some putrid liquid rot? How about a pair of tweezers? Or those grabber things that people in wheelchairs use to reach the upper shelves?

Or maybe I learn to fine the parts of the beast that I love. One can love a beast. Thee are beautiful parts of all kinds of beings. I could name the beast. What is the name of my beast?

Gertrude? Gertie? Stan?
Willie? Maybe.

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Chapter 2 , Dial Left

I can hear it making sounds. Like grunts and groans and repetitive throat clearing sounds. Sometimes they sound like words. Like ahhfongoogle. What is that? What word can that actually be? It seems like an expressions of frustration. It also sounds like a statement. …. “Aahhhh… Fongue Gooooougal.” Long stretched out syllables said slowly with introspection. Sometimes I try to listen, and sometimes I try not to listen. When I try to listen to the words, they stop. Quite annoying really. Every friggin time. When I try not to listen, jeez, they just go on and on and on. Like a flood of words, endlessly spewing nonsense and confusion with a highly charged emotional flare. Exhausting, really. One wonders where the real starts and the unreal begins.

So most of the time I live in a state of listening. I just listen to the flood of nonsense. Well, let’s be real, I don’t hear my wild animal all the time. It’s does seem to sleep at times. It sleeps sometimes when I am awake so I can have really clear just ME time most of the time. So I don’t want you to think that I’m like some crazy person walking around the world hearing voices. It’s not like that at all. I’m not crazy. I’m not one of those people who walk down the street taking to themselves and you think. “ omg, like that person is having a full fledged conversation with himself”. No, it’s not like that all. They are even having an argument with somebody living inside of them. No, it’s not like that, either. I don’t talk to “it”. I just occasionally have the sense that this wild thing is there. It lurks. It lurks loudly sometimes and lurks silently others. Most of the time it is silent. Doesn’t move much or anything.

But it’s those funny words I hear in my head. I’m not sure if it’s MY thoughts, or my animal’s voice.


Coal yone aye

Corn new tatata….

Ball lay

Cah garray

Trum barry

Well, that’s just some of them. I’m making it sound like there more than there really are. Just worried that you’ll think I’m making this up. I’m not, really, it’s just that I’ve had this feeling of foreignness lurking for so long, that lots of these unknowable words or actions have become kinda like old friends. Like a part of me . Pieces of me, but I don’t think they are pieces of me. I think they are a foreign being. Some thing entirely separate from me. Something not me. Although totally inseparable from me. Like we share something from before.

Before what, I’m not sure. What we share, I’m not sure. I’m not sure of a lot of the things. But I’m family certain that this thing is in there. I’m gonna find it, trap it… Then at some point I’ll give it a name. Or maybe I should give it a name first. Because then I can call it, and maybe it’ll come out, maybe it’s really really small, like a paramecium… Or a flea. I just hope it’s not really huge taking up a whole lot of room. Making a real mess in there so that other things are kept from being what they need to be inside there.

END chapter 2

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The Wild Bore, Chapter 1

I’m fairly certain that there is an animal living inside of me. I don’t mean this metaphorically, I mean this actually. There is a real wild animal living inside of me.

I know this because there are things that I say that are not my words. And things that I think that are not my thoughts. Hunger pangs I have that make no sense.

It is a really not so nice of an animal. It’s more like a creature, more like that. One that really is only living there because it got stuck there at some point. Maybe I swallowed it when I was really little and it was really little and the two of us grew side by side with each other. And it kinda found places that it could live inside without my knowing and without really bothering me too much. I imagine that it felt kinda safe.

I call it “IT” because I’m not sure if it is a girl or a boy. I have not had any information from it that would let me know if it was a girl or a boy.

I have not seen this animal. I keep looking for it. I have recently taken to trying to see if I can see it. I have been trying to look for it down my throat, up my ass, inside my vagina, in my ears, nostril….

No hints of its physical presence seem to be rearing it’s ugly little head.

Ok, I know, I’m assuming it’s ugly, I’m assuming it’s ugly because it says ugly things and has ugly thoughts and infects the pristine landscape of my pristine mind!

Yesterday I took some pictures of myself in the mirror trying to find it. Maybe there would be a remnant of it’s being somewhere. Because I haven’t had any sisters, and my mother was pretty chaste about sharing things of the vagina with me, any things of the vagina, events that were important things of the vagina, like my period… For god sake. I thought I was bleeding to death, had a big cut inside me or some creature inside me having a field day with chomping on some really tender parts of my inner flesh? I’m not totally convinced that wasn’t happening. I’m thinking maybe it was happening.

Maybe it was teething or getting frustrated with being inside of another being.

Anyway,looking up into my vagina was a really weird thing for me. I really haven’t spend any time in my life doing that. But I did it anyway in my quest to find any evidence of my physical inner animal.

Nothing. I saw nothing giving me any indication that there was anything inside of there. Although it did look kind of foreign to me. Maybe it WAS the animal… Don’t know.

So I tried to look elsewhere… Find some evidence, scatter, anything at all that would help. Maybe a little weird hair left behind from some shedding moment, or something like that.
I even had a dream about this wild animal. It looked pretty hairy, big and ugly. In my dream, yes it was ugly, an ugly wild bore. It had to be a bore because it just spend most of its time simply living inside MY body, never going out, never exploring anything on its own. Really a BORE! And it was a bit of a pig, because it was simply using me as a vehicle, a place for it to hide and steal and take shits inside me when it felt necessary, because nothing I did would make me feel sick when I got sick. I am certain that this wild bore was simply using places inside my body that we’re not designated toilet facilities for the times it needed to poop and such. Really gross. I must say like really gross. Just like a pig.

So I’m gonna keep looking for this thing, this animal. Sometimes I get confused as to what is the animal and what is me. Like I know that sounds confusing, but sometimes I’m not sure if the animal is saying things inside me or simply thinking things. I mean really like it lives inside me, so I’m the only person who can hear it. So when he thinks something or says anything, I hear it inside my head. And sometimes I get confused as to whether or not it’s words and feelings are mine or planted there. Because so many times there’s nothing making me feel the way I suddenly feel for no fucking reason!

END of chapter 1