Category Archives: wild boar

“I am the Beast” just the text

  1. I am the Wildest Boar.
  2. Or could it be that I am the wildest bore?
  3. I’m not sure sometimes but it probably doesn’t matter, at least not to me. It is not necessary to get philosophical about it or to even define the possibility of my existence.
  4. I am aware that I am inside of here, so then, if all things real and unreal are defined as they should be, I exist. I am here. And that is, as they say, that.
  5. I tend to sleep a lot. I snore.
  6. Snippets of the outside world occasionally seep their way into the fluids surrounding my body.
  7. The sounds that make their way through tend to be  muffled and mysterious.
  8. If I listen very, very carefully, I can make out a word or two. And if I am lucky, I can string together a few words and they might mean something.
  9. Over time, some of the sounds are getting familiar. They tend to create a comprehensive concept, even if each single syllable is not decipherable.
  10. That, my friend, is a good day!
  11. At times, there is bone. A hard, sudden jolt the makes us both cry out in pain.
  12. Then, everything changes.
  13. Conversations occur. If the syllables of the words have clarity, then I can be certain that they are from inside the body I inhabit.
  14. I’m thinking it must be what we know as “ internal dialogue.”
  15. When a creature gets bored it gets naughty. For fun, I add a word or two here or there to that dialogue.
  16. Granted these might not really be my true opinions,  just a little game to keep myself entertained.
  17. For some reason, those randomly placed words seem to pack a real punch.
  18. Everything changes AGAIN!  But in a different way. The atmosphere becomes muddy, unclear and uncertain.
  19. I can feel the patterns of the universe shift around me.
  20. I don’t  really  know why I keep doing it, but I think that if I had a little more wiggle room in this container, I would probably tend towards causing less trouble in my own neighborhood.
  21.  Silly me.

Naming the Beast

Placed within academia, me, a common Long Island girl, a “normal” girl, as my first Lesbian, separatist art school roommate called me, I was tossed into the higher educational system without much preparation.. Without warning.


This  “normal” girl had a very high regard for her “animal” self – her instinctual self. The person that inhales, feels, expresses without thinking, emotes, shoots from the hip, simply LIVES without thinking about it too much, without stopping to think about whether or not what she is thinking is proper, acceptable, okay with the powers that be, socially acceptable. Who Cared? Who gave a flying fuck? Really. She didn’t feel all that normal, she simply FELT.

Academia demanded that she look deep inside herself. Question everything.

That trust in the inner animal began to erode as social etiquette created demands on the external behavior of their being. She began to question her confidence and on occasion she would put herself in check. Actually THINK before she ACTED.

This proved a rather difficult level of behavior to maintain.


Does everyone do that?

How do they do that?

Each time she stopped to think before she acted, she simply stopped.  And then she didn’t act at all. And then everything fell to shit. Fell apart. Disintegrated. And any confidence, witty comment, seed of genius and any idea for a painting, everything just fell apart.


So to be alive, she basically decided, one day, that the inner animal wasn’t such a bad thing. So when she embraced her inner animal, her inner beast, she decided that it needed a name. Although, because she did not know if it was a girl or a boy,the inner animal would need to have a name that was not easily “Gender-fied”.

She thought, or rather.. FELT.. Long and hard. The name eluded her. Each time one came to her mind, it didn’t seem right.  So putting aside the seemingly big black hole of the naming process, she returned to ponder the qualities of her beast.

She imagined that if a person is raised by really gentle, calm parents… Parents that thought long and hard before they said things they regretted or acted in ways that were utterly deplorable, the offspring of those parents might actually be more palatable, more intellectual… CALMER. The ever developing inner animal wouldn’t have a chance to take a foothold and would wither and die and dissolve and probably get sweated out in a really good game of 5th grade kickball.

RATIONAL! What a thought.

But if you are raised by emotion driven, frustrated people who fight a lot with each other, then probably the offspring – ME, in this case  – would be quite ANIMAL … emotionally. Even lashing out at times. Which is so very unsavory in this PC world that we live in right now.

(Peter Lambdin… Where are your offspring?)

People who have taught you that the world is out to get you, a place to be feared and suspected, then maybe fear and suspicion will drive your reactions.


If we are so blessed, we all grow up, you say, and I say that too, we all grow up. Become adults.

Become somewhat rational adults, if all goes well.

Then everything becomes so friggin’









Ugh…. Uninspired.. The worst possible thing I could think of.


I think my animal’s name is Spire.

Now we Eat… CHEERS!





Ha! Well yeah, this is where I’m going I guess. The obvious reference from the statue of Romulus and Remus suckling from the she-wolf. Not sure how much explanation this really needs if you read

I’ve successfully liberated myself from illustrating the story with paintings. Whew!



Chapter 3 ?

So these feelings that pop up, they just seem to come from nowhere. Although that could not be possible. Can’t come from nowhere. Gotta come from somewhere.

I’m wondering if my friend, my animal, my inner beast, my boar/bore, boor…. Bohar…. Has friends or family that live in other people, other humans. I’m mean, it could happen. Weirder things have happened in this world. Maybe.

He has relatives that live in other folks, I’m sure of it .

I wonder how they communicate. Animals have this thing, this invisible telepathic connection thing.. The thing that deepak choprah calls CROW MIND. Like they can communicate through their minds, through their DNA.

So sometimes if one of their beasty (beauty) relatives has a hissy fit, I , in turn, have the distinct and utter honor of having my mood shifted.


This could be a real problem for me.

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.