I am in love with this text, and fascinated by the research into other cultures, including but not limited to:
- The Amazonian culture where they believe that the fetus is an accumulation of semen, which leads a pregnant woman to continue having sex in order to make the fetus grow. She also has sex with different men in order to transfer characteristics like athleticism, kindness, humor, and good looks to the baby.
- The Mosuo people in rural China who created a matriarchy. Women invite any man they want into their rooms for sexual relations, so long as he is gone by morning. There are no long-term relationships and no expectation of marriage. She is welcome to have sex with the same man every night or even different men in the same night with no judgment. Men are expected to help raise their sisters’ children, as there is no way of knowing what children “belong” to them.
- The bonobos - primates as close to humans as chimpanzees but with reduced aggression and increased promiscuity.
Seriously. Go buy this book now and devour it. I find it truly enthralling in every way.
Houses of Leaves, Mark Z. Danielewski (via defeatedd)
We never even kissed or looked into each other’s eyes. Our lips just trespassed on those inner labyrinths hidden deep within our ears, filled them with the private music of wicked words, hers in many languages, mine in the off color of my only tongue, until as our tones shifted, and our consonants spun and squealed, rattled faster, hesitated, raced harder, syllables soon melting with groans, or moans finding purchase in new words, or old words, or made-up words, until we gathered up our heat and refused to release it, enjoying too much the dark language we had suddenly stumbled upon, craved to, carved to, not a communication really but a channeling of our rumored desires, hers for all I know gone to Black Forests and wolves, mine banging back to a familiar form, that great revenant mystery I still could only hear the shape of, which in spite of our separate lusts and individual cries still continued to drive us deeper into stranger tones, our mutual desire to keep gripping the burn fueled by sound, hers screeching, mine- I didn’t hear mine- only hers, probably counter-pointing mine, a high pitched cry, then a whisper dropping unexpectedly to practically a bark, a grunt, whatever, no sense any more, and suddenly no more curves either, just the straight away, some line crossed, where every fractured sound already spoken finally compacts into one long agonizing word, easily exceeding a hundred letters, even thunder, anticipating the inevitable of letting go, when the heat is ultimately too much to bear, threatening to burn, scar, tear it all apart, yet tempting enough to hold onto for even one second more, to extend it all, if we can, as if by getting that much closer to the heat, that much more enveloped, would prove… -which we did clutch, hold, postpone, did in fact prove too much after all, seconds too much, and impossible to refuse, so blowing all of everything apart, shivers and shakes and deep in her throat a thousand letters crashing in a long unmodulated fall, resonating deep within my cochlea and down the cochlea nerve, a least fit of fury describing in lasting detail the shape of things already come.
Too bad dark languages rarely survive.