Can You Hear it?
Just Listen To The Animal's Howl

aideemoi:

I take a lot of craft classes on writing hoping to get some insight into what makes a story jump off the page and resonate with readers. Last year my local RWA chapter, Southern Magic, had two presenters talk about the twelve steps to intimacy. It outlined the steps as per a previous talk by Linda Howard based on the zoological writings of Desmond Morris. (If you’d like a great breakdown of the steps, Terry Odell’s blog has that here.)

The significance of this intimate progression was brought home to me recently in the short film FIRST KISS by Tatia PIlieva. In it, twenty strangers are asked to kiss.  It’s sort of like a crash course in creating an intimate connection.

Per the steps of intimacy you see the subjects:

  1. Look each other over. They are all unknown to one another and each participant mentally sizes up their assigned partner—Step One: Eye to Body contact
  2. Then their eyes lock and they spend a few moments just staring. A woman in one couple asks her partner just to wait and look at her for a few moments while they get ready to kiss—Step Two: Eye to Eye contact
  3. The participants talk and joke, ask each other’s names, ask the filmmaker if they’re rolling, compliment each other. This talking is another attempt to make themselves familiar to the other person, to establish a rapport that’s not there yet—Step Three: Voice to Voice contact
  4. One man offers his hand and formally shakes the hand of his partner by way of introduction. All of the participants are unsure what to do with their hands as they get ready for the kiss because in most relationships, hand-holding usually precedes the first kiss—Step Four: Hand to Hand contact
  5. And then one of the partners leans in, arm lifting to the shoulder to pull the other person close for that first touch of lips—Step Five: Arm to Shoulder contact
  6. Quickly you see fingers tentatively hovering at their partner’s waist, sliding around to their partner’s back, bodies inching into the personal space of the shy partner—Step Six: Arm to Waist Or Back contact
  7. And then finally as the tension increases, that first touch of mouths. Some of the participants barely peck, others sink into passion. Some of the strangers pull back from the intimacy, others rush forward and meet together happily—Step Seven: Mouth to Mouth contact
  8. Quickly the caress escalates and you see one participant cup the cheek of their partner, move their head just so and their lips fit together more perfectly—Step Eight: Hand to Head contact
  9. This is followed by hands clutching at the waist of their partner, arms encircling them completely. Hands run up and down the back, pull in their shoulders, try to hold onto the intimacy for just one more moment—Step Nine: Hand to Body contact
Step Nine is the last step that can be covered in an awkward social study of first kisses. Steps Ten through Twelve cover the touching of breasts and genitals with a culmination in sex. So in this film, the steps end with number nine.

But the film is a great teaching tool for writers. It shows in all it’s awkwardness, shyness, and humor, the way people react intimately to each other. It’s so sweet and so human what you see in this film. They are all shy about intimacy, some touching hands first or just staring at one another. But they all move in for that touch of lips and their fingers clutch each other close. And after the kiss, it’s as if their bodies no longer know how to stand without the other person. They hug, giggle, and reluctantly pull away.

I learn a lot from my craft classes on writing but I sometimes forget that the best lessons are the ones I can see around me, within the people that surround us all. I think Tatia PIlieva’s film FIRST KISS is a stunning example of both the documentary nature of film and the ability of art to help us view and appreciate our humanity.


infinityroses:

☽ rosy blog ☾

infinityroses:

☽ rosy blog ☾

yrdeadbeatfriend:

sixpenceee:

canoeing in a crystal clear lake 

coolest but scariest fucking thing

yrdeadbeatfriend:

sixpenceee:

canoeing in a crystal clear lake 

coolest but scariest fucking thing

(Source: sixpenceee)

onvember:

kinda want 2 die kinda want 2 make out

(Source: twinks2014)

thisiscasey7:

forgott-en:

nedhepburn:

This one time I painted a living room with a girl.
This was a handful of years back. It was about eight months before the huge, flame-out of a breakup. That day, though? That day we painted the living room? It was pretty uneventful. We painted my parents living room for $50 between us and a pizza. That was it. I think we watched Anchorman or something after that.
But it still holds as on of the most indelible memories I have. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not still in love, it happened, it was good, it ended, and we’ve both moved on. But I’ll never forget that day. Because it’s never, in the long run, about the grand gestures. You can fly across the world and show up on her doorstep with a rose in your teeth and a ring in a little velvet box but I can guarantee you that - more often than not - she’s going to remember the time you built the birdhouse in the back yard, or what have you, a whole lot more.
Life wasn’t meant to be taken in large movements. The next day will inevitably arrive, you’ll sleep, and the moment will have passed. But when you have a hundred thousand small moments, you can step back and appreciate the picture a lot more than metaphorically blowing your load on some grand moment that, in all honesty, look, you’re not Bruce Fucking Springsteen, you’re not going to be able to blow everyone’s mind every single night. You’re not Romeo and/or Juliet. There’s no reason to drink the poison together in some flame-out gesture. So that leaves us with the small stuff. It’s all about the detail.
That’s what love is. Attention to detail.
And the moment will end. And then things will get boring. And it might get a little quiet. And it might all end horribly. And you might hate eachother at the end. And you might walk away from eachother one day and never speak again. But that’s just how it goes.
But she’ll remember the time you held the door open for her on your first date.She’ll remember the time you laughed at her impression of the landlady.She’ll remember the time you stayed up all night that first time. She’ll remember the small things a lot longer than the big ones.
But everything ends. And I’ll tell you why you have to make the small things, the small moments count so much more:
One day, probably a while longer from now, when old age takes ahold of someone, she might just only remember your smile. Everything you ever did together, every second, every moment, every beat, every morning spent in bed, every evening spent together on the sofa, all of that - gone. Everything you ever did will be reduced to the head of a pin. She won’t remember your name. She’ll just remember your smile, and she’ll smile. She won’t know why. It’s a base, gut reaction. But she’ll smile, uncontrollably, and it will come from somewhere so deep as to know that you touched her on a primal, honest, and true level that no scientist, scholar, or savant could ever begin to explain. There is no more. There is nothing else. There is just this: She’ll remember your smile, and she’ll smile.
And you know what? That’s all that really matters in the end.


I just cried at this

thisiscasey7:

forgott-en:

nedhepburn:

This one time I painted a living room with a girl.

This was a handful of years back. It was about eight months before the huge, flame-out of a breakup. That day, though? That day we painted the living room? It was pretty uneventful. We painted my parents living room for $50 between us and a pizza. That was it. I think we watched Anchorman or something after that.

But it still holds as on of the most indelible memories I have. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not still in love, it happened, it was good, it ended, and we’ve both moved on. But I’ll never forget that day. Because it’s never, in the long run, about the grand gestures. You can fly across the world and show up on her doorstep with a rose in your teeth and a ring in a little velvet box but I can guarantee you that - more often than not - she’s going to remember the time you built the birdhouse in the back yard, or what have you, a whole lot more.

Life wasn’t meant to be taken in large movements. The next day will inevitably arrive, you’ll sleep, and the moment will have passed. But when you have a hundred thousand small moments, you can step back and appreciate the picture a lot more than metaphorically blowing your load on some grand moment that, in all honesty, look, you’re not Bruce Fucking Springsteen, you’re not going to be able to blow everyone’s mind every single night. You’re not Romeo and/or Juliet. There’s no reason to drink the poison together in some flame-out gesture. So that leaves us with the small stuff. It’s all about the detail.

That’s what love is. Attention to detail.

And the moment will end. And then things will get boring. And it might get a little quiet. And it might all end horribly. And you might hate eachother at the end. And you might walk away from eachother one day and never speak again. But that’s just how it goes.

But she’ll remember the time you held the door open for her on your first date.
She’ll remember the time you laughed at her impression of the landlady.
She’ll remember the time you stayed up all night that first time.
She’ll remember the small things a lot longer than the big ones.

But everything ends. And I’ll tell you why you have to make the small things, the small moments count so much more:

One day, probably a while longer from now, when old age takes ahold of someone, she might just only remember your smile. Everything you ever did together, every second, every moment, every beat, every morning spent in bed, every evening spent together on the sofa, all of that - gone. Everything you ever did will be reduced to the head of a pin. She won’t remember your name. She’ll just remember your smile, and she’ll smile. She won’t know why. It’s a base, gut reaction. But she’ll smile, uncontrollably, and it will come from somewhere so deep as to know that you touched her on a primal, honest, and true level that no scientist, scholar, or savant could ever begin to explain. There is no more. There is nothing else. There is just this: She’ll remember your smile, and she’ll smile.

And you know what? That’s all that really matters in the end.

I just cried at this

queenelephnt:

I don’t watch the show but ❤

(Source: psychopoison)

*eats you out as a friend* 

revitiligo:

thepoetspace:

amerikkkanpie:

Blows your back out as your homie

Gotchu walkin funny as a testament to our friendship.

makes you cum in the spirit of comradery

(Source: aterriblehusband)