Wild

They’re entertained witnessing a wild animal from a distance.

Whole industries stand on those domesticated exoticizing what refused taming, who refused the taming.
That’s the thing about an audience. Even when it’s not a performance, they call it that, think a natural state is barbaric and to numb is a branch of evolution.

The fascination lures the voyeur closer. And with soft steps and iPhone lens, they see the wild creature has fangs or talons or horns. All these adornments defending the wild’s existence.

Savagery extends beyond the details. A moving, wild thing can’t just move. It’s a prowl, pounce, stalk, prance, sprint. The sight of it close up is frightening.

Some hunters salivate at slaying the savage thing. Visions of hanging the hunted on mahogany so two things that once stood tall are now lifeless possessions so the hunter feels less alone in numbness. He surrounds himself with things more dead than he is.

Wild reminds the domesticated what they lost. The savage conjures grief and envy in the blanded because we are not born bland.

Some sawed off their horns, dulled their fangs, clipped their talons. And now they pay to gawk at an untamed thing. They call it an animal. They “rescue” it into captivity unaware of the ages where that savage beast rescued itself a million times. What you call sophistication, a wild thing calls amputation. What you seek possession of can only be free. You call it wild and crazy and savage and dangerous all because you fear that the reward for your taming doesn’t exist. Or maybe it just wasn’t as high as you were promised. You fear the power in the wilderness refusal. You envy and numb and keep looking because you can’t look anywhere else than where you wish you were but aren’t brave enough to be.

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