Feral Humans Dwelling in Local Cave
A Feral Humans Photo Shoot was not a choice. It was a duty to my species to capture these rare beings in their natural habitat. Travel photography need not shun the sensual in my opinion, and in my journey to the mystical Handley Rock, high in the hills above Redwood City, I found these two playful creatures frolicking among the recent hipster graffiti. One was called Dakotah, and the other Jason. These two souls, who sometimes masquerade among us, making coffee, were perhaps a bit shy at first, but their natural attraction to one another, and the bright lights, became quickly apparent.
Feral humans are sometimes scary. We are often afraid of getting our hands dirty in life, but what about our feet? What about our beards. What about epic beards or dirty feet is scary? Feral people do them both with sex appeal. Feral men and women do not need trainers, Sephora stores, or Photoshop.
The colorful cave markings became clearer as the lovers broke their embrace. This temple, where rights of feral engagement are carried out, was only 4 feet tall. My equipment and my height were challenged for every shot. The feral art was on the walls, on their bodies, and in their hearts. I was simply an observer in this beautiful interplay.
The green paint on the cave walls symbolizes envy, left at the door. In this cave there is only love, play, and feminine hegemony.
I turned my camera away as the play became more than my sensitive audience could bear. The formerly shy mammals looked only satisfied with their ceremony. I wondered aloud to them that I was not sure how the vanilla world would react to this rare cave capture. My voice startled them and Jason's hair assumed a war position. He grabbed Dakotah like a Bernini warrior, and my camera was so frightened, it lost its ability for color.
I was able to calm the warrior with my assurance that I was no threat. He knew I was not, long before I said a word. Look at that grip, the impressions in her legs. This was something like love. This was such a compelling moment in my life. I had just witnessed something beyond my own life. I was witnessing humans outside of technology. What the fuck was happening here, I kept wondering to myself now? These people were touching, smelling, breathing one another. How could people function without the orb of social media?
I began to believe I was dreaming. I was no longer an observer in this adventure. I was in a cave, with feral humans, and I was chosen to share their game, unfettered from the chains of science. This was natural selection, for them, and for me.
Finally, the action abated, and I was simply invited, without words, to share this brief saga. "Go back home, tell those that would judge our magic, that they are leaving all that is real in life behind them. Go tell them to get feral, as you call us. We are love. We are play. We are the only thing that life offers outside the miracle of birth, and the agony of death. We are what is between the beginning and end. No one fucking wants control, they want to be feral. They want to be sensual, accepting, and accepted. Our circle is growing, come in, remove your phones and your shoes. Get dirt on your parts, in your hair, and love like there is no calendar"
This is the Housewrighter, reporting on the Feral Humans of Handley Rock