The pent up elephant in the room
the revolution of sensual pleasure
Paris. March. 2003. Étampes to be precise. I had spent the previous day lost in Clingnancourt Flea Market in the 18th. There, I found everything I needed to pretend to be a golfer:
Knee-high funny looking socks
A golf club
An ugly hat
A green jacket as every golfer wants to win a green jacket
I was convinced that I was quite cleaver in my costume choices.
I was convinced that I would be able to go into class and FINALLY make Philippe laugh.
Sure, my classmates would laugh. But it was pity laughter, encouraging laughter. The laughter of those who ‘cared a lot’ and wanted to be ‘helpful’ and ‘supportive’.
That was shit laughter. I wanted the alarmed, anarchistic wild ‘piss your pants’ laughter that erupts when someone is killing their audience.
Changing their breath.
Making pee come.
Anyway. That was not my experience.
With all of my certainty, I participated in the first exercise. I still remember Philippe’s words:
This one? Is this one a beautiful idiot. Does he share his beauty, his sensitivity, his best pleasure to be seen, to make us laugh? Or is he like a train conductor in Auschwitz, 1944? I think Auschwitz 1944. We do not love you. We see your will,your desire to be funny, not your pleasure to play. You push too much. Adios immediately.
So. Philippe was pretty crass in how far he went with the jokes he made.
And he had a point.
Time after time I would try. Each time more certain that I would be funny. Each time I would fail more spectacularly. Eventually my will gave out. That was when he had me ‘pick two’ to caress my neck and the insides of my arms.
Then, he gave the following instruction:
You are a boy elephant. Locked up twenty years in a zoo. Alone. On this day, you are taken from the zoo to elephant sanctuary. You arrive. You find four beautiful girl elephants, ready to fuck. You are fucking horney. When you see them, you make this sound:
I was supposed to make the sound of a pent up horny elephant? I paid for that?
I still remember the sound. I’m not certain if it came from me or from the core of the earth. I do know what I looked like at the time:
I made the sound. Philippe didn’t stop me?
I looked at the rest of the audience. They were laughing. I did it again. More laughter.
The sound evolved. It changed.
I started to play with the timing, with the sound, with the audience response.
People laughed till they cried.
One woman - a mother of two even peed a bit!
The horny elephant sound changed me.
My eyes were soft. My skin was flushed.
I felt light, relaxed and grounded.
A wonderful, joyful warmth filled me.
I stopped pushing. I stopped trying. I put my will away and connected with the vulnerable, sensual joy of longing and made it into a cry.
If enough of you reply to this message, 10 or more, I’ll put up an audio file so you can hear for yourself ;-)
How does sensual pleasure impact you? What would happen if you could experience the freedom and joy and release like a pent up elephant?