The Great Outdoors

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TBC
The Orangerie of
Lithuanian University
of Educational Sciences,
Vilnius
We are not sure how we got here either. We are not sure if we ever got out. It is best to relax and let it stick to you, try not to step into a tiger's nest. We think. We are not sure. We are attempting to find out. Step into the great outdoors and try to find out with us. An excerpt from the incident report I arrived into the “Great Outdoors” at 4.47 a. m., which is usually when anything worth happening stops happening. We found all the signs of imminent regret: high atmospheric alcohol content, incoherent music, barely maintainable bodily connections. We began by licking the ashtrays and questioning a few protruding limbs, eventually moving on to the inner forest area. The general morale seemed untouched, but shaken, the social foundation overgrown with vines and reduced to an undefinable form. At 5.23 we finished circling the premises with no sign of the incident and no other findings to report. At that point, though, a barely formed moan, the reluctant, almost stillborn kind, crawled into our line of sight and lingered there, demanding to be followed.

We passed through the smoke rooms and screens, avoiding contact with mossy surfaces. It led us down into the basement level, a thick and quiet mess of roots, valves and uncooperative clientele. The music synchronised with the dripping coming from taps and pipes, getting louder as we turned the last corner and stopped. What was laying there? It wasn't even a body. It was like a viscera tree, a trace of sunlight beneath the sheets. I felt my eyes water and sing, and then my gaze curled into spirals, hit a mirror; just for a second everything stops. The body learns to unthink itself.

The two men stand, mouths agape, facing what just moments ago was an incident, and now borders on the edge of epiphany. They had never been so close to a fold, seen a river of juice, felt themselves so entirely consumed by a sticky mass of joy, the glue that kept the holy clusterfuck together before the bloody birth of time. Something that is always there but never visible, usually destroyed on the threshold between camera lens.

All the crevices ripe with potential, the endlessly dynamic act of fuck off, unborn, us, a mass, curious navels whispering to each other: we are same same same. They say: we want to merge into a sinkhole of attraction, right here, in the middle of you. The great outdoors is inseparable from the great within, and each of us is inseparable from the massive throbbing energies of intimate potential and love. Everyone nearby witnessed that the officers could barely talk as they left. Their tongues had split into high heavens and wiggled towards skins yet unknown to man. An expert of the witness testimony The room is stale. The tension between questions and answers creates a thick, bread-like atmosphere. Every detective remembers it as part of the job – after a few years it becomes hard to stomach a baguette. But food was the last thing on my mind at that point. No carbohydrate is as complex as the situation we had on our hands, on our faces, dripping all over our jurisdiction. And no taste as compelling as the sweet tang of a fleshed-out investigation.

Q: Please concentrate. We can take a break if you want, but sooner or later we will have to resume the interview.

A: Yes, yes. I am fine. Let’s proceed.Restless fingers pick at holes in her pockets.Q: You mentioned something called The Great Outdoors. Could you elaborate on this place? What were you doing there?

A: Fuck knows what I was doing there. She lingers awkwardly between a hiccup and full-frontal assault;
the interruption lasts less than a minute.A: I mean, fuck actually knows, probably better than I do. It’s where processes have their own consciousness. That's why the main entrances are always so crowded, everyone's hoping to rid themselves of responsibility. Most get hooked, then go mad when they can no longer afford to abuse it. Honestly, I don't even like it there. None of the greenery ever makes sense. I prefer that nose-tickling pink. A lot of them do too... A fantasy is harmless, but in the great outdoors fantasies are quick to grow into realities, and then mistakes and regrets. And those hurt more than a motherfucker. You can't water plants there, you know? They kick you out. There's already so much perspiration, and too many surprises springing from it alone. Sometimes I'd spend hours shaving moss from my stomach. Another drop or two, and the orchids grow teeth. *** This book is dedicated to experiences of detachment and many afternoons spent detangling our hair and our problems. It could not have been possible without the soft scent of despair and a few bewildering substances, which are better left in the past but were supposed to be consumed in the present. We would like to thank all that was doughy and malleable and give a polite nod which is hard and stings. The Great Outdoors is a place for everything living, but whoever wishes should be left alone. DownloadDownload the mobile page by page version hereIMPRESSUM
Written by Monika Kalinauskaitė
Illustrated and designed by Monika Janulevičiūtė

First edition.
Free electronic publication,
October, 2016.
The Great Outdoors.

ISBN 978-609-95749-1-2

Contact:
monika@121.lt

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