#Tamarin kin

[quitealotofsodapop]

Do you know if there's any initiation process for people to become sworn siblings?

Or do they just say, "You're my sworn sibling now." to each other?

I think it is comparable to the historical practice of "blood brothers" in which close companions would symbolically "mix blood" by pressing opened wounds against one another or drinking one another's blood. In some cultures with a more "eww. blood" attitude, a sacrifice was made in each other's honour to seal the deal instead.

In folklore; the only reason the gods in the Norse pantheon don't get rid of Loki despite their mischief, is because Loki and Odin are blood brothers.

Noted examples in East Asia mainly come from Mongolian and tribal Chinese accounts - in which it was common practice amongst dear friends and their children. One famous example is Temüjin aka Genghis Khan and his childhood friend Jamukha - the latter's betrayal and attempted usurping considered one of the Khan's greatest emotional losses.

For particularly Chinese sources I found this article about traditional Chinese Kinship, though most of the sources come from Taiwan.

The standard ritual was for each sworn sibling to add their names and dates to a contract and ritualistically burn it - as to add it to the infernal and celestial archives. "Can't return me without the receipt" - at it's finest.

Another familiar practice was for each sibling in the pact to add their blood to wine, and pass it around to drink.

It's a bit flexible depending on the individuals. Whether for personal or political reasons. But the "ideal" scenario is people who are so close, that they feel that they might as well by legally recognised as siblings. Sworn brethren could, for example, contribute to the dowry of a sworn sibling's daughter, preform mourning rituals for the others bio family, or becoming legal guardians of your sworn-sibling's kid in case of their death.

Or in the case of Confucian-era China outlawing homosexuality, it was a clever way to facilitate a same-sex marriage. Can't fault two guys for living together and raising their kids when it's a legally recognised practice! A bunch of friends could come together and make a brotherhood pact as a way to cheekily help others in the group be married in spirit when the state wouldn't recognise it.

Some folks even did it so that members in their bio family who were interested in eachother could have "a reason" to be interacting. Imperial gender norms be wildin' so hard that you can't talk to your crush without your dads being legally best bros.

This is why in chinese slang; "sworn brothers" is used as slang for "gay relationship". Aka "oh my god, they were roommates."-vine.

In JTTW: Sun Wukong and the Brotherhood/Seven Sages declare themselves sworn kin at the same time Wukong elects his Marshals and Generals. In this case, they are all close friends who officiate their sworn kinship through partying hard, and making sacrifices to both Heaven and Hell. They even have separate days out together.

(Source: Anthony C Yu translation)

Who knows, maybe a wedding was thrown in the mix? With all the drinking I wouldn't be shocked if there was some confusion with the ritual contract! XD

Wukong, re-reading the contract years later: "HA! Flood Dragon and Tamarin put themselves down as the other kind of sworn brother! Wonder if they even noticed that?" Bull King, there to check: "I doubt it. I'm just glad I'm not legally married to anyone. Don't want any loose ends before me and Iron Fan get hitched."

Erlang and the Six Lads of Plum Hill/Meishan Brothers are all sworn brothers too - in a more frat-boy/brothers-in-arms sense. They've all likely know each other for decades, and legit see each other equal to siblings. Notably, Erlang shares the bounty he received from capturing Sun Wukong fairly across his brothers (and presumably the remaining odd bit for the dog). Four of the brothers are Marshals while Two are Generals, giving more credence to the headcanon of Wukong's Stalwarts being his sworn family as well. In an odd bit of hilarity amongst the tense fight of Flower Fruit Mountain, the bros even rib Erlang for thinking too hard about Wukong.

Erlang, trying to be cool and edgy: "What a foul being to dare call himself equal to heaven. I ought to-" Plum Hill Lad: "Aww! Elder Bro has a crush!" Erlang, flustered: "I DO NOT!!" Plum Hill Lads, all cracking up and making kissy faces: "Then why are you thinking about him so much?" "Major sus bro!" "If you wanna fight him so much why don't you just marry him?" (*Invasion is paused as all six Plum Hill lads start rough-housing with their elder bro. Many head-noogies are inflicted.*) Wukong, on the ground: "You know what those guys are talking about Macaque?" Macaque, teasing: "Why, are you interested in him or something?" Wukong, blushing like a schoolgirl: "Oh my gawds! Stahp!"

Curiously, Wukong describes himself and Erlang as "sworn brothers" later in the book; suggesting that they had a close relationship at some point. One of my fave pieces of art (can't find it rn) is Erlang asking Wukong to be his "sworn brother", and Wukong assumes he means "spouse" and gets confused when Erlang mentions having six more. XD

A "lesser" case would be; The Tang Emperor declaring Xuanzang/Tripitaka his oath/sworn brother because the monk is doing him a solid. The Emperor shows his immense gratitude, and Tripitaka gains some political clout that he can throw around if he needs to (the Empress of the Kingdom of Women even sees this as a marriage bonus). Tripitaka def doesn't do the "blood" or sacrificial part of what these rituals imply, as per his Buddhist upbringing, but it's still seen as a binding oath. Rather, they bow to one another and declare their status are sworn bros before an image of the Buddha in the monastery.

In Tripitaka's case, it's more of Emperor Taizong being like; "Look, this pilgrimage is so important to me that I'm gonna legally and spirtually count you as my little brother so that you understand how much I trust you." Meanwhile the monk is like; "What?Thats a bit much don't you think?"

Later on, the promise of becoming one's sworn brother is passed between characters akin to "If you pull this off for me, I would straight up be your best bro."

And ofc the Pilgrims consider eachother sworn kin/brothers at the end of the story, even if they didn't do a ritual to seal it.

So yeah in summary:

Rituals can be performed but are not 100% required. Even a mutual declaration before an idol/holy image is enough. Whilst the Brotherhood of Sages celebrate their new pact through booze and partying and blood sacrifices - Tripitaka and the Tang Emperor just declared it while in a monastery.

People did it for money and political reasons too.

They also did it cus "It ain't gay if it's brotherhood."

Sworn kinship can be forged overtime.

The celestial and infernal archives have the reciepts.

Btw you can do a "sworn divorce" if you and your bro have a falling out.

Whilst the practice isn't really a thing in modern China, I imagine it's still common amongst yaoguai and/or celestials.

[apenitentialprayer]

There Is No Maternal Instinct In Humans

By definition, an instinct is a behavior that does not have to be learned, shows almost no variation between members of its species, and manifests in a rigid sequence of behaviors performed in response to stimulus. It's also called a fixed action pattern, or FAP. In bears and pigeons, hibernation and homing are instincts. In some species, caring for newborns is instinctive. [...] A rat has a maternal instinct. So, too, does the grayback goose, who immediately pushes any round object near her nest inside to incubate it, no matter if it is a billiard ball placed there by an impish ethologist or an actual egg. Round object (stimulus) produces rolling behavior (response). The less intelligent an animal, the more its survival depends on instinct. In contrast, almost every aspect of primate behavior is mediated by a larger and more developed brain. Evolution has equipped us with a neocortex that requires us to learn in order to survive. With a neocortex, biology remains relevant but is no longer determinant. Natural selection ultimately favored flexibility. Animals that can rapidly adapt to shifting conditions have an advantage over those that can survive only a narrow range of circumstances. [...] The neocortex allows flexibility, but the loss of instinct also comes at a cost. Charles Snowdon, a professor emeritus at the University of Wisconsin, has spent his career studying marmosets and tamarins, cooperatively breeding New World monkeys. In most groups of tamarins, the young help to take care of babies, while in a minority of groups, they do not have this opportunity. In a field study of tamarins without prior infant-care experience, Snowdon and his team discovered that babies born to first-time parents never survived. They guessed that naive mothers and fathers didn't know enough either to parent on their own or to accept help from more experienced kin. Later, from comparative data, his team discovered that the survival rate was much better in groups where young siblings helped out with babies. Across primates, infants born to inexperienced parents have higher risk of death. Snowdon explains, "When they don't have experience with infant-care skills, there's a very low breeding success rate. Parenting skills are learned. They're not innate, for males and females equally. Both are clumsy parents. [...] You have to learn to share care of your baby[...]"

- Darcy Lockman (All the Rage: Mothers, Fathers, and the Myth of Equal Partnership, pages 71, 71-72, 73-74). Slightly reformatted to avoid wall of text, bolded emphases added.

[mechanical-sunchild]

1) At this point it feels like almost all. I can myself therikin because I am things which fall into both therian and otherkin but also somewhere in the middle. I have had linktypes in the past and still have vaguetypes I'm not sure whether to call kin or link. I'm otherhearted/synpath and have hearthomes. I'm a con/suntherian. It goes on.

2) The most strongly felt ones right now and a golden lion tamarin (theriotype), android (kintype) and Kevin of Desert Bluffs (fictomere) is always somewhere there in the back. That's just the tip of the iceberg though. I'm a werewolf, a Big Daddy, Mew (the Pokémon), an anymic species that has no name and Eosphoros (divine). All of which have been introspected on heavily.

3) As a con/suntherian (or is it vacilliant therian? I'm really lost when it comes to labels which is why I stick to alterhuman with a side of therikin lol) I don't believe I'm ever not in a shift.

Largely I guess these would fall under uhhh mental/perception/envision? Like I just feel that's what I am. I can see myself very firmly in my minds eye as that thing and my body feels like that thing. I never feel physically human even if I look to be it and don't have phantom limbs or whatever.

I used to get a ton of werewolf instinct shifts that would have me growling and biting but not any more.

Sometimes I get a phantom golden lion tamarin tail and fingers, or my divinetypes wings. Once I had a full body shift for a Big Daddy and that was interesting...

Most bizarre cameoshift? I dream cameoshifted Scooby Doo more than once. It literally lasts into waking up. Though ofc in the dream I'm 100% physically this hound lol like I looked down and could see real ass paws. Fun!

4) Since I'm always shifted I guess like that? If something reminds me of one of my identities, or my partner refers to me as one or sends pics like 'that's you that is' it shifts intensity towards a certain one. I do 'act out' my shifts (i.e. not repressing what I feel) when I'm alone and able. Also my three different blogs about/pertaining to it lmao

5) I feel like... I'm not outside per se but like, the window is open and I'm just chilling on the windowsill? I don't 'get' a lot of what's going on with others and I cannot keep up with the labels etc. But that's likely just the Autism lol

6) Just being acknowledged as one of what I am, any of them (though the strongest current shift produces the most euphoria). They don't even have to really believe it just respect it.

7) Mostly I don't think so, my want to be me is always there but not at dysphoria levels, but every so often I'll be hit with the intense ache which I think is dysphoria? Yeah.

8) Trust in yourself. Explore every new identity you feel you might have. Introspect but don't overly doubt. Experiment. You don't need gear or to do quads. You can get gear and do quads even if you're not 100% what/who you are yet. The rules aren't as strict as some think. And if you decide later you're not alterhuman? Cool! Nothing wrong with being human or just a furry or whatever.

9) I have a necklace with a symbol I use for Eosphoros and an android suit and full face mask (neither are accurate to me, but it's something).

10) I do have a spiritual based belief that could explain it which borders a bit on the metaphysical but honestly it's likely all psychological and I'm a-ok with that. Something something Autism and trauma something something...

11) Nahhh free choice y'all, peace!

If you are a alterhuman, reblog and answer these questions!

(don't be afraid to write a lot, do what you want ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯)

1/ Which category of alterhumanity do you belong to?

2/ What/who is/are your type(s)? (if you have any)

3/ Do you experience shifts? If so, can you tell us your most common shifts and your strangest cameo shift (if you've ever had a cameo shift)?

4/ How do you experience your alterhumanity in everyday life?

5/ What do you think of the community?

6/ What are the things that make you most comfortable and euphoric in your alterhumanity?

7/ Are you experiencing species dysphoria?

8/ What advice would you like to say to a young alterhuman who has just awakened?

9/ Do you have/want to have gears?

10/ Do you know/have any theories about the origin of your alterhumanity? If so, tell us! (all beliefs are legitimate)

11/ Tag someone/a creature to answer these questions!ㅤᵕ̈

[kin-stim-terrarium]

Stimboard for Tamarin from Wings of Fire

Art by Mike Holmes | Requested by @tamarinwofkin

~~~

X X X // X - X // X X X

[wof-kin-things]

Anemarin stimboard for anon Art by amazonofrain Stims from stimmystuffs -Mod Winter

[maxpawb]

aesthetic for kinkajou/tamarin (wings of fire)

ok to tag as kin, if you are double friendly

[wof-kin]

Kinkajou X Tamarin board for @qatnip 

[mechanical-sunchild]

Hello!

I'm [See below]. Adult alterhuman (therikin and others) in permashift with strength flux. He/it default sometimes one or the other based on strongest shift. Genderfaun. Autistic (professionally diagnosed, pro self dx),

This blog is safe for any alter/nonhuman of any chosen labels, including physically nonhuman and delusional alter/nonhumans.

Follows from @desert-bluffs-and-me (Cw: blood, unreality and body/face horror).

I do not engage in shipping, gender/pronouns, plurality or antikin/anti-alterhuman discourse. I do not mind answering genuinely curious questions about my identity or those subjects.

Not transid/transx positive, your choice if you want to interact.

It'd mean a lot to me if you'd read my stuff on Wattpad.

I am(a):

Android: 'CC500' (he/it - #machine.ad),

Kevin of Desert Bluffs (WTNV, he/him, see main blog but kin stuff here Kevin.db)

Eosphoros/Phosphoros ( @eosphoros-astrakos , He/Him),

Golden Lion Tamarin (he/it #therio.glt)

Werewolf/wolfman (it/him #fullmoon.ww)

Quoiluntary/vaguetypes/links but I'm still (a):

Rosie-Type Big Daddy (Bioshock, he/it/that thing #rapture.bd),

Photokinetic anymic identity (he/him - #light.mh, best described as physically identical to but genetically different to a human, possibly an alien or artificial creation)

AUhuman (human from an Alternate universe, he/him)

I'm not these but are hearted/kith with:

Humanoid fishfolk (e.g. tritons in 5e, gill men, Deep Ones and similar) also the ocean itself, humanoid catfolk (e.g. Tabaxi or Khadjiit), apes (all except humans).

Hearthomes:

Desert Bluffs (Too), Neverland.

Thank you for reading!

Feel free to DM if you wanna connect! For fictomeres I am double weary but not negative.

I only ask that if you use the term kin but don't actually identify as your 'kin' you don't interact with me unless you understand that my 'kin' identity is me completely not just me relating to something.

Thanks!

[sciencespies]

Monkeys pick up 'accents' when they want to blend in with neighboring kin

https://sciencespies.com/nature/monkeys-pick-up-accents-when-they-want-to-blend-in-with-neighboring-kin/

Monkeys pick up 'accents' when they want to blend in with neighboring kin

A study has found that monkeys are capable of picking up new “accents” to be more friendly to their neighbors.

The study, which was published earlier this month in the peer-reviewed Behavioral Ecology and Sociobiology journal, looked at two different species of monkeys that live in the Brazilian Amazon: The bald-headed white pied tamarins and their cousins, the red-handed tamarins.

Both species of monkeys share a limited repertoire of calls, which they know from birth. These calls range from warnings against predators to mating calls, The Guardian reported.

Though they speak a similar “language,” the species make these calls in a slightly different way, similar to the way Britons and Americans speak English, The Guardian said.

The scientists found that when the monkeys share the same environment, the red-handed tamarins, which have greater vocal flexibility, changed the frequency and duration of their calls to make them sound like the pied tamarins’ calls – akin to taking on the same “accent” as their cousin.

This probably helps the species understand each other and regulate territorial disputes while they share the same environment, Dr. Jacob Dunn, a lead author of the study and an associate professor in evolutionary biology at Anglia Ruskin University, told Insider.

The study, which was published earlier this month in the peer-reviewed Behavioral Ecology and Sociobiology journal, looked at two different species of monkeys that live in the Brazilian Amazon: The bald-headed white pied tamarins and their cousins, the red-handed tamarins.

Both species of monkeys share a limited repertoire of calls, which they know from birth. These calls range from warnings against predators to mating calls, The Guardian reported.

Though they speak a similar “language,” the species make these calls in a slightly different way, similar to the way Britons and Americans speak English, The Guardian said.

The scientists found that when the monkeys share the same environment, the red-handed tamarins, which have greater vocal flexibility, changed the frequency and duration of their calls to make them sound like the pied tamarins’ calls – akin to taking on the same “accent” as their cousin.

This probably helps the species understand each other and regulate territorial disputes while they share the same environment, Dr. Jacob Dunn, a lead author of the study and an associate professor in evolutionary biology at Anglia Ruskin University, told Insider.

This article was originally published by Business Insider.

More from Business Insider:

#Nature

[fictionkinfessional]

anemone from wings of fire kin here, i used to have a gigantic crush on tamarin and i never told her and i still feel very bad about it bcs im pretty sure she liked me back

[thetravellingvagrant]

Day(s) 5/6 - Iquitos-San Rafael- Iquitos again - In Which I Live Out My Genuine Nightmares

This is going to be a very special (and very long) double entry, because a) the following two days were largely spent doing the same thing b) I am so far behind with this blog that cramming two entries into one seems like perhaps the only way I will ever be able to catch up and c) I didn't really sleep enough to properly separate the two days, anyway, so functionally, they really do count as one for me.

I remember being in no more than primary six or seven, when a man came to speak to our class about the Amazon rainforest. I don't remember who he was or why having a guest speaker tell us about the jungle was particularly necessary, but I do remember in vivid detail the things he told me. More specifically, I remember the things he told me about all the things that could - and most likely would - kill, maim or otherwise damage me, should I ever be fool enough go. Poison tree frogs that can kill you with a single touch, spiders as big as dinner plates that'll snatch your toes right off you, jaguars, scorpions, snakes, wasps, venomous ants, millipedes and even trees; the list went on seemingly forever and I distinctly remember, even at that young age thinking, very firmly to myself “fuuuuuck that.” - except probably a bit higher pitched. More recently, I remember being in Budapest zoo (an excursion featured in this very blog) and there being a very big sign at the entrance to their Amazonia exhibit, describing the area as simply “the green hell”, for much the same reasons. Both of these things have stuck with me for more than twenty and more than five years respectively and, to be honest, did combine mentally to rather put me off ever going to such a horrible, godless locale. It seemed almost unreal, almost like a fever dream, then (Not least of all, because I actually was running a fever, still being fucked into a paste as I was, by my jungle flu.), as I loaded my bags into the back of a tiny little tuktuk motor-taxi, to be whisked away to this nightmarish place, which I swore I would never visit, for actuals and reals.

Before that though, I had a tuktuk to ride. These little things are basically the only way to get around Iquitos, other than a truly abysmal bus service, or just owning a bike; cars are essentially a non-entity here, being very difficult to actually transport over from other citites as they are, as Iquitos is entirely inaccessible by road. They're also quite fun – the tuktuk taxis, that is- I have to be honest, however not-in-keeping with the tone of this blog that statement is. Riding one is sort of like being the terrified non-player-character passenger in a Grand Theft Auto taxi driving side-mission, as your driver weaves carelessly through a sea of other motorcabs, paying no heed whatsoever to the rules of the road or the safety of pedestrians, hoping against hope that they don't lose interest in the task at hand and drive you off the edge of a cliff, or into a deserted field at night, to shoot you in the head with an AR-15 and take all your money.

All too soon though, we were ejected from our mental little death-wagon and ushered into a sort of garage, that appeared to be serving as the headquarters of Maniti Expeditions; the company that was due to take us jungle-side.

We took a seat and waited while the other members of our tour filed in. As it turned out, we were rather a small group. We were joined by a family of Pakistani-Americans from New Jersey, a Portuguese man, who I think was called Pedro, who was nice, though verging dangerously on the pretentious, and, of course – because apparently there is a God, but unfortunately he's just a bastard – the Indian couple from the night before. Of course they were there. Of course they were. Also, it turned out they were actually American, so that made my accidental racism one degree worse than it had even been before. Whizzer.

After a brief interlude wherein a man, whom I did not realise had just wandered in off the street, handed me a torch - which I assumed was just an extra they gave you as part of the tour, but after some time and a lot of him refusing to let me hand it back to him, realised he was trying to sell me, for a frankly ludicrous price, resulting in me having to physically force the thing back into his hands while shouting “no gracias” as politely, yet firmly as I could - we were loaded on to a shitty, rickety old bus and sent towards Bellavista Naney port with our new guide. His name was Alfredo.

Alfredo was, as you might expect a jungle tour guide to be, an interesting chap. He was a short, sturdy, sixty-five year old man, sporting a Peruvian national football shirt, a pair of quite small shorts with sailboats printed on them, a camouflage backpack with a Cannibal Corpse patch poorly sewed onto it and one hell of a coke-nail. He told us, also, not long after we had met that he had been doing Ayahuasca, that traditional Peruvian mind-fuck broth for the last fifty years or so of his life. This was our expert. This was the only barrier between ourselves and definitely dying at the hands of a cruel and dangerous jungle. A junkie death-metal-head. Great. (though, to be totally fair to Alfredo, he was only about 20% as fucking weird and unreliable as this description makes him out to be. In reality, he was very knowledgeable, friendly and really, clearly cared a lot about making sure we were all safe and happy. He was both a top lad and a ruddy good bloke)

We were rushed through Bellavista port by Alfredo, stopping only briefly to marvel at the culinary delights the small port had to offer

Like these buckets full of fucking grubs, for some reason. Apparently they taste just like butter

and before we knew it, we were boarding a small, rickety boat bound for jungletown in the least official looking dock I had ever been to.

Pictured: Not a dock

Just as I was going to take my seat, something pale darted across the corner of my eye. I quickly spun to face the movement and there it was, sitting, bold as brass, right next to where I was about to park my – frankly 10/10 – arse was a massive, white spider, about the size of the palm of my hand, staring up at me, human blood dripping from its fangs, hissing threats in some esoteric spider-language. Fortunately, I was too fucked with the flu to have any energy left to make a fool of myself by panicking and so, instead, quietly just moved down the boat, screaming myself hoarse inside. Alfredo, then noticing the spider himself, then scooped the horrible thing into his hands and very softly deposited it off the side of the boat as if it was nothing, thereby tacitly making a total bitch of me for being so scared of it. Thanks Alfredo. Prick. Fortunately, though that seemed to be the only spider that had snuck on board, as I remained unbothered by any of its kin for the duration of our (very long) boat-ride up the Amazon river.

The boat ride was, despite my malady and my intrinsic fear of ever being submerged in the Amazon river, for any amount of time and for any purpose, fairly incredible. The river is bizarrely fascinating to be on, even when nothing of any interest is happening, and once I had gotten over my terrible, terrible fear of the boat capsizing, or a piranha flying out of the water and biting my face, I settled in to really quite enjoying myself. Alfredo's talk about the river, much like the thing itself, remained interesting, even at points when he was pretty much just babbling a load of shit about nothing, and a conversation with the father of the Pakistani-American family (who was every inch the spitting image of a brown Todd, from The Last Man On Earth) revealed that he, too, was something of an absolute delight. Perhaps this wouldn't be so bad, after all.

We eventually pulled in to San Rafael, the little community adjacent to our lodge and, after veeeeery fucking carefully removing myself from the boat, we walked for about ten minutes through very nearly actual proper jungle

Aaaaaah!

seeing some wild tamarins on the way and everything (which are apparently very rare to spot in the wild, so that was neat). By this point though, the heat was almost unbearable and lugging around  my heavy backpack with a swirling vortex of fluey malaise sucking me ever deeper into its terrible maw was really starting to wipe me out. Before long, though, we arrived at the lodge, which was really quite nice, though perhaps a little too similar to the Others' village in Lost, for me to be totally comfortable in.

Delightful, yet sinister, like if Ted Bundy could make balloon animals

I quickly scooted off to dump my bag in our... fairly modest room

Hey, cool, I’m definitely going to die here.

before, with little to no chance for me to rest, being dragged straight back out for a short taster walk, into the actual and for reals jungle.

The walk was definitely an interesting, if very tiring excursion, especially for a gross, snotty flu-man, which I very much was. I think, though that it was largely the novelty of being in a new biome that really did the bulk of holding my attention, as, presumably due to the lovely, but very loud and panicky American family's constant hoots of fear, we didn't see a huge amount in the way of wildlife. Especially not anything that might bite, poison or constrict you. Still, though, it was quietly quite comforting to not be the most scared person there. Grow up, Americans. God.

Around half an hour later and fifteen pounds heavier in mud caked to the bottom of my shoe and trousers, we returned to the lodge for a surprisingly nice lunch of mashed potato and beef. I couldn't really enjoy it, however, as my sinuses were full beyond bursting and the room was spinning horribly around me, as I ate. We were given, mercifully, around an hour to relax before the next part of our tour, which I spent soundly asleep, not even caring that spiders could and probably would be crawling over my exhausted, broken body as I did.

The nap turned out to be a good choice. I awoke feeling slightly more human, albeit by the scantiest margin possible. It wouldn't have mattered if I was literally dying though- I'd still have gone on the next bit of the tour; was I fuck missing a trip to Monkey Island, under any circumstances.

We boarded the boat once more; one tour member lighter - in the form of Pedro who had decided to go off with another, different guide to camp in the jungle for a night, though with the new addition of Karl, another American man and weird lookalike of his namesake Karl Pilkington, arriving late - and were away to Monkey Island. Fuck yes we were away to Monkey Island.

Monkey Island, as its name suggests is a rehabilitation centre for monkeys who were rescued from the black market's pet trade, and that's all brilliant and everything, but jesus christ, it was just a little patch of jungle with all friendly woolly monkeys running around and, jumping through trees and tumbling around and playing and coming up to you to hold your hand or climb onto your shoulders and it was everything I have ever wanted and I don't expect I will feel joy like I did while being there, ever again. Or any sort of joy at all, to be honest.

L O O K A T T H E M 

It was so good that for around the hour and a half we were there, I basically forgot I had the flu. That's how good it was; it was good enough to override my body slowly shutting down through fatigue and illness, like a lemsip for the soul. It was genuinely fantastic; the only thing that marred the experience, even slightly was the American family being a bit too loud and overbearing, pushing to the front of every experience, and so taking all of the monkeys' precious attentions for themselves, for the vast majority of the time. I suppose it can be forgiven of people for being a little over-excited about a god damned island full of monkeys though, so for once, I will bare no grudge against them. But let it me known, if anyone physically comes between me and a monkey, ever again, I will cut a bitch.

Way, way too fucking soon, though, we were pulled away from Monkey Island, in much the way its inhabitants were pulled away from the still-warm corpses of their mothers by poachers (...too dark?) and loaded back onto the boat.

We returned to San Rafael and, by this point, a combination of the heat, the flu and not being allowed to spend literally forever on Monkey Island in a perpetual state of utter bliss had ruined me. I badly needed a nap, again, for fear that if I did not take one, I might actually die, but alas, I was not to be afforded such a simple pleasure. Alfredo informed us, once we were back on land, that we'd be heading out into the jungle again, for an hour long night-walk to look for spiders and shit. I couldn't think of a more terrifying sentence for him to say, to be honest, but I decided that was probably actually quite unlikely that I was actually going to die and it would be quite an experience to miss out on if I just spent the time asleep in the relative comfort of my room, and so, like the solider I am, I nutted up and just did it.

I've genuinely had nightmares about being stuck in the jungle at night. If you'd have asked me a week ago to describe my top most terrifying real-world scenarios I'd never want to be in, that probably would have ranked in the top three. Actually experiencing it, however, really wasn't all that bad. I don't know if my mind and body were just too mangled to process exactly what was happening to me (I do remember spending a lot of the time, almost asleep on my feet, not fully knowing where I was, but being quite convinced that I was in a forest in Scotland), or if the lovely, but loud American family had just spooked all the dangerous animals in a fifty mile radius away with their unforgivably loud hollers and yelps, but I didn't find myself feeling at all anxious, or frightened, or...anything, really. It was just something that was happening to me before I could sleep.

Although in retrospect, it looks fucking terrifying

The walk progressed slowly, with little of interest being spotted, other than a couple of (admittedly pretty sick) stick insects and apparently an opossum (although I didn't see it, myself) and seemed to be winding down without incident. Then, ten minutes or so from camp, Sam's left leg stated burning. Panicking, she told Alfredo what was happening, who traipsed back to her, lifted her trouser-leg and saw, to Sam's horror, but his own light amusement that a not insignificant amount of fire-ants were swarming around her calf. Apparently she had stomped her little stompy feet through their nest and was now paying the price for her murderous hubris. Alfredo swatted the ants away as best he could and we continued walking (or in Sam's case, badly limping) back to the camp.

Once back, we ducked back into our bungalow to make sure neither of us had any more of the nasty little fuckers on us, which thankfully, we did not, and everything was great,forever. The End.

Nah, just kidding; we had an entire fucking colony milling around our socks and lower trousers. We very quickly and with very very little dignity, stripped our khakis off in a bit more of a girlish panic than I'd honestly like to admit, shook the ants free from the trousers, outside and just straight up binned the socks like the unwearable garbage they now were. When we were absolutely sure that we now ant-free (which took so much more time and energy than my body could realistically spare), we headed to dinner; another fairly nice affair full of chicken legs and mashed potato, so I'm told, at least. Genuinely, I don't know, I was so far beyond physically okay that the entire thing really was a bit of a blur for me. I do remember being given a pill by the Indian couple, which they claimed was a combination of painkillers and muscle relaxant and which knocked me out almost as soon as I returned to our room. At least I was too sick to care about spending a night in the jungle- the part of the trip I was most worried about, previously – so uh. Every cloud and all that, I guess. Also, the muscle relaxant didn't even one, as I had worried it might, make me piss the bed. So that's two silver linings, which honestly, is pretty good going, as far as silver linings are concerned.

I was up several times in the night. The jungle is (shockingly) pitch black during the evening and, much like the night before, I found myself awaking with a jolt every two hours or so, to empty my bladder and perform a full and thorough inspection of my bed, using the torch on my phone, to make sure no errant tarantulas had decided to become my erstwhile bedfellows. They hadn't, to be fair, but that doesn't make me hate them any less. Furry, spindly little pricks.

Despite this, I did sleep better than I had the previous night (albeit again, only by the slimmest of margins) and actually found myself, for once, being woken up by my alarm, rather than just being awake several hours before it was due to go off, anyway. Take that, alarm.

Our morning plan was to take the boat out once more, to watch the sun rise over the Amazon and then around to go river-dolphin spotting, which, to be fair, did sound appallingly lovely. The sunrise was mostly obscured by clouds, so wasn't perhaps as impressive as it could have been, though still managed to remain fairly bloody impressive

Neat, I guess.

and what the clouds took away from the gravity of the experience, Alfredo more than added back in by uttering the cryptic, slightly frightening and just very, very metal line of “...His eye opens” as the sun just began to peek over the horizon

BEHOLD!

By the time we had begun dolphin spotting, I had once again grown weary and while I was definitely thoroughly enjoying the experience, and managed, at points, to get incredibly close and take some pretty okayish videos of the ugly, pink little jerks

I have no way of editing videos out here, but if you wait until around the 30 second mark, you should see a big splashy boy

I was definitely not enjoying my nostrils turning into a snot-faucet and my head being slowly crushed into a singularity from the inside, so by the time we packed it all in and returned home, I was super glad to be doing so, despite feeling a little guilty for thinking like this. To be honest though, as amazing as this experience was (and indeed all the experiences the rainforest had to offer thus far – save for fire-ants, which can go fuck themselves), it was hard for me to really, properly enjoy them, as each time I got close to feeling like I was, the realisation that I am a comparatively rich, white tourist who paid for this experience set in, hard, and, in what has to be the most first-world-problemy way possible, did rather make the entire thing seem a bit...plastic. Not the monkeys though; they were legit.

Once home, we took a quick break; not long enough for a recovery nap, but just about long enough to relax in a hammock for a while

So relaxed...

before being ushered out onto the river by Alfredo once more. This time to go and meet some members of a local tribe. I wasn't particularly thrilled about this part of the tour, feeling that it was perhaps a little ...colonial and exploitative; parading us around this relatively primative tribe, oohing and ahhing at their grass skirts and shitty little home-made crafts and rudimentary hunting techniques and all that, but I did pay...quite a lot for this tour and didn't really want miss any part of it; especially a bit so awkward and unwanted that it was almost guaranteed to generate some dynamite blog-content, so I bundled myself back into the boat and headed off to tribesville.

We arrived at the small village and were directed to sit down inside, what I assumed was the main hut. We had been joined by another, different tour-group for what was about to ensue, which I was uncharacteristically thankful for, as it, at the very least, would dilute some of the attention that our group would get. After a brief talk on the tribe from Alfredo, which didn't exactly blow me away with any fascinating insight into their way of life (they're farmers who grow rice and bananas, they hunt for their food and use blowdarts), we then got another small talk in the tribe's native tongue from the chieftain; short, stern and stocky man, wearing a grass skirt and a large ornamental headdress, who was, hilariously, just called Richard, who essentially just went over the same things as Alfredo, but in a language that seemed to only consist of three independent syllables.

The tribe then demonstrated two of their traditional songs, both of which were accompanied by a dance, with which we were invited to join in (an offer which every single member of our group declined)

Not this guy, though. He was fucking loving it.

and both of which, with the best will in the world, were a bit shit. After a gruelling and genuinely awkward few minutes, the music abated and we were led to a different area to try our hand at blow-gunning, which, I'll be honest, I did rather enjoy, despite myself.

P-tew!

with no time to enjoy my definitely 10/10 blowgun prowess, we were directed immediately to the tribe's market stall, in which we were expected to spend our money on various bits of, to be totally honest, absolute garbage, which the tribe had made. Sam had brought very little money with her and I hadn't thought to bring any, at all, so we had a quick look around to see what we could buy with fifteen soles that was something either one of us would actually like and we weren't just buying because it felt awkward not to. It was then that li'l chief Richard approached us, his hand outstretched, rubbing his thumb against his middle and fore-finger – the international symbol for “give me money”

“Para la musica” he told us. For the music.

Great. Now apparently we had to pay for enduring their shit music which wasn't good and which I didn't enjoy listening to. Perfect. We (Sam) handed him five of our soles and he looked disgusted with us. We (Sam) apologised for not giving more and Richard walked away, unspeaking. I don't care if you are in some jungle tribe with all different culture and everything, rudeness is rudeness. Fuck you, Richard. Prick.

Now feeling a little like what little shine the experience had possessed, previously had very much worn out, we continued being made to browse the tribe's wares, until we finally succumbed to pressure and bought ourselves some tat.

Glad I spend money on this sweet little number

With everyone's pockets now entirely emptied and the lines on who was exploiting who blurred beyond all recognition, we loaded ourselves back onto the boat. Also, a little side-note here, but it was at this point that I watched a portly lady who was on the other tour, lean out of the window of her boat to take one final picture of the tribe, though instead managed to let her phone slip out of her hands and straight to the bottom of the river; an act which I singularly enjoyed infinitely more than I had the last hour or so of tribal interaction and having my money guilted off me. They should genuinely employ someone to do that on every tour, because, honestly, I nearly enjoyed it as much as Monkey Island.

Our next stop was one I could be fucked with almost as much as the previous; piranha fishing. I'm not a huge fan of fishing, to be honest, because I don't really like killing things (although, being in the Amazon does generally make you a little kill-happier. There was no way in hell I was going to scoop up each individual fire-ant on a bit of cardboard and pop them outside on the bungalow's windowsill. It was the boot for them), but we were told by Alfredo that the lodge's chefs would cook up what we caught and we could have them for lunch, which did remove some of the grey morality which which I was struggling.

Turns out I needn't have worried about any of that, though, because I was fucking terrible at Piranha fishing and didn't land a single catch. I couldn't get them to stay on the hook, no matter what I tried and more than likely emptied our group's reserves of spare bait, single-handedly in the process, like the saint I am. Sam, however, being a salty Geordie fish woman, was great at it and caught, as she kept boastfully reminding me of, as if ending the lives of innocent little snappy-boys was something to be proud of, no fewer than four fish. Five, actually, but one wasn't a piranha and was therefore too small to bother cooking (it was, however, too badly damaged to go back in the water and so had to be stomped to death, anyway. What a monster she is.)

After a while, even Sam's bloodlust was sated and we unanimously decided to pack in this whole fishing lark and go back for lunch. I got back on board the boat, over the piranha infested waters as carefully as I have ever done anything in my life and we returned to the lodge for what would be the final time.

We were afforded enough time, once back, for me to have another nap, which, at this point were the only things making me feel even vaguely alive or human, in any sense, before being served our last lodge supper. More mashed potatoes, jungle-beans, the piranhas Sam caught and a big chunky fillet of another, different (and anyone with tastebuds would say) better fish called Pacu and which looks like this

...yummy

I am told that this all tasted quite nice, but by this point, the flu had cruelly taken away my senses of both smell and taste, so I had no idea. I could just about make out that it was very salty, though, so that was something. Small victories.

With that, our jungle experience came to a close and after a strangely intimate hug goodbye with Alfredo, we and the Indian couple (who were the only other guests not booked to stay any longer than a single night) were plopped back on our boat and ferried upstream back to Belavista. A trip which I spent nearly the entirety of asleep, which I like to think was because I had grown so comfortable with being in the jungle, at that point, that I could relax fully in it, but more likely was because I had just been crumpled into a ball of misery and fatigue by my flu over the previous three days. Overall though, being in the jungle was a surprisingly good experience and one that I might even consider doing again at some point, should the opportunity arise. A solid 9/10, except for, as I've said, the fire-ants which can go fuck themselves.

Back on terra firma, we were wizzed via tuktuk first back to the company's headquarters, where we finally parted ways with the Indian couple – hopefully actually to never see them again this time, and then to our new AirBnb, in which we would spend out final few days in Iquitos.

Our new AirBnb, as it happens, was actually a collection of luxury riverfront apartments, in which, we had unknowingly booked the nicest room. We were checked in by the receptionist, Diego, who looked the spitting image of a brown Zach Woods and who was incredibly welcoming and helpful to an almost snivelling degree (not entirely unlike every character Zach Woods plays, now I think of it.) Diego explained everything there was to explain about the apartment in frankly laborious detail and, after dropping this info-dump on us and bidding us welcome, asked us point blanc

“what's my name?”

I suppose this was as some kind of test to see if we had retained the information he had just said, rather than a test of politeness, or some weird ego-trip. Regardless, I did not remember what it was. I was hard-humped with flu and generally disregard someone's name the first three times they tell me it, even when it is someone I know I'll actually see again.

“...What's. My. Name?” he repeated.

I laughed and told him I'd just be in the jungle for two days, so I'd forgotten. This seemed to be an acceptable enough answer for him and he immediately flicked back to his friendly, helpful self, creepily seamlessly. The entire interlude was really quite odd, totally out of keeping what the rest of what I'd seen of his personality and I'm almost certain, a preamble to my own murder.

Doing our best to put whatever psychosis we had just witnessed behind us, we settled in to our new digs. This apartment, a penthouse suite overlooking the Naney river, was about as different from living in the jungle as it was possible to get, and let me tell you, the change was one hundred percent welcomed by me.

The view is spectacular

...I mean if you’re into things like that.

The bed was comfy, the fridge loaded with pre-cooled water bottles, the kitchen fully stocked and the entire apartment almost entirely bug-free, due in no small part to its remarkably effective AC system, which really did turn the flat into a little icy paradise of excess, amidst a sea of poverty and sweat.

We couldn't quite settle in fully just yet, though. Sam insisted that we make a quick outing to the supermarket, because apparently she needed shampoo and apparently wasn't willing to go alone, for fear of being “mugged” or “abducted and killed” by a “crime man”, which to be honest, I felt was very selfish of her.

For the final time that day, then, I dragged what was left of my body out through the streets of Iquitos, to the supermarket and back, before finally being able to collapse onto our exceptionally soft airbnb couch, to eat a modest dinner of a single sausage and a couple of minty biscuits, while watching the Peru episode of an Idiot Abroad - because watching someone else suffer through what I just had was really the only thing that had the capability of making me feel any better at that point – and then heading directly to our comfy, comfy bed, which I believe I must have fallen asleep in, before my head had even touched the pillow. I have never been more done.

[i-hate-my-fucking-selfugh]

gusto kong tamarin sa pag aaral kasi nawawalan na ko ng gana pero di ko magawa kasi may ibang taong nag papa aral sa kin.

[lgbtqawof-blog]

post/156018767660 im kin with moon and i had like 9329237498237984 gfs a bf and a bunch of qpps like?? i was in a poly w kinkajou n tamarin, i was datin peril, i think i was datin sora, and i was datin qibli and i was qpps with turtle and winter sc reams guys i love yall but Thatsa Lot

ok honestly as turtle + anemone who the fuck didnt have a crush on moon she’s? too perfect? we’re not worthy of u

-🐢

[maxpawb]

tamarin and kinkajou!

[wof-kin]

Anemone X Tamarin board for a Anemone I know!