Fucking in the Knotweed
Commissioned by The Healthy Times, Issue 6: Sex.
A note. This text explores my notional connection between gay cruising and foraging for Japanese knotweed. Existing on the peripheries, they live outside of society’s norms, in places most overlook. I am not suggesting queerness to be ‘invasive’ or a ‘pest’, as knotweed is often described. Rather, I am exploring how their common non-normativity might diversify society’s thinking. Similarly, I’m well aware of the damage to native ecologies which Japanese knotweed’s introduction has had, and continues to have. This piece is meant to challenge our thinking and inspire new perspectives. As such, these views are my own, and might not be shared by others.
—
You stand at the edge. Behind you is the park, populated in the distance by joggers and yapping dogs. Before you, a wall of green, quiet and still. It looks impenetrable, but in there, there’s something, you know there is. You’re not sure how you know; maybe it was word of mouth, or you spotted the subtle signs others overlooked. It might have been a tip-off online, or perhaps just your intuition. Whatever it is, it’s luring you in, like a pull you cannot resist. It’s not necessarily a thought but a sensation. Yet even though it feels right, you’re still uneasy.
You glance side to side. Though there’s no one immediately around, you still feel watched. This is nothing new, though; you’ve always felt watched, society’s gaze never looking away. You squirm under the invisible scrutiny, the unseen eyes locked on you unblinkingly, judging your very being.
The green, by contrast, offers solace. Whereas the gaze tells you not to enter, to not stray from the path that others have trodden, the green lures you into its unknown. You are torn by a desire to discover what lies in the bushes, but in the knowledge that doing so deviates you further from the norm. To step forth might mean not coming back.
On the edges of our urban spaces exists a hidden borderland. Here, in these liminal places, unusual things thrive quietly in the undergrowth, sharing the space in a queer ecologies of convenience out from under the social gaze. Bare skin brushes past bristling leaves, curious hands quest past clenched roots, hard bodies up against erect stalks.
Taking a step off the well-trodden path and diverging into the bushes, this foraging-cum-cruising foray of an essay leads us into the underbelly of urban ecology, to explore the notional connection between gay cruising and foraging for Japanese knotweed. Physically, these unlikely bush-fellows might not share much more than their location. Yet notionally, they have a lot more in common. Relegated to the peripheries of society, both exist in resistance to the norm. Both exist outside of the bounds of society, resisting its normativity in their persistence to exist.
In considering whether to step forth, you wonder if you’d even want to return, whether slipping back into conformity of a normative life is, indeed, a life worth living. In your inner self, you believe what you feel is not wrong, but a lifetime of admonishment challenges this tenet of your being to its very core.
Pushing past your apprehension, you walk into the bushes, soft leaves brushing your arms as shade envelopes you in its cool consolation. Behind the green, things are different. From outside, the facade feels impenetrable; each leaf a scale locked in formation. But inside is soft and gentle, dappled light creating a kaleidoscope of more greens than you know to name. Here, it feels safe, and even though you still sense their presence, it feels like the eyes no longer watch you.
Japanese knotweed exists in this country as a legacy of colonialism and capitalism. Admired for its quick grow in disturbed soils, it was imported from its namesake to repair humans’ environmental damage. Unfortunately, nature rarely conforms, and those traits for which it was lauded soon became cause for its vilification. Instead of staying confined, it burgeoned out into the environment, causing widespread ecological havoc and infrastructural damage. Today, the weed hides, more by design than by choice. For despite its tenacity, it can only really thrive where it’s not been noticed, lest we attack it with our full chemical arsenal.
As a result, the weed has now gained an arguably supernatural reputation for its evilness. My first foraging foray with knotweed is documented in my article The ASBO Weed: “Animate in its defamation, this plant is so maligned that it felt illicit to touch; a thrill of ill-doing in just plucking a leaf. Yet it was more than that, it was as if it would take root in my hand, parasitise my body, consume me alive.”[1] Despite this sense of abjection which the plant instilled in me, though, I was soon wooed by the tart, rhubarby flavour of its young shoots, and the tanginess with which its stalks were infused. The potency of its reputation became queered by the subtle flavours it infused into my thinking.
Unlike knotweed, cruising is as ancient as London itself. For as long as this city’s had street corners to hide around, there has been illicit sex. This illicitness—defined as ‘something forbidden by law, rules, or custom’[2]—has also happened by design, not choice, for society‘s gaze rarely looks favourably on queerness. A history of being hunted means one learns to hide. It teaches you to seek solace in the spaces society’s gaze overlooks. As such, these places are in constant flux, existing only as long as they remain unseen. This is where queerness has learned to thrive.
Somehow, you knew to look here. You’ve always known where to look. Or rather, you’ve always been looking, unsure of what for, waiting to see if you find it. A life led searching for where you might find safety has taught you to see what others don’t, attuned to seeking unoccupied places where you can be yourself. You are formed by your othering. By existing, you resist, persisting in the peripheries. You have always faced outwards; one foot locked in the norm, the other stepping uncertainly out into the unknown.
Society’s judgment is burned into our psyche. Its voice resides inside us, admonishing our every deviation from the norm. Yet in deviation, there is also liberation. In his writing, queer theorist Jonathan Dollimore suggests deviation to be the original act of demystification. He uses the analogy of a path to describe our lives. We may think we tread this path by choice, that we have autonomy in our direction, but we are, in fact, on it by design. It is when we stray from the path that we become enlightened to alternative ways to alternative futures. Then, even if we are coerced back onto the path, we now know there exist other ways of being.[3]
If illicitness presages being forbidden by custom, then knotweed falls under its definition also. Foraging for it, though lawful, treads a fine line if you do not dispose of it correctly, which makes this act similarly illicit[4]. In this, foraging for knotweed finds an alignment with cruising. Straying into the bushes, be it to forage or fuck, is an act of queerness, as it diverges from the path. A contentious statement, perhaps. Theoretically, anything which defies normativity is inherently queer, for ‘queering’ is, in essence, the subversion of the norm. Ergo, that which doesn’t adhere to human design, whether consciously or not, is queer.
Away from the burden of social conformity, your shoulders loosen, and your breathing evens out. Stepping off the path was easier than you had expected, and now that you are hidden, you feel like you can finally be yourself. Your eyes begin to scan your surroundings, picking up on subtle signals that tell you where to go in this undefined place.
Being undefined is full of potential. By remaining so, the undefined denies conformity to the norm. This scares the norm, for it wants to control everything around it. In this, the undefined becomes imbued with uncontrolled power. The anthropologist Mary Douglas refers to the power of the undefined through the concept of ‘matter out of place.’[5] By being out of place, this ‘matter’ transgresses classification, becoming powerful in its non-conformity. By the logic of queer theory—of that which is not the norm—this ‘matter’ is also queer.
Soon, you find it. Hidden there, it stares unashamedly back at you, locking eyes with yours. This is its environment, and it knows it, standing proud amongst the foliage. You simultaneously feel a deep desire to get closer, mixed with an innate apprehension to do so. Even if you haven’t come across it before, you have an ingrained understanding of what to do. You approach slowly, eyes locked.
In their article Love and Refusal: A Queer Ecology of the Feral,[6] Adam Mandelman explores the queerness of feral species which deny human mastery. Their definition of ‘feral’ draws from the philosopher Anna Tsing’s definition of a ‘feral ecology’ as those “encouraged by human-built infrastructures, but which have developed and spread beyond human control.”[7] Importantly, Mendalmen doesn’t condone or condemn these feral species’ tenacity to thrive—for which they earn the moniker ‘invasive’—but rather identifies the tension they reveal between culture and nature.
Academic Tim Dean makes a similarly philosophical reflection on the subject of cruising in Unlimited Intimacy (2009), his theoretical exploration into the culture of barebacking. He suggests cruising is more than just localised gay sex as a result of heteronormative constrictions; it can be considered a philosophy to live by, for it “exemplifies a distinctive ethic of openness to alterity.”[8] This means that, by opening themself to a sexual encounter with a stranger in a public space, the cruiser has adopted an outlook founded on trust and openness. Dean suggests this philosophy of kinship and reciprocal care to be one that society could learn from.
Standing firmly in the way of this utopian idea is the UK law, which dictates that sex in public is a punishable offence for Indecent Exposure or Public Indecency.[9] The law’s emphasis on ‘decency’—defined as ‘behaviour that conforms to accepted standards of morality or respectability’[10]—is an interesting reflection on how much public custom dictates our norms. Should you forgo the fuck, and instead opt to forage, you might similarly end up on the wrong side of the law, for improper disposal and spreading of Japanese knotweed can land you with up to 6 months behind bars.[11]
Cruising and knotweed may not share much more than their space, but they are only here because they are out of place. The borderland ecologies which these two odd bush-fellows form—that of an introduced plant and the act of gay sex—blur the lines between nature and culture, shaking the very foundations of definition.
A bold statement, I know. Let me clarify. Queerness is in no way a pestilence, invasive, or unwanted, or any of the other ways knotweed is described. Similarly, knotweed is not defined by its sexual predisposition or social deviance. Yet somehow this odd pair, this queer coupling, stand together against the norm, defying it. These feral beings are the transgressive creatures that haunt our borderlands. Neither culture nor nature, they exist somewhere in between; they are an ambiguity. They claim space with their presence, grow against normativity’s will, resisting with their mere existence.
You feel a thrill deep in your abdomen. Fear curdles with anticipation in a nauseating agitation. Your heart beats fast, and your mouth begins to salivate. In your excitement, your senses are heightened, ever-wary of what lies behind while also wrapt by what lies in front. You don’t know how this will go, but uncertainty is part of the experience. You are utterly in the moment, surrounded by desire and intrigue, which drives you forward. It’s welcoming you, inviting you to approach, to touch it. You reach out your hand, and it seems to reach out to meet you, matching your tentativeness with its caution. You are entirely sure yet utterly uncertain, united with what stands before you in the unknown.
[1] Pau, B. (2024). The ASBO Weed. Irregular, Indeterminate Insights. (09/05/25) [barneypau.substack.com/p/the-asbo-weed]
[2] ‘Illicit’ Apple dictionary
[3] Dollimore, J. (1991). Sexual Dissidence. Oxford: Clarendon Press. 106.
[4] Wildlife and Countryside Act 1981, Legislation.gov.uk. (09/05/25) [legislation.gov.uk/ukpga/1981/69#commentary-c22562891]
[5] Douglas, M. (1966) Purity and Danger: An analysis of concepts of pollution and taboo. New York: Routledge. 36.
[6] Mendalman, A. Love and Refusal. Niche Canada. (05/05/25). [niche-canada.org/2024/07/17/love-and-refusal-a-queer-ecology-of-the-feral/]
[7] Tsing, A. Feral Atlas. (02/05/25). [feralatlas.org/]
[8] Dean, T. (2009). Unlimited Intimacy. Chicago: Chicago Press. 176.
[9] Sexual Offences Act 2003, Legislation.gov.uk. (09/05/25) [legislation.gov.uk/ukpga/2003/42/section/66/]
[10] ‘Decency’ Apple Dictionary
[11] Japanese Knotweed UK Law, Japanese Knotweed Help. (09/05/25) [knotweedhelp.com/japanese-knotweed-law/]