werewolf-1I must make room for a more silent admiration to a long lost lover of mine. A spiritual fuck on many occasions, a fantasy personified in the thrill and ecstasy of horror, and thus, sublime. My Wolfman, that beast with human eyes and a stolen soul.

Enraptured in a driven madness, erect with purpose and the urge to penetrate; this midnight rebel rouser is a victim of Nature, as his appearance is measured in the time of moon phases. Full moon means that your ass best stay inside. Abandon all playful forests and blackened alleyways. Make sure your doggies are indoors, too! No one is safe from this majestic, fiery-eyed, shaggy-haired hound. He is in pursuit of blood and bestial mischief!!!

My fascination has been there since I was a kid. I was secretly drawn to Beauty and the Beast, who is hidden away in his secluded mansion and bound by a spell. His one salvation is true love, in the form of a curious inventor’s daughter. She digs his claws; he warms up to her virginal purity, and together they fight the odds to be together. That’s when the spell is broken; he returns to his hunky human form, and I close the book with disappointment. He was so interesting and virile when in wolfly mode. Now he is a mere shrimp of a man by comparison.


I certainly had my goth tendencies in high school; I was secretly drawn to fantasy books for young adults. Teen angst meets sci-fi. What an interesting idea, So melodramatic and significant in the most trivial of ways; but, whatever. You couldn’t pull me away from these nearly torn paperbacks. Finding good young adult sci-fi books with an edge was the difficult part. The material waxed and waned… from the truly technical and meticulous series about time travelers and alien abductions to something like the Buffy: The Vampire Series – too wordy and too dumb. Blood for Chocolate and Francesca Lia Block tale were more my thing. They traded in terminology for a simpler, translucent, and lyrical language. Or maybe I’m just trying to save face because I’m sort of embarrassed that at the root of my most intricate fantasies is a teenage wolf who wants to expose her animal side to her boyfriend (Think My So-Called Life… but, with blood). Hm… Everyone has to start somewhere.

The rawness is perhaps what appeals to me. Lycanthropy is a force driven to the far end of savagery and further away from civilized man. Here in our sedated hearts is a four-legged rampage, spit dripping from the mouth, teeth arrow-pointed and strong. It is unlike Mr. Hyde (alter-ego of Dr. Jekyll), for this is a man made aggression. I might go far to say that they our an evolved form of the canine, as werewolves are stronger and may still exhibit the fully formed features of a man (or woman). Sometimes, this is not true. Sometimes one who is awakened by the moon’s alarm clock can lose all imposable thumbs (or fingers for that matter) for hind legs and a long tail. But, this is a lyncathrope: One who is fully transformed into a wolf. A werewolf is a less scientific archetype, one who loses neither reason nor rage, thumb nor claw to the sway of the skies. Instead, both has merged, and in fact are two opposite personalities driven by a single stream of destruction.

Mm, my pagan wet dream, my laughable taboo, my bullet fired from Darwin’s gun…

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