[Werewolf Trilogy — Part III]
Holy shit, we’re nine days away from Hallow’s Eve, summit of the mountainous OCTOBERFEAST. This is the season of decaying matter and yet life never feels more invigorating. Wait until the sun goes down and step outside — bathe in the cool autumn air, breathe in the fragrance of crumpling leaves, and try to feel anything less than excited to be alive.
I dare you.
To round out the Werewolf Trilogy, we’re going to explore the notion that werewolves are fun-loving party-goers. While manhunters and bitch-mothers are small subsets of the community, most are just looking for a good time. Seriously. For example, this werewolf just wants to snort lines of blow. And this werewolf loves to shred.
Perhaps the best expression of this animalistic debauchery is found in Every Time I Die’s We’rewolf. Keith Buckley (genius that he is) masterfully outlines what it means to go through an evening as a wolfman.
It’s a full moon, denim is tight, and flannel shirt is freaking out.
Run for your life, cover your eyes, I don’t want you to see me party this hard.
I’ve got a bone to pick with the morning sun and the first last call.
But I didn’t put my hair in a pony tail for nothing,
So if I’m going home alone I ain’t going at all.
Yea. In the wild kingdom you don’t live until your ready to die.
Which one of you sons of bitches is gonna make me feel alive?
Which one of you motherfuckers is gonna get inside my heart?
Is gonna give me a heart attack?
Look away it’s too much to bear. I’ve been bitten by the party animal.
Save yourself. Save yourself. Tell my baby that I love her so.
Don’t cry. Don’t cry. I gave the world one hell of a time,
And I don’t regret a thing except for the times that I got caught giving it.
I never thought it would take. I had thick blood and cynical skin.
To where are you supposed to escape when the creature is lurking inside of you?
We all want to be werewolves, drinking beers and doing fucking headspins well past the witching hour. We want to resist the idea that our lives are run by suits and squares who only give us 2/7ths of the week to enjoy ourselves — and only so we don’t freak the fuck out.
Unfortunately, most of us are never fortunate enough to transform into mythical human/canine hybrids. In fact, most of us feel the need to blast ourselves in the heart with the `ole figurative silver bullet before we even consider living the werewolf life.
We should all take a note from Every Time I Die — periodically taking the opportunity to throw caution to the wind in order to live a life that defies rigid structure and routine. I’m not saying to be a fucking weirdo for the sake of it, but to give yourself the chance to occasionally allow your inner animal to surface.