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the wolfman.

have you noticed that the wolfman’s garb is that of ordinary men? he comes to us in the nobleman’s tattered waistcoat or the lumberjack’s torn flannel. that’s because he’s not from the woods. his home was not always under the moon. as a boy, they punished the small, scared animal inside him until it could no longer hide.

now, when the night sky is just right, the wolfman breaks his exile. what’s wild doesn’t want the cage or to be made into a circus; it wants softness. it wants a home. but the village exists only to extract and domesticate. why do you think the wolfman is always making away with the livestock and damaging farm equipment? he is trying to set it free.

table manners, etiquette and decorum exist only because human rage, appetite and desire cannot be tamed. the carrots and the sticks are meant to lull us into sedation, limiting the inner world. there’s no actual way to kill the beast. but if you look carefully, you’ll see its face in every cutting remark, stab to the back or twist of the spear. and that’s why the wolfman comes. to remind us who we really are when the sun is gone, the villagers sleep, and it’s just us in the moonlight.