||[Dec. 11th, 2007|09:50 pm]
You're reflexive; you live for the animal within. Right away, you're looking for some cover, because you understand that you and the tribe have split paths long ago - and you suspect their "evolution" might not be a way up, but an invisibly slow descent.|
Only time will tell.
You relish your bloodlust. When it is time to fight, as will be necessary, you should enjoy it like anything else, the fire in you awakened to the possibility of conquest. Your fear of death is in a distant place. You know that if you are the one eaten, lifeless, glassine eyes staring everywhere and nowhere, it will not matter. You will already have moved on. Such is the knowledge of deathless eternity in the feral mind.
Claiming your own space is a ritual, and one that is serious for you; you need your area alone, that you control, so if anything goes wrong, it is yours alone to inherit. You don't want the meddling of others. Sometimes, you break this rule, and invite over a friend or maybe a possible mate. But then the rulebreaking is delicious, a type of forbidden that is made rational in the breaking: it is well because I do it. The absolute rule does not apply here, as I am the only absolute rule for myself.
All of your friends have something you want, but could never take, so you study, and in good nature, fight them. That which does not kill me --
Your mother, in your mind, had every head in town turned; she was beautiful. You don't like to think that she gave it away, however.
You like to think that your father merited her, and somewhere in that distant past, he took a stand and earned her love.
Anything that wears a suit you automatically distrust, because in allowing itself to be so controlled, it has become a submissive animal. You know from experience that submissive animals are the first to rebel, and always fight dirty, because they are never satisfied. That is okay; once you know what they are, you have no problems fighting dirty either. And unlike those half-willed creatures, you'll fight for the throat.
You give a wide berth to any talk about what "ought" to be, and find refuge in acts making something in your mind what is.
Music and art with a bloodrush of energy, of masculinity and assertiveness, is essential for you. The open forest makes a mockery of the paltry pacification hymns of folk rock and grunge.
Your own tribe is your family; you live in them and with them, as you trust them to think as you do. You like this network, because it means that slowly, the will that contains yours is expanding.
You cannot imagine what good a priest would ever do you, since more than books - books! - your guide is your own mind, and you know it can be sharpened like a sword.
When the hunt is on, you will crush unthinkingly, putting young and old alike to death for the completion of your task. And then you will relish the completion, knowing the forest, too, forgets the dead.
After your death, you expect to have left no mark on the earth, nor to have mattered, except to yourself. You like it that way. You are both your world, and only a doorway into the larger world, a place you delight in exploring...
You're a feral animal, and society wants you dead.