Wednesday, February 23, 2011

The Wolf.

Wild Animal.

I've always been drawn to the visceral. Tearing, clawing, teething. When I was young and very drunk, oftentimes walking over stranger's cars and smashing bottles in the street, I would tell myself that I was a wild animal. I felt free and wild and unstoppable, and hey, I was never brought back to reality those nights by the cops. Ok, well, I was ONCE. That hardly counts.

I still feel the need to let out the wild animal, to truly be mad in the best sense of the word. To let loose and let myself behave savagely, as if acting out instinct rather than learned obedience and feigned good manners. Only now, I'm older, and not quite as drunk, and have no intention of walking on cars.

Instead, now I want to dance wildly, listen to loud savage music, paint all of my walls, and drive a muscle car as fast as humanly possible. I want to spend days in the sun sweating. I want to travel and get tattooed. I, for sure, do not want to work in an office. The realization that I've been living a life primarily led by responsibility is something I've been getting... used to. In some ways it's great (awesome relationships with stable humans) and in other ways totally stifling (WORK). I've been trying to think of ways to make my life my own again.

In the past couple of years I've found myself drawn to the wolf. I painted it on my living room wall, without drawing an outline (and it looks fucking awesome). I've even commissioned a friend to draw a wolf portrait that will be suitable to be tattooed on my thigh. I'm obsessed.



I've been doing some research, and found that the wolf symbolizes "free will, the ability to escape." But also, as pack hunters, they rely on their relationships for strength, as well. I am liking this.

No comments:

Post a Comment