Month of the Wolf

I said that I could not go on

for much longer for years.

I was having another crisis of perception.

I could not remember the water tower rising over

and dominating my thoughts while walking through the woods.

Nor did the memory of standing on countertops come back again.

None of those related adolescent events were available at the time.

When confined to that state of mind everything else is erased.


All the things I used to love tasted horrible: cigarettes, beer, even coffee.

I did not know if it was due to the illness or what, but like all other crises,

it seemed like it was the worst, and the one to end everything.

At that point, I realized that I had been writing my farewell note for a while.

I just wanted to shut myself away

in absolute solitude with my books, and some pen and paper.

Only then would I be able to become another character again,

perhaps a relatively stable being.

But when you have committed yourself to a social form of expression,

or to another human being, that is not possible.

Even if it all seems like too much, isolation is not desirable.

Although if I was confined to a tiny place with just me and my words,

I could achieve what I really want.


That vacant stare is also present in some non-combatants.

I think this while staring at a reflection.

I no longer will write anything automatic,

because I do not get high anymore.

I’ve only just begun in this new era,

and I’m finding it difficult to breathe.

Yet the world is clearer,

and I find that better.

I was lost on that trail,

even though it was short.

7 replies on “Month of the Wolf”

Yes in a way it is about maturing. But that is a broad explanation, there are a lot of obscure, specific references to things I didn’t want to get into. You aren’t over-analyzing, but on the contrary, you just scratched the surface. But you scratched the right surface. Thank you for the reply.

Is this about growing up? Or rather about maturing into adulthood? That’s what I gathered from it. The young you dies. You lose interest in all those adolescent things you loved, and the change seems so unnatural, so uncomfortable, that you just want to let yourself waste away. Then something happens. You reach the crest of the arduous hike and peer out to see clearly that it is normal and natural. That it’s not the end of adolescence, but the true beginning of life, because you now understand that you are mortal, and your time is finite.
Then again, I tend to over-analyze things.

Either way, it’s beautiful.

Yes yes yes, I suggest reading David Foster Wallace’s “This is Water”, a commencement speech he gave three years before his untimely demise. You can listen to it on youtube, it’s not that long. It’s really helping me with accepting this clarity and not being lonely and all. Thanks for sharing your thoughts with mine.

So eloquently put. I happen to going through a similar struggle. Out with the old, in with the new. Except I sometimes find myself reminiscing over past addictions instead of embracing my newfound clear-headedness. If I ever get that much needed moment of solitude I probably won’t know what to do with it.

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