Mystery Of The Werewolves

Updated: Dec 12, 2019


Aspects Of Lycantrophy; Werewolfism

I have translated much of the following research from the ancient Transylvanian tongue. Incidentally, have you ever seen a Transylvanian tongue? It's about a yard long and slippery. That why translations are so difficult, or even transfusions and transfers.




According to superstition /a cousin on my mother's side) a Werewolf is a man is transformed, or who transforms himself, into a wolf. This can be done through insane delusion or an uncontrollable act, accounting for the fact that so many actors are wolves. The belief in lycanthropy which means the transformation of a human into a Werewolf, and which when broken into its component Greek parts indicates lycan but trophy can't comes down to us from a very early time, even preceding Life, Look and Mad Monsters. One of the earliest Werewolf stories appears in the Greek myth of Lycaon, and an interesting tale of a Werewolf is related by the Roman author Gaius Petronius Arbiter in his Satyricon, a con sheet published on Saturdays. Gaius was an arbiter but Werewolves snap at the neck. There is also an interesting pamphlet of unpublished Werewolf poems by Morris P. Pizza, one of the best poets of the Borscht circuit, entitled, ''Were, oh Were, Has My Little Werewolf Gone.'' Stories of Werewolves are also found in the sagas of the northern races, and tales of Werewolves were prevalent during the middle ages. The Werewolf is regarded as a servant of Satan and took part in the Devil's Sabbath.


There are many other old tales (many hanging from old werewolves) that tell of humans turning into various forms of animals. In fact I had an Uncle who turned into a one way street . . . . the wrong way. He was put behind bars for this misdemeanor, which didn't bother him because he knew every bar in town. Founder of the Daily Strange; Mehmet Akçay, (Mc Chai is his nickname) gave me a suspended sentence even though, being stupid, she could't read the sentence even though, being stupid, she could't read the sentence. Of course my uncle was not a Werewolf, just a plain wolf.


According to legend ( and I don't know where he got his information) humans who are addicted to lycanthropy only turn into Werewolves when the moon is full. When it's empty they remain human. It is said that the only way to kill a Werewolf is to shoot it with silver bullet. I do not know how true this is for I have never shot a Werewolf. I have shot grasps and have taken an occasional shot myself, but Werewolves I have never shot.




To sum up my findings I might add, if I knew how. Not being mathematically inclined I shall incline without math, have my shot and forget all about Werewolves --- and I urge you to do the same.


The moon is high and I hear a horrible howl out-side the back door and I know --- yes, I know --- that it is the milkman. For, learning he delivers in his bare feet, I have scattered broken glass over the steps.


Is it possible for humans to acquire the form and shape of a wolf?


Answer is; Just as water is pliable and flows, taking the shape of the vessel it is poured into, so can glands internally secreting fluids, cause an outward appearance of abnormal hirsuteness, of charged bone structure, bringing a complete metamorphosis from a human to a sub-human creature.


Through fictional writing and presentation of the motion picture, the human who is about to become a werewolf, under-goes a most complete transformation which starts with the grip of untold fear, bristling of hair, at which time the entire human aspect proceeds to undergo a sharp change with more hair developing about the body, coarseness in texture. Twitching of facial muscles in which bone structure manifests a complete transformation. A marked change in the shape of teeth, becoming elongated and pointed like animal fangs. Terrific heart-pumping action, a rush of blood to the brain causing spasms during which the horrible transformation takes place numbing the brain, actually exhausting the reasoning power of the creature, so that when he once more recovers, (changes back to normal) he is unable to present an account of his doings, his whereabouts or his actions while under the animalistic spell which caused him to commit acts of murder.



A mental block sets in blotting out all, while other organisms throughout his body work at a frenzied metabolic pace.


All this occurs at a great rate of speed far from normal. Therefore, it is impossible to get a coherent account of a werewolf's happenings when it is in an animalistic state, the human mind being in a stupor, conquered by the bestial influence which dominated the animal-like body.

'' THE WAYWARD WEREWOLF''


The Werewolf is a hairy brute,

Who dines on neither meat nor fruit.

Who'll push his way through swamp and mud

To dine delectably on blood.

From Southern Hungary the legend came

Of this mad man-wolf of horrendous mien,

His teeth are sharp, his eyes are wild,

Mo' powah to dis lovin' child.

But, there was a Werewolf, the legends say,

Who could't stand blood in anyway.

Though in his veins flowed the bestial taint,

The sight of blood would make him faint.

All Werewolves known are of the night,

But darkness gave this one a fright,

And when the full moon rose on high,

To the cellar this beast would fly.

There he'd cower while Vampires prowled

And Werewolves through the darkness howled.

Blood-gorgers were others of his ilk,

While he'd be hiding, sipping milk.

When Werewolves drank from throat and fled,

This strange one kissed their necks instead.

And when the victims screamed their fears,

He'd croon to them and dry theit tears.

Then Werewolves voted with rising hand,

To banish this one from their band.

After centuries of heinous fame,

They knew that he would spoil their name.

They sought him in the caves of bats

Where gore was brewed in Witch's vats.

But found him where the flowers bloom,

Caressing rose-buds in the gloom.

They took away his union card,

From their society forever barred.

They stripped him of his Werewolf's mask,

And the wolf-bane in his hip-hung flask.

He stamped his feet and screamed his woe,

Ego shaken from this bitter blow.

But he concluded after brooding long,

That the Werewolf role for him was wrong

Now when moon is full he winds his way

To the flower bed, and there he'll play,

Instead of howls he lisps his laughter,

And the Wayward Werewolf lives happily the after.

Poem by Fluttering Hart

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