The Wolfman
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luka
Well-known member
werebabes
Clinamenic
Binary & Tweed
One of my all time favorite Dissensus posts
Mr. Tea
Let's Talk About Ceps
There's one called Ginger Snaps about a teenage girl who turns into a werewolf. It's basically about periods.
Ginger Snaps (film) - Wikipedia
william_kent
Well-known member
There's one called Ginger Snaps about a teenage girl who turns into a werewolf. It's basically about periods.
Ginger Snaps (film) - Wikipedia
en.wikipedia.org
sorry? How do you know this even exists and then after that you can boil it down to its core meaning?
It's not obscure by any means. At least not here in the states, but can't speak for where y'all live.
It might not have done well at the box office, but it seemed to be a regular fixture in the more "high profile" racks at video rental stores, for at least several years after its release.
(no, I haven't seen it)
pattycakes
Well-known member
Tea reveals a lot of his inner workings and fixations through those type of posts
Mr. Tea
Let's Talk About Ceps
Lol, no, it is literally quite a period-heavy film:
@william_kent - I think one of my then-girlfriend's housemates put it on while I was visiting her in the shared house she lived in at the time. You'd no doubt consider it a pale imitation of about 5,000 infinitely grosser Japanese films you've seen (and masturbated over).
mvuent
Void Dweller
we decided this was sort of the unofficial sequel to taxi driver. its spiritual successor in terms of themes and artistic achievement.
luka
Well-known member
Using his keen hearing, Ambrose dispatches the werewolves descending on his property with his weapons and a series of booby traps. He kills the four new werewolves but is bitten by James. In the struggle, they battle into Ambrose's back yard, where Ambrose finally kills James and calmly sits down on his porch. Will, having heard his father's final words, rushes to his house. He sees the bodies of werewolves, half-turned back into their human forms, before discovering Ambrose dead, having purposefully overdosed on his medication before the battle had even begun to ensure that he will not live as a werewolf.
Later, Will and his wife stand at his father's military funeral at dusk, where Will accepts the tri-folded flag and gives it to his wife. He then takes out his father's rifle, takes aim at the rising moon, and fires.
Later, Will and his wife stand at his father's military funeral at dusk, where Will accepts the tri-folded flag and gives it to his wife. He then takes out his father's rifle, takes aim at the rising moon, and fires.
pattycakes
Well-known member
Terry, the Wolf (A Ballad of Regret)
Upon a stump of timber dead, beneath the moon’s pale leer,
Sat Terry, weakest wolf of all, alone, consumed by fear.
The forest sighed a ghostly hymn, the night was damp and still,
As Terry drew a breath of rue atop the shadowed hill.
No longer could he trace the path where once his paws had strayed,
No torch, no star, no hunter’s mark, just echoes that betrayed.
A wolf not born to hunt or lead, nor howl with strength or pride,
But one who'd scrape for strangers’ crumbs with hollowed soul inside.
Oh shame! The coming years would bring indignity and pain,
A burden borne in solitude, a legacy of shame.
While others thrived on instinct bold, and chased the northern flame,
Poor Terry begged from fleeting folk who scarcely knew his name.
They'd pass him by with softened eyes, with charity and cheer,
Unknowing of the soul they touched — nor what lay buried here.
A smile, a note, a helping hand, a bill gripped kind and tight,
And Terry’d nod, though deep within, another spark took flight.
He typed beneath fluorescent glare, his pate both bald and bowed,
While strangers mused, with pity glossed, above the chattering crowd.
"Who is this beast?" they’d gently ask, then vanish through the door,
And Terry’d know — they’d not return, nor think of him once more.
His art, a sheet of A4 white — a tombstone for his cries,
Each page a ghost, each line a wound, beneath indifferent skies.
No laurels crowned his weary brow, no muse to guide his hand,
But only postures, hollow boasts, misunderstood and bland.
He'd once bewitched a paltry few on forums dim and lost,
Where fevered minds mistook his ache for wisdom tempest-tossed.
A prophet to a dozen fools — to elders, just a jest,
Who watched with smug and softened smiles, his antics like the rest.
He was a Withnail, gazed upon through glasses tinged with rue,
A Gazza drunk on memory’s lies, whose promise never grew.
All intellect, all youthful fire, now ashes in the rain —
A tragic beast who wandered far, and found his fate in vain.
So mourn for Terry, if you will, who howls to empty skies,
A creature cast in shadow's mold, with too much truth — and lies.
Not evil, no — nor truly mad — just haunted, lost, and dim,
A wolf who once believed in more, but time believed not in him.
Upon a stump of timber dead, beneath the moon’s pale leer,
Sat Terry, weakest wolf of all, alone, consumed by fear.
The forest sighed a ghostly hymn, the night was damp and still,
As Terry drew a breath of rue atop the shadowed hill.
No longer could he trace the path where once his paws had strayed,
No torch, no star, no hunter’s mark, just echoes that betrayed.
A wolf not born to hunt or lead, nor howl with strength or pride,
But one who'd scrape for strangers’ crumbs with hollowed soul inside.
Oh shame! The coming years would bring indignity and pain,
A burden borne in solitude, a legacy of shame.
While others thrived on instinct bold, and chased the northern flame,
Poor Terry begged from fleeting folk who scarcely knew his name.
They'd pass him by with softened eyes, with charity and cheer,
Unknowing of the soul they touched — nor what lay buried here.
A smile, a note, a helping hand, a bill gripped kind and tight,
And Terry’d nod, though deep within, another spark took flight.
He typed beneath fluorescent glare, his pate both bald and bowed,
While strangers mused, with pity glossed, above the chattering crowd.
"Who is this beast?" they’d gently ask, then vanish through the door,
And Terry’d know — they’d not return, nor think of him once more.
His art, a sheet of A4 white — a tombstone for his cries,
Each page a ghost, each line a wound, beneath indifferent skies.
No laurels crowned his weary brow, no muse to guide his hand,
But only postures, hollow boasts, misunderstood and bland.
He'd once bewitched a paltry few on forums dim and lost,
Where fevered minds mistook his ache for wisdom tempest-tossed.
A prophet to a dozen fools — to elders, just a jest,
Who watched with smug and softened smiles, his antics like the rest.
He was a Withnail, gazed upon through glasses tinged with rue,
A Gazza drunk on memory’s lies, whose promise never grew.
All intellect, all youthful fire, now ashes in the rain —
A tragic beast who wandered far, and found his fate in vain.
So mourn for Terry, if you will, who howls to empty skies,
A creature cast in shadow's mold, with too much truth — and lies.
Not evil, no — nor truly mad — just haunted, lost, and dim,
A wolf who once believed in more, but time believed not in him.
mvuent
Void Dweller
both follow aging patriarchs losing their sight and withdrawing into themselves, slowly descending into sleep/death* while other characters who seem to be figments of their imagination, repressed aspects of the self, take center stage and engage in bizarre antics, before finally a son figure takes their father’s place.
*there’s a very dramatic shot of the werewolf movie guy receding into darkness, why was it included if not in reference to Joyce’s “book of the night”?
as the title “late phases” suggests, the movie also very concerned with time cycles, much like the wake. and you can imagine the son moving into the same retirement community in 40 years, and, like his father, having to fight its werewolf inhabitants.
version
Well-known member
The whole wolf hierarchy thing has a fairly large presence in the culture, people calling themselves 'alphas', etc. Apparently the popular understanding's bollocks, but a lot of people seem wedded to it.
There's the 'lone wolf' terminology that comes up whenever some guy in America goes off on a shooting spree too.
There's the 'lone wolf' terminology that comes up whenever some guy in America goes off on a shooting spree too.
pattycakes
Well-known member
Due to the decades of psychological grooming that I have been subjected to on dissensus.com I have become a lone wolf
pattycakes
Well-known member
This little Manchurian candidate could erupt at any moment.
#dissensusisevil
#dissensusisevil
william_kent
Well-known member
Why don't you pass the time by playing a little solitaire?