Psycho alert!

There are a lot of things in my mind…

I’m not sure how to start

Today I caught a special on the minds of serial killers… and well, here it goes… I was fascinated by some cases. Honestly the cases where guys around my age were murdered.

I’ve always known I’ve had a soft spot for this sort of acts on boys, I don’t know why, they appeal to me, I find them beautiful. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I don’t have any contact with anyone, and I really don’t desire any… but the mental image, of torturing some… creatures… is appealing.

This woman presenting the show, the policeman and the parents of the victims and basically everyone… they were all puzzled, confused and outraged about the murders, and all it though was “I get it!” “I understand why”… I’m terrified by this… I don’t know if actually feeling this makes me one of these persons, but when I was seeing the pictures of the BTK killer victims… I understood I secretly wished to see pictures of the crime scene…. 

Oh my god, I just confessed to the world I could be a potential serial killer… But should I change this? probably not, I have a right to be attracted to whatever it is in the world. But I understand clearly that fantasies should stay in my fantasy world… in my writings, in my books… they are not to be mixed with the gray reality and all I can say is, I promise I’ll never act on it. I know it sounds ridiculous, but I’m too afraid of skipping a red flag, I won’t be able to actually committing a crime… I think…

(9 days late)

A feeling

A Feeling

I have the feeling that what I have yet to live is very little.

This head of mine looks like a crucible

Purifies and consumes.

But without a complaint, without a trace of horror,

To finish me, I want on an afternoon without clouds,

Under the limpid sun

A white viper, born from under a great jasmine,

To sweetly, sweetly,  sting my heart.

Around one o'clock in the morning on Tuesday, October 25, 1938, at 46, Alfonsina Storni left the hotel room where she was staying in Mar del Plata and went to the sea ...

The next morning two workers found, on the beach, the lifeless body of the poet who had foreseen that she would live little.

Bang bang!

 "depressed . . . without phone . . . money for rent . . . money for child support . . . money for debts . . . money!!! . . . I am haunted by the vivid memories of killings & corpses & anger & pain . . . of starving or wounded children, of trigger-happy madmen, often police, of killer executioners . . ."  - Kevin Carter 

Having it all

People ask me to think about those who have nothing, just so I can be thankful about what I have. But that’s such a weak statement... because people who have nothing, just want something... I have something... and that why I now will be forever doomed to want it all.

I don’t think I suffer from low self-esteem...

No, I’m not joking... ¬¬

I mean... I think I have an over estimated version of me, and I get down by my reality really often... but it’s just because I love me so much.

Still what I do need to hear is that I am sick...

I’m sick... please... tell me I’m sick...

I can’t believe the people I talk the most, don’t share my most major interests. That they are shut down and just plain boring... how can someone not like the Lord of the rings? How can someone not have enjoyed star wars!?! I mean this is crucial... how can someone have not read the Harry potter books?? How can someone not be excited about the new superman movies... how can someone not have a position on something, or don’t care about an issue?

I want to stop recording vids by myself; I want to have plans for the weekend that do not involve my grandmother...

I can’t stand nudity... I won’t deny I yearn for it... but once is there... it’s like... "Cover that!"

I blame the media, beer commercials and Calvin Klein... Killed my desire for sex...

I think it was French author Roland Barthes who said that the sexiest part of the human body was the small flash of skin seen through the breach between the skirt and the pullover.... It allows us to desire…

(6 days late)

The authentic details of the extraordinary suicide of Miss Moyes

The authentic details of the extraordinary suicide of Miss Moyes

The Times, for example, fully described the gory details of the appearance of the body but used Latinate terms like "cranium" and "integument" to sound clinical rather than sensational:

Upon examination of the body, it was found that the spine was fractured as also the back of the cranium, but the features are in no way disfigured, save by the appearance of coagulated blood forced from the nostrils, eyes, and mouth by the sudden concussion; the left arm is severed just above the elbow, and is only retained in its place by the integuments and the sleeve of the dress. (LT, 12 Sep. 1839, p. 435, col. 4)

The Observer, though an upper-middle to upper-class paper, offered its Sunday readers something far more dramatic than such dissecting-room language: [39/40]

Her left arm, near the shoulder, came in contact with the bar, and was so violently severed that the part cut off flew over the iron railings several yards into the square. After striking the bar, the body fell an a tub containing a lilac plant, which it broke in pieces, as well as several flower pots, placed on the right side of the door. Not a sign of life, except some contortions of the muscles of the legs and arms, was discernible on the body when it was picked up. (Observer, 15 Sep. 1839, p.1 col. 6)

http://www.victorianweb.org/books/suicide/03.html

Sick at Night

Sick at Night

I got a very long list of things to do... but no will to do it. I don’t know why I didn’t tell anyone I’m sick as hell... I feel weak, my throat my hair... ugh so disgusting all.

I wonder when I exactly started dying... I mean the boy inside me... when did it drop dead. Actually... I remember my teacher telling me when I was 10 that I acted like an 80 year old man... I have never been energetic, and I’ve always been depressive... I guess I was never a boy... something I’m sure I’ve talked about endlessly in other entries.

(1 day late)

Life is chewed gum on the ground

Life is chewed gum on the ground

Like a kid who believes in Santa at 14... I believe blindly, I am unreasonable, I am crazy… I believe in my soul, I believe in god, I believe in freedom… I believe in happiness… I believe above all in my loved one, my soul mate, my reason to live…

How desperate must one person be to believe in such stupid things? Especially when believing hurts as much.

(9 days late)