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)

You are Cruel…

“You are Cruel… you and your black watery eyes… yet a hidden smile behind… You know you enjoy seeing me suffering for you… You know you receive delight in me stretching my hand into the abyss to hold you up… pleasure in my anguish, my pain.”

Life is cruel….

I don’t know how else to say it, so I’ll just say it… my sis told me she is going to kill herself… that’s right, she told me, she came to me while I was on the pc and told me… half hour later we were all watching TV re-runs…

I was… a jerk at first… then; I came to my sense… and became someone who I am really not sure it was me… I gave the lecture… yes that lecture everyone has been giving me since my last post. I was convincing her not to do it… I let her down completely; I was big bro to the rescue… “We love you” “there are dreams” “you can’t do this to us”

Then… I recommended a book… a book that really has helped me, but I won’t say which because its corny and I don’t want to feel that way… and finally, I just asked not to do it at home… because it would be too much of a trauma… god… I’m handling all wrong.

Worst she asked me not to tell anyone… and I’ve kept my word.

I feel, like, she has just changed the all my conceptions on who I am and what am I supposed to do… I haven’t done anything yet! I’m so weak… I can’t, I just can’t figure out

(19 days late)

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Hardlife

 "LIFE

The only thing more inevitable than death is life, says a popular saying; nothing is more inevitable than life; it is impossible not to live; It is the only thing that exists. It is so impossible to stop living, that it overwhelms, there is no respite or pause. Life continually tells you; I am everything there is, everything that exists, there is nothing outside of me, everything exists for me, if I don't exist nothing exists. "

Don Duravida 

God I must be boring…

God I must be boring…

My mom, has been on the phone for hours yapping about this kid… teen, the poor guy is studying overseas… what trauma… and his mom has apparently messed him up by telling him how he can’t be depressed… and he is indirectly screaming for help… apparently he was a jock at school… but now he is well… just a Latino… man the world sucks…

I mean Common!!! I’m your son here! and I’m not mentally healthy either… god… 

I have been nauseous all day… I saw The Lord of the Flies… I thought… boys + shirtless + beach… But it so wasn’t like that… mankind, human beings in general are disgusting beings. Boys are something that just shouldn’t be… Piggy…. I felt so bad for him… and Simon… if I had to choose to be one of them I would take him; I would like to be him…

I feel like crying so badly tonight… I have to read this book.

I must accept I’m not perfect…. I never will be….

I must accept I’m alone… I will forever be…

I must accept… That this life is just not worth it…

I need to think this carefully again… find some poison, and do it… why poison? Because’ I’m a coward… yes… and start writing that note… I think what been keeping me from doing it for almost 10 years is that… I never had a note… I had the knife, the poison, the timing... but not the note…

“I'm a writer. If I was going to kill myself, I would've written one hell of a suicide note.”

Chloe Sullivan

(15 days late)

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Grated Carrot

 Grated Carrot

The first suicide is unique.
They always ask you if it was an accident
or a sincere proposition of death.
They shove a tube up your nose,
hard,
it hurts,
and you learn to not disturb the neighbors.
When you begin to explain that
death-actually-seemed-like-the-only-way-out
or that you did it
to-fuck-up-your-husband-and-your-family
they have all turned their backs
and are watching the transparent tube,
retrieving the parade of your last supper.
Betting on whether its noodles or fried rice.
The doctor on duty coldly tells them:
it’s grated carrot.
“Disgusting,“ says the nurse with big lips.
They disposed of me furiously
because no one won the bet.
The saline dispersed quickly
and ten minutes later,
I was back at my house.
No space to mourn
nor time to feel cold and tremble.
People are unconcerned with death that comes from loving too much.
Child’s play
they say
as if children killed themselves every day.
I looked in Hammett for this exact page:
never tell a word about your life
in any book,
if you can help it.

Miyo Vestrini, died by suicide on November 29, 1991, at 53. Cut her veins. 

Much like in school…

Much like in school… On my free time in collage I wonder down the hallways… I’m telling you this is sad… and it’s not getting better… I think everyone by my age has friend… I’m still a virgin… not only sexually, but emotionally, and even socially… I haven’t lived at all… I’m a virgin in life… and that it’s just a waste...…

I’m not drowning anymore… I think I hit bottom long time ago… and I’m just a dead corpse floating… waiting, till someone decides to sink it…

Yes, I’m not a savior, I’m a victim, and I need to be saved… it’s my life… yes... I’m a fucking needed person… and I can’t help myself, I’m impaired… not physically but in will… I just don’t have any will left… to do anything… I’m just stranded…. Left behind…

Thinking about it

Thinking about it, I am poor… 

Because I need so many things;

I need to pretend I’m going to fall in love and kiss someone. I need to imagine a pretend I’m going to write this novel; I need to imagine I’m going to be rich and successful.

I need to act as if I’m cute, no matter how much Photoshop I have to use to achieve it. I need to keep on drawing and creating as if I believed I’m talented at it. 

I need to stop complaining. I need to clean up. I need to do all the things I have yet to do. I need to do Stuff; I need to feel stuff… I need to believe I’m cool, even though I’m not. ‘ I need to ignore my countries social situation and feel safe in the street, I need to download cool music, even if it’s illegal, I need to watch more movies even if I feel I’m going to puke when doing it, I need to read more books. I need to change my view towards my career not as a burden but as a little annoying thing I just happen to have to do… like taking out the trash.

I know I’m getting dumber as I grow older… I guess it is true adults are just plain stupider.

I know I’m too old to keep up a journal like this, I’m not a teen anymore and all this personal issues should have been resolved by now, I should be working now and debating politics or something.

I need to be cool grown up; I was never a cool kid, nor a cool adolescent, so I owe it to myself to be a cool adult at least.

I guess all I’ve been saying here is… maybe this diary needs to disappear for now. Maybe it’s time to end it, maybe it’s time to let it go… maybe I need to stop doing things 15 year olds do…

Maybe I should stop wearing t shirts and jeans… cut my hair short, stop wasting my money in comics and action figures, and also stop wasting my time on superheroes cartoons. I should stop buying CDs, and lusting of teen Emo bands.

… I remember this day in school, where our Spanish teacher (who really hated me btw) asked us to imagine ourselves in the year 2000. I was so sure I was not going to be around when that happened. 

I can’t honestly see myself next year…

I need to change… I just don’t know how… is giving up on everything the only way? Can’t I be a superheroes geek and not be incredibly pathetic. Can I be lonely person and not be pathetic… can I be broke and not be pathetic…

Honestly all I need is money… people with money can be whatever they want, but I don’t have money, I’m poor bastard… yes lets finally accept it I’m poor compared to how rich I need to be to be myself. 

The fact I think this way proves how poor I am.

It’s all a problem of money? Yes

It’s all a problem of what can we afford and what we can’t… I can’t afford pretending I’m a teen, because if I’m not loaded it feels incredibly shameful and humiliating. I can’t afford being a superheroes geek and live in a rat hole, because it sounds completely absurd. I can’t afford being ameinian because I need a lot of money to look remotely decent.

So yes the thing is I can’t afford being who I want to be. I can’t afford being who I am right now...

Wow, I read this and I can’t believe this is what I’m saying… 

Worst of all this... Is that I could solve most of these problems by killing myself, but I haven’t done it and probably never will…

I’m weak, yes that’s my main flaw, I’m incredibly weak… not only physically, but emotionally and in my personality in general… I’m weak, terribly weak.

I should have thought about it before being born in misery

April 3^rd, 2006

(3 days late)