Take a Peak Behind the Mask

"Success is the sole earthly judge of right and wrong."- Adolf Hitler

Tuesday, June 28, 2011

One Year Ago Today... It Began

I had no intentions of writing about this today. It has been on my mind, but not at the tips of my fingertips. Each post I write, or at least most of them, is written in my head before I ever find the motivation or the need, to see it here, etched in screen, immortalized letter by letter, pixel by pixel.

There's a lot to consider when determining what to write-- not that I put much thought into it. One is my audience, which is namely myself. I am a narcissist, but a unique one. My satisfaction comes solely in impressing myself. When I write anything, be it a simple poem or a complex expository, my goal is that months, years or even minutes later, when I reread this work, it will entertain me.

Second is that I maintain a level of honesty. I know that sounds odd. An honest psychopath? Remember though, my honesty and yours are different species of beast. At the header of my blog is a statement that is more a reminder for me than an enticement for you; take a peak behind the mask. That is my thesis, the prompt of this blog.

Most of you don't know this, but this is not my first attempt at 'blogging'. I have always desired a sort of record of myself, a log through which I could view my own progression over time. My first attempt was flawed, it lacked a point, a direction. Rereading it now though, is amazing. The change is staggering. I realized while reading it, what the difference was between this endeavor and that one. Honesty. Not necessarily more honesty versus less, but one level of honesty versus another.

Here I often talk about the various masks I wear, behind one central mask; an omnipotent observer. I talk in theory rather than in example. In my previous journal I wrote about my day, as the person I was that day. Reading it, it has never been more obvious to me that I am a psychopath. I know that sounds crazy, I WRITE about being a psychopath for fuck's sake. But it's true.

Each post, every single one-- was different. Not just in composition but in personality. A different person wrote each one. It may seem like a stupid kid's journal, but from knowing eyes I see it for what it really is; a log of my sociopathy from day to day. How? Each new post was different. Each emotion discussed was shallow and fleeting, the tone shifted radically every time.

Looking back, I can literally recall what shows I had been watching and what people I was hanging out with simply from my drastic shifts in diction and syntax. It was obvious the person writing had no true identity. And each time I would go back and read, even a day later, I felt disgust. Who is this?! Not me!
Because it wasn't.

I was in a rut. I wanted to write about myself but I had no identity. I was bland, colorless water, with no cup to mould to. In a constant state of free-fall. I was writing lies-- everyday lies. Lies I didn't need a keyboard and anonymity to tell.

 Often, in the middle of telling of some daily drama in my life I would stop and rant out of frustration. Try to express the truth; but I didn't feel it was understandable. How could I make anyone comprehend that the story I just told, whether it be sad, funny or aggravating, was just as unreal to me as it would be to a nameless, faceless reader who didn't know me? That yes, Johnny stole ten bucks from me and my girlfriend cheated on me with a fag (literally), and that yes, I displayed emotions for all of those things but in reality, I felt none of them. How could I?

It is often declared that psychopaths are not self-aware. That is bullshit, and it is also the truth. In some ways I have always been self-aware-- you might say more so than others, but in other ways I was unknowingly dense. You may not realize it but right now, this very moment, I am answering a question you empaths ask me often. When did you realize you were a psychopath?

The time period of which I wrote my previous journal, was a time of transition for me. I had always known I was different in a way, but at this point in my life it began slapping me in the face like a sledgehammer. I was getting anxious, antsy. Sick of my own reality. Tired of asking the question; why don't I feel anything?

It enraged me. Made me wonder at my own humanity, and hate everyone else's. Because ladies and gentlemen, I knew I was different but felt I was the same. I knew I didn't feel sadness but still thought I was capable. I had seen people killed in cold blood but rationalized that it didn't effect me because I didn't know them very well.

On a cool and cloudy day, years ago, a 'loved'-one died on my birthday. He was in a hospital bed, in his own home and I was sitting beside him.  A good man, a kind man. Very sweet and giving, much like a child in his innocence. He loved to play with toys of all kinds, they brought a sparkle to his eyes only seen in the most nurtured of children. He was an enigma to me. An older man who uttered sweet words and gave gifts to me with no ulterior motive; a man I could turn my back to without wariness. Everything about him was lovable. I was impatient for him to die.

I liked him, he gave me no reason not to. The callousness of a psychopath has nothing to do with 'like' or 'dislike'. Those are an Empath's motivations. Rather, we live in the moment-- I, live in the moment. To put it simply and maybe 'cruelly', I liked him when he was beneficial, but now he was a nuisance. His dying inconvenienced me.

I was watching television when I felt it; knew he was about to die. People like me, who have carried on a love affair with death, we feel it. Every sense is another eye, reading a story with a clear ending. My irritation evaporated, I muted the television and turned to him. Something about death has always called to me. It intoxicates me, transforms me into something else. My eyes see everything and yet nothing at all, everything zones in on the deceased and I can feel death tangibly like it's tapping me on the shoulder.

I could feel inside of him. I could taste his perspiration in the air and I could see his lungs sputtering and struggling for another breath; just one more. My gaze was dispassionate and all-consuming; curious even. I realized then, that I should be feeling something; sadness? I stared at him strongly, like you stare into a shadow where someone said they saw something you did not. I wanted to find that something, but I didn't. He stopped breathing. I un-muted the T.V.

Fifteen minutes, maybe a half hour later I found what I was looking for. My family came back, and they saw him. The sight was unimaginable; something I couldn't conjure up on my own. They were inconsolable, truly distraught. Wailing. The wailing was intense and passionate and desperate. Emotion. So much emotion, I can't describe it, the horror on their faces wasn't something a hollywood director could re-enact. It was surreal; powerful. Their grief was so heavy they clung to each other desperately as if the weight of his death were truly crushing them.

I remember sitting on the couch with the remote in my hand, eyes shifting from the T.V to them and trying valiantly to feel there was a difference. I'll be honest, I even tested out the Mute button to see if it would work. It didn't. I was confused and worried. Confused at what it was they were doing/feeling and worried because I didn't feel it too, and I wasn't even sure how to fake it.

So yes, in that way a psychopath is self-aware from childhood. But our memories are short--like I said, we live in the moment. With the passage of time part of me forgets how intrinsically different I am. Especially after all the time I spend pretending. It's easy to consider my acting my reality. But it isn't my reality, it's theirs. Yours. You, the Empath.

Then I discovered Sociopathy and I was less confused. No, I didn't become a Sociopath overnight, just like a nice 'upstanding' straight-boy doesn't become a 'degenerate' queer overnight. You're always different, but then you find a name for it. What that allowed me to do was be honest, in my own way. A different kind of honesty than was present in my past writings. A more self-aware honesty. And so this blog began... exactly one year ago. Happy Anniversary.

Sunday, June 26, 2011

Sexless Seduction

I recently discovered a blog about seduction. The author was decidedly sociopathic, and his techniques/advice were valid. I was nominally interested because manipulation is a common theme of mine, but that interest was not perennial. Not because his technique was in any way flawed, but because the information is rote to me by this point.

Seduction is not difficult. Moreover, it has never thrilled me in any sense. It is however, a necessity. You should be wondering, what seduction is to me; because it is not the same to everyone. My definition is simple; seduction is the persuasion of a person or persons, through use of erotic stimuli. The misconception often is, that the goal or purpose of seduction, is sex. For some that may be true, but rarely ever is that the case for me.

Seduction to me is a useful means of manipulation. Its purpose is to lend an advantage in persuasion. I most often use it with persons of authority. You may be questioning, how erotic persuasion can have nothing to do with sex. It's simple really, I create a warped... 'friendship' that can only be described as pseudo-sexual. The idea is to entice a low level of sexual interest that borders the lines of friendship intriguingly. A level low enough as to be mistaken as friendly, but the signs of success are very separable from the signs of a successful 'friendship' with no sexual undertones.

I learned of this valuable means of manipulation quite with a mixture of curiosity and experimentation. When I was younger and realized I was different mentally from my peers, I really began experimenting with how my behavior effected others. I really started taking note of how what I said and did changed people's perceptions of me, either favorably or unfavorably. In middle school, when I really blossomed intellectually, I noticed that my intelligence in itself, altered others' view of me.

A brilliant child is intimidating, especially to adults. I learned that my intellect could fuel admiration and envy, and that both had their separate benefits and detriments. Piece by piece, interaction by interaction, I learned the art of seduction. I also began to learn that the general population's ideas regarding manipulation were humorously flawed. Their perceptions on what it is to control another human being was often garnered from the media; corny movies and overdramatic novellas. I was learning the truth.

A saying I often coin is that, "communication IS manipulation"and conversely, "manipulation is communication." At its most baser level, that's what it is, a series of unconscious manipulations. The main driver of manipulative communication is Empathy. That is why the average person does not realize how manipulative they really are, because empathy is a passive trait. For the psychopath, that last statement is untrue. The reason psychopaths are known for manipulation, is because our manipulation is always conscious rather than subconscious. It's not a choice, it's a necessity.

Another common analogy I use, especially to those very close to me (of which there are few), is that I am water and they are a bowl. I mould myself to fit into them, in most ways that are necessary. Which really is the word of the day, necessity; that is what shapes many of the principles I have come to follow. Naturally, alone, with no person or persona to influence me, I am truly a bland, shapeless being. I have few (if any) true likes or dislikes unless they are overwhelmingly dictated by biology rather than true preference. For instance, certain allergies demand I avoid certain foods over others (not that I do... bad-ZKM!).

But this doesn't mean exactly what it might suggest. I do not simply mimic people, I discovered long ago that was unnecessary and not fully effective. Well, I'll try to explain this honestly/clearly (which is often a difficult feat). At first I do, that is a part of my 'process'. When first introduced to a person I am neutral, observant, I get a sense for who they are, then naturally without much thought, slowly begin to absorb them. This process is so ingrained to me, that sometimes I initiate it in circumstances when I don't mean to. Everything about a person from the way they speak (do they have an accent?) to the gestures they use   to the level of education they have, begins to work its way into my identity (or at least, the identity I project to them). This is what we'll call, Stage Two.

Stage Two is beneficial because it allows me to fully integrate this person into the database that is my mind. From here I ease my way into Stage Three, which involves moulding myself more complimentarily. This is where, after strong observation, I decide which traits they most desire I have in common with them, and which traits they would prefer were different. This of course, is assuming that my goal, is simply friendship or attachment.  Stage Three is heavily influenced by my goal, in fact, the goal is absolutely vital. If I do not have a goal, there is no Stage Three.

Why did I mention all of this? Get so seemingly far off-topic? Well, partially because I always get off-topic, but mostly it was on purpose. The difference between this seduction I am known for, and any other of my manipulations has everything to do with Stage Three. After successfully completing the first and second steps of my 'manipulation' (for the lack of a better word) I reevaluate my goal before proceeding. To create this pseudo-sexual bond, I need to manufacture the right combination of tension and fondness between me and my subject. Reread my last sentence, it was crucial. The secret is TENSION and FONDNESS. 

Don't ask me why it works, but it does. It is always tricky for me to explain here, with words, all that goes into what I do everyday. Because a lot of what I do, involves a good dose of what one might call "instinct', but I call "in-the-moment-analysis/action'. After every word I say I am carefully looking for reaction and analyzing if said reaction is flowing in the direction I desire it to. There are certain cues that show me I am successful. 

Case-in-point: the reduction of physical boundaries. This is the most illustrative example of success. The mark will suddenly feel the urge to increase physical closeness and this is often characterized by familiar, though appropriate, touches. These touches are often not customary of this person, that is part of how you can tell. I have had others notice and mention to me," _____ seems to touch you a lot more than usual... weird."

The benefit of this subtle form of seduction is that it constantly places my motives and actions at an advantage. Everything from my work to my ideas are seen automatically from a more positive light. I might delve into this more at a later date.

Thursday, June 23, 2011

Happy Now?

Everyone makes mistakes.

What an irritating statement. I do on occasion make errors in judgment. They are not usually huge errors that effect my livelihood, but rather, my mental state. I hate wasting time. I especially hate people, who waste MY time. It's very precious to me. There are only so many hours in a day, and most of those are wasted on undesirable or at least, un-entertaining endeavors.

When I become obsessed with something I often sink inordinate amounts of time into it. This could be a specific pursuit, the study of a specific subject, or it can be in a person, a relationship. The most irritating thing to me is having that time and effort spit back into my face. Then I must reevaluate what the hell it is I've been doing.

Sometimes my obsessions prove fruitful and follow me year to year, and other times I am slapped in the face with my apparent mistake. Mistake. Mistake. Mistake. What a lovely word, it really bites you in the ass when you don't want it to. Do I have regrets? Not in the form of "I wish I could change that." But rather in the form of "No more. No longer."

Sometimes it's prudent to tap yourself on the shoulder when you realize the ditch you've been digging, isn't going to get you to China. I am always flabbergasted at how unappreciative people are of me. Society always seems to paint psychopaths one-dimensionally as the source for all the world's strife. Flip the paper over and see the reality; we do just as much good as harm. Maybe not intentionally, but does motive ever really matter?

When you idiots lounge in the aura of my charisma; languish in the baths of my flattery; rejoice from behind the walls of the self esteem *I* built you, how dare you cast stones? Everyone despises Satan. They think he's so deplorable because he 'fools' poor mortals into paying for the favor he grants them. NOTHING IS FREE. I created a world fit for your desires to please you, do you think you get to leave me empty-handed? No, you don't. I am enraged when Empaths take the gifts I give them for granted. I can just as easily snatch them away.

But why should I have to? Fair is fair, isn't it? How is it, I am the Devil, but you are the ones who try to screw me? I am so altruistically following the so-called rules of your fucking morality, which it seems you do not even follow yourselves. So I guess my point is; Danger! Danger! Danger! Rethink how you want this to end--IF you want this to end. If you don't I'd consider this a time for a reevaluation of strategy. It's only fair.

“There are no mistakes. The events we bring upon ourselves, no matter how unpleasant, are necessary in order to learn what we need to learn; whatever steps we take, they're necessary to reach the places we've chosen to go.”

--Richard Bach

Wednesday, June 22, 2011

ZKM-The Early Years

Today, let's talk a little bit about ZKM, shall we?

I have always been interested in myself, in a very self-aware way. Since childhood I noticed a disconnect in myself I didn't notice in others. I was always different. Very strongly, I believe that I was born with a mental abnormality somewhere on the antisocial/autism scale. My full-fledged psychopathy however, I believe was nurtured by my environment, definitely. That is often a question I and other psychopaths receive on a semi-constant basis, "do you believe you are a Nature or a Nurture psychopath?" For me it is definitely a combination of both.

A phrase I have used for countless years to describe myself is, "I was born thirty," and it really couldn't be anymore true. My self-awareness is truly amazing, my memory stretches back to even months old. This is part of how I can really map my mental development. Memories from when I was an infant up to young childhood are of course, not the same as memories from yesterday or even adolescence. They are very vague and unclear, seen through an undeveloped mind. Often they are of being held and watching mouthes move but having no understanding or even the foresight to question what is being heard.

So you can imagine, even as a child I was very thoughtful and introspective. I was 'callous' and unfeeling--more so than average children, but at that point I had no realization that I was doing anything wrong in anyone's eyes, not just my own. This is where I really began to begin my dissent into psychopathy. In psychology we're taught morals and the learning of proper social behavior is most developed in the earlier formative years, believe it or not. This is when our brains really establish a disposition one way or the other in terms of behavior that is 'ingrained' and 'natural' for us to model ourselves after.

This is also when I was surrounded, not by bright and upstanding citizens, but dull and degenerate lowlifes who made sure I had no idea what empathy even was until I was removed by the state from my living situation just prior to adolescence. By then of course, it was too late.

People who grew up in nice suburban areas can never fully understand all the ways that being raised in a ghetto is different. Of course there is the obvious, drugs/violence/etc. But also, the fundamental child-rearing beliefs are drastically different. I was never a child because I never acted like one. As soon as you display the mental ability to enter into the life, you're thrust into it head first. I was expected to do a lot of the things the adults did, as soon as I was able. In large part this was because of my brilliance. I can recall giving advice on any number of things, from financial to personal-- and this was as a child!

The hugest thing I was enmeshed in at that point in time was conning. This was obviously because I was such a huge benefit, the general belief among people seems to be that children can't lie convincingly--this is a lie that made it a lot easier for me to do my job. Unbeknownst to them, the skills learned while making them money, really enhanced my psychopathy more toward a level it's at now. All the shit I say about manipulation; body language/voice intonation/technique-- is garnered from personal experience getting people to do what I want without the ability to physically force them.

These years I was also abused in most ways I can think of. Any empathy that may have trickled in from above was deftly stomped out, crushed and set on fire. It is hard to explain how this effected me, it truly is. I can't say I was completely apathetic to it, but definitely not emotional either. I guess the best way to describe it was, I was emotionally retarded. I was really brilliant in some ways, and really dumb in others. I never really connected people's actions to their feelings, and I never really connected incidences together. In hindsight I can recall several beatings I should have saw coming. I can also recall getting beaten much more savagely than other children simply because I didn't display the correct amount of devastation.

The rule for when to stop beating someone is about 5-minutes after they begin crying and pleading for you to stop. For some reason I never seemed to. In my mind's eye I see, more than one time when, an adult was practically running toward me with every obvious indication they were going to beat the living shit out of me, and I didn't even flinch. Like I saw them rushing toward me, fist lifted, and made no connection that I was going to get struck. And after they struck, I was surprised every time they did after that. Like I had forgotten they fucking hit me two seconds ago. This was not nerves of steal, it was a lack of processing in my brain. Another issue with that was my inability to cry. I would get beaten, and feel intense pain, but not cry. This has led me to believe that tears are a learned rather than a purely biological response to negative stimuli.

Eventually, I did learn that in order to survive I would need to fake certain emotions at certain times. Another way I was helped along in this endeavor, was the fact that I terrified my mother, and her boyfriend. They were avid drug-users, and very early-on they gave me the lovely nickname, Satan (or Devil). This was on account of my unnatural apathy for a child. They would often scream out passionate verses from the Bible while beating me, "I DEFY THEE SATAN!" and other such charming phrases. This truly amused me, even then, because I had read more of the Bible than either of them (on account of being forced to) and I realized quite clearly that they were much closer to being spawns from hell than I ever could be. I truly had 'flat-effect' as a child, my face always remained impassive-- I never smiled, and that is what really disturbed people.

People would always look at my face and exclaim "Why are you angry?!" Which always confused me because I was never angry, I couldn't understand what made them think that. Eventually, after getting beaten every time I got caught not showing emotion, I was trained basically like a dog, to smile. This brutal lesson follows me today. If you were to meet me in person you'd notice I smile frequently, if not always, regardless what I am discussing. I am not popular at funerals. Though I have made this flaw in myself a fitting part of many of my personalities, so it seems more natural (and with enough focus I can act out other more fitting emotions as well).

Anyway, after being taken out of a callous environment and thrown into the world of the Middle-Class Emotional I was absolutely flabbergasted. But this post is getting a bit long-winded, perhaps I should elaborate on this another day.

Monday, June 20, 2011

Insomnia, Stress and Lies

I'm ill, very tired, very worn. I've pushed myself past any limits to get to this point. Physical, definitely. Mental, definitely. Today was a monumental day. I was backed into a corner, had no choice. A wild animal can do crazy things, because it's always in danger, always back to the wall.

I talk a lot about manipulation and lying, but I failed to mention one of the most important circumstances when it comes to either. Desperation. Necessity. Up until this point I have talked about the IDEAL methods of manipulation and the IDEAL rules to follow in social interactions. Ideal ideal ideal. What do you do when the situation isn't ideal?

THINK! Always think. I can't stress that enough. I sure do mention THINKING a lot, hmm, I wonder if that means it's important? Yes, it is. Always be aware of your situation, your tactics and your goal. It may seem impossible to think while in a desperate situation, but if that's the case, you really haven't learned much at all.

What do I mean, desperate? A situation in which your life/livelihood/something important to you, hangs in the balance of this lie. What a desperate situation also usually entails, is that it is NOT the ideal situation for a lie.

One of the most basic things I talk about, that any petty con man knows, is that ideally, if you're going to lie, lie about something that can't be reaffirmed. Yes, that's child's play. But how do you manipulate a person when you don't have an advantage? When the cards are stacked against you and you HAVE to lie about something that CAN be checked up on, what do you do?

Or how about, how do you lie when all the evidence points towards your guilt? Welcome to my puzzle today ladies and gentle-paths! If you solved the problem in 10 seconds like I had to, you get a cookie!

I really, truly, have been stretched farther than I have ever before, these past months. I have been sleeping, on average 2-4 hours per 72 hour time period. I have been working, nonstop. I have not prowled in the night. Not tasted the mist of darkness on my tongue nor felt the prickling of the watcher's eye guiding my actions. I haven't been alive, not for months.

So you would think, my ability to perform would be stunted-- and it probably is, I'm sure. But today only proves, I am what I am, until I literally cannot stand anymore. I am so exhausted my bones literally have that warm fuzzy feeling you feel before collapse (and no I don't wish to get into the biology of that ;)), yet today, when threatened I did exactly what I had to do. Lie-- and lie well.

Not that I have an aversion to lying normally but I have rules. Not moral rules, no. More like.. guidelines. There is a time and place for lying, sometimes telling the 'truth' is more beneficial. Today I had to break my own rules. I had to throw out a lie that was so blatant I'm surprised my nose didn't grow a foot long. The problem was, all evidence led to me.

The issue with situations like that is there is only one real angle to fly from. Logically, I was guilty. Thank the fucking Lord Empaths don't rely on logic alone! I was in a corner, pressed tight with a blade to my carotid and I really wasn't all that worried. Which is an irritating trait of the psychopath in my opinion, I never seem to care the hammer is falling until it hits me in the head.

I had a short time to consider my options, milliseconds really, and normally I would choose what *I* call the 'truth', which is basically a lie that incriminates you enough to look honest, but not so much as to make you look... psychopathic. But this time, in my mind, I couldn't afford to. Or at least, I was sick of being irritated and exhausted and unable to dance with copper in the moonlight, so I went for it. I used the only tactic that for some reason, can occasionally beat logic. Emotion!

I was really quite fantastic, mimicking perfectly the behavior of an Empath accused of a crime they didn't commit. My words were on the offense, not the defense. My argument was vehement and simple, not elaborate. I was exasperated and frustrated and very upset that I wasn't believed. Thankfully, it worked.

Now as a sort of... warning? I always strongly analyze a situation before I make a move. As I always say, one tactic is NOT always right for a situation. Never assume that is what I mean. I often leave out much of my thought process because frankly, it's boring to me. I knew who I was talking to, had analyzed their personality enough, and considered the ambiguity of the evidence enough, to know that if I played my part perfectly, it could work.

Don't try this at home kids!
"The last refuge of the insomniac is a sense of superiority to the 
sleeping world. " 
 Leonard Cohen