Halloween

Halloween.

A time for Empaths everywhere to dress up and pretend to be like me. Fully clothed monsters. It's actually quite flattering. Fun things always happen around the holidays. The sheer mass of people trampled to death on Black Friday every year fills me with unsubstantiated glee.

And of course along with your cleverly put together holiday monsters, Halloween is also a time for true creatures of the night to slither about unmolested. Most particularly those of the Child-loving variety. The one time of year it's not creepy to ask a little boy if he wants some candy and you truly expect these ever-patient and stigmatized individuals to let such an occasion pass?! You wish.

I actually find such people to be fascinating. Children. These people victimize poor innocent little children, which I admit doesn't effect me as I'm sure it should but still-- children? How dull. I've met more than a few child philanderers in my day, mostly as a child, and I must tell you, they are some of the nicest fuckers you will ever meet.

Now I know you're imagining big scary axe wielding predators and I'm not going to deny that, but no one considers how they lure the kiddies in. They're very kind, understanding and oh so vert patient. They're the helpful neighbor of the criminal world. Walking home alone? They'll give you a ride! Lost, can't find your mommy or daddy? They'll lead you right to them! Need a job? You could mow their lawn... and perhaps maybe after you're all hot and sweaty from all that work you could come inside for some ice cold lemonade? It's absolutely obscene.

And the holidays are their favorite time of year. But not just pedophiles-oh lord no. Many of your friendly neighborhood loonies are more than ready to come out to play after a long year of... being looney. These are the crazies that go out on a beautiful night like I'm positive tonight will be, and go and ruin it with their very brutish and amateur psychoreligious murders. Every year we see these ghoulish mortals a few crayons short of a box, on the news, with outrageously delightful headlines scrawled over their orange jumpsuit covered bodies. "Man eats baby, police find mother in oven," "Local army commander enjoys wearing little girl's panties, more at Eleven."

Perhaps it's the moon. If Werewolves can get a bit edgy around a full moon, why can't the rest of us? It stands to reason if a seemingly normal human can violently rip out of his clothes and morph into a rabid dog-creature just by glimpsing it, a man can be influenced by the moon to wear little pink panties. It seems only reasonable.

But maybe I'm just a tad on edge. I do, as you well know, hate the holidays. Happy people, happily prancing around, expecting me to act happy. It's a tough job being a psychopath, and we are sorely unappreciated for our efforts. Much better than being a Kiddie Diddler though, they sure do get all the sour apples. I would hate to have to be on the prowl on such a lovely night as tonight.

I am.. Upset?

Pissed is more like it. Although I only view anger as a one dimensional tactic. She's gone. Left to some work thing and for about five minutes I admittedly felt slightly off. A bit darker in thinking than I normally am and that is odd. Five whole minutes of a genuine twinge. I am most definitely a creature of habit, change is not my first, middle or last name. Therefore it is an understandable reaction-yet still.

I'm in a poor mood. I don't particularly like it and now you're thinking 'of course you don't like it, moron'. And I respond with 'well you'd be surprised at some of the things I like'. This mood isn't on the list. It happens from time to time- occasionally I let slip my normal self denial that life is in some way meaningful or at least- should be lived through naturally to its conclusion. In reality I don't see the point. Nothing means anything and everything means nothing. I am more interested in the spurting, sluicing sound of the blood from my own carotid as I slice gleefully than the entirety of all the history of my family.

It has nothing to do with sadness and everything to do with boredom. Bored bored bored is what I am and this level of eternal boredom can make you do whacky things. Like kill your whole family but I would never do that. No, I'm much too lazy, really I don't understand the logic behind murder, why go through all the effort of subduing others when you're perfectly full of blood and skin and gore to be flung around the room carelessly yourself? I don't have to duct-tape myself to the chair- I already promised not to struggle. And as surely as I trust my right hand to act as my right hand I trust myself not to fight.

Now you're thinking, 'I am reading insanity'- and that may be true. But really is insanity anything to really flee from? We're all a bit off in our own merry ways and really shouldn't you Empaths be more accepting and the like? Can't you empathize with my psychosis? Shame shame on you if not. God only allows the most patronizing into heaven- something about being 'in his image'.  I don't know, I'm not the expert. Why else would I have hired you?

Anyway now I am here alone and am convinced I'm having some sort of ridiculously ill-timed flashback because you wouldn't believe what I just thought I saw walking through my kitchen. I'll even give you a hint- it has eight tentacles and walks on two legs. Exactly. We're on the same page, I definitely need some help and of course by 'help' I mean more booze.  I wonder what the world record is for self-stabbings? That's not a threat just honest curiousity I mean, damn. That must be one hard world record to break and if you're lucky you MIGHT get like one and a half shots at it. Now there's an Olympic sport I'd watch! They could have their metals affixed to their Urn.

Facade Slip

Revenge is a funny thing. Some say it's a vile, wretched thing and others say it's sweeter than any fruit. I tend to agree with the latter. I suppose one way to define sociopathy is to imagine that wonderful feeling of vengeance except- the person never did anything to you in the first place. Can you picture it?

I don't know why I take so much enjoyment out of the suffering of others. My best deduction is simply- they annoy me. Human beings are more filthy and repugnant than the soggiest rat and more shifty than a cockroach. You bastards can't be trusted. I honestly don't understand the fear toward sociopaths. All we do is play your game better, smarter, and more efficiently than you do. If you didn't lie, connive, deceive and manipulate we wouldn't either. It's like teaching your dog to shit on the rug then beating him for it. Naughty naughty empaths.

The other day a friend of mine said to me, "I don't know why, but I kinda feel like I should be afraid of you." That my friends, is me not doing my job correctly. I mean sure, I have always occasionally come across people who were too intuitive for their own good- but recently I've obviously been slipping, because this hasn't been the only time this year people have questioned my sincerity. Not good.

The interesting thing is none of these times has been when I was in a particularly threatening mood. In fact- both times I was joking around about something. Perhaps I have an evil cackle. That's always a dead give away. Damned empaths and their fairytales- makes them too knowledgeable about villains apparently.

Anyway, what this tells me is my heavy workload is effecting my camouflage. I mean, it's not like I chose a very complex character as my main facade anyway. I chose a very easy to pull off- angry, not-so-nice acting but nice-in-a-way character to portray to peers, and I apparently can't even pull that off. Once again, not good.

Maybe I should switch it up- keep things interesting. I've had to many times before. What will I be this time? Prep, devout christian, geek, nerd, human by day-vampire by night schizoid? The possibilities are endless. I think I'll stick with what I am now. It is after all, the closest to my true personality- that makes it easier. And in case you didn't know, easier is always better.

“It turns out that an eerie type of chaos can lurk just behind a facade of order - and yet, deep inside the chaos lurks an even eerier type of order” Douglas Hostadter

Insanity is a Missed-Night's Sleep Away

According to Einstein the definition of insanity is doing the same thing a million times and expecting a different result. I disagree. Insanity is more like doing the same thing a million times and never expecting a different result. It is that slight twitch in your brow when someone punctures your facade with their irritating presence and you smile outwardly as inside the beast is rattling his cage, begging for release-but once again you must say no.

No No No mister beast, drop the knife and step back into your cage, be a good little beast and sing me a lullaby so perhaps I won't lose my shit and go insane-it's all the rage. I suppose it's the tiredness speaking. Exhausted, weary dreariness. Being nice and good and responsible really isn't my cup of gin. Not when I'm this agitated it's not. No no no. I try to stay well rested because the alternative's a bit off.

Science really is a fascinating thing. Just it itself, nothing in particular about it. The fact that it exists. That some person, in some long ago time just thought to himself one day "how does this work? And also.. how can I explain how this works in the most pretentious, impossible to understand way imaginable?" And science was born.

That's not to say social studies and language arts aren't difficult in their own right- but I'm very good at bullshitting. And that's all writing is. I mean sure, there is nothing remotely special about the writing in this blog-and that's on purpose. I have neither the time, give-a-fuck, or inclination to make this some sort of 'work of art' or some crap like that. Especially since the majority of the time when I start posting on here I'm practically dead on my ass, fantasizing about sleep like a whore fantasizes about twenties.

But I digress, mostly because I can hardly think.

“I start to feel like I can’t maintain the facade any longer, that I may just start to show through. And I wish I knew what was wrong. Maybe something about how stupid my whole life is. I don’t know. Why does the rest of the world put up with the hypocrisy, the need to put a happy face on sorrow, the need to keep on keeping on?... I don’t know the answer, I know only that I can’t. I don't want any more vicissitudes, I don't want any more of this try, try again stuff. I just want out. I’ve had it. I am so tired. I am twenty and I am already exhausted.” Elizabeth Wurtzel