Zwang Zhawq Spock!

A situation has come up with our dear friend and author of Psychopathic Writings, Zhawq. A situation I, as a concerned citizen and member of the Psychopathic Attentionwhores committee cannot allow to go unmentioned. It seems Our Friend has made some enemies who, found it amusing to post some information about other aliases and sites he frequents. Amusing? Yes. But terribly impressive? No.

The whole issue itself has brought up thoughts that I feel I must force onto a semi-willing audience (that'd be you). Just as I suspected, morbidly curious readers view both my and other sociopaths' blogs with not a single ounce of retention. You read my words and dilute them to fit your own reality. For that reason I'll go through a little 'mini-review lesson' to refresh your withering memories.

Psychopaths don't give two shits to social norms and mores. We don't ignore just the 'cool ones' to ignore, but also the 'embarassing, loserish, ridiculous' taboos as well. The psychopath that attacked Zhawq is a clever boy that realized the best way to irritate a psychopath is not to embarass or humiliate him, since that isn't possible. It's to sick a horde of irritating empaths on him that disallow him to enjoy his normal recreational activities. For Our Friend that activity is blogging.

World of Warcraft isn't 'cool'. Being fat isn't cool. Frequent smiling and a friendly demeanor are definitely, definitely not 'cool' either. So what? Do psychopaths care? I sure don't. I'm glad this happened, I'm glad this came up because it sheds a BRIGHT light on the reality of sociopathy idiotic empaths ignore. We're not your fucking role models.

People aren't successful, then become sociopaths. Sociopaths are people who just happen to have traits that breed success. Confidence, charm, a tongue of the finest silver. The problem with society today is everyone's a loser except the hotshots on TV. And I hate to break it to you but, they aren't real. You all seem to have self-esteem so low it's pathetic. Instead of taking your collective-unhappiness as motivation to create a society tolerant of diversity (a society you ALL could thrive in),  you take the easier, pettier route of belittling others as a way to create the illusion that you yourselves have ascended. Did I already say pathetic?

For those of you that think it's Zhawq's pride being attacked, your observation skills need a little polishing. No matter how many ants try to throw rocks at you, I'm pretty sure you'll survive unscathed. Though from the perspective of another insect it'd seem quite a dangerous situation to walk into, the reality is quite different.

I won't deny a very impressive manipulation is taking place. However, the fact that it's even possible irritates the part of me that prefers its prey with a bit of density in its brain. The predators involved are above reproach. They're only doing what they do best; entertaining themselves. But you, the self-righteous empaths that email me preaching about the errors of my ways, and even MORE so you, the weak-willed souls hoping to manufacture a cloak of sociopathy of your own, shame on you for promoting such an amusing injustice.

Are the accusations true? The answer is irrelevant. Our Friend writes an accurate and insightful blog that sheds a light on psychopathy few others can match in vibrancy or luminosity. I don't care if he's a ninety-eight year old tranny from Nantucket, he's providing a valuable service (and I don't mean 99 cent blowjobs). A service you have the choice to indulge in or not. I for one, am thankful.

Thank you Intimate Stranger and Dearest Friend I've never spoken to, for writing about the things I don't want to! Without people like you, people like me would have much less time to wax-poetic about ourselves. For that I'll be forever grateful.



“The worthiest people are the most injured by slander, as is the best fruit which the birds have been pecking at”

-- Jonathan Swift

Sociopathy: Mask of Sanity or Invisibility?

What am I really? I wonder it from time to time. Everyone has their own opinion; I'm a monster I'm a genius I'm a rat bastard. I know exactly what I am, I can feel it. But that's just it, it has no title. No one can accurately call me one thing or another. I'm a creature of too many parts. A lion with the leap of a rabbit and the wings of a bird. What do you call such a beast?

It's a strange thing, gazing into the eyes of your peers and seeing merely a reflection. A projection of something or someone you could never truly be. The academic, the writer, the healer, the human being. As an empath you can never truly fathom the abstract feeling of watching yourself become something else. Laughing and smiling at things you don't really understand. Human interaction and all its little dips and swerves.

Even the people who know, don't know. There's always two parts to every story; what the author writes and what the author doesn't write. Both are equally important. This author will never write the whole story. The very title of this blog suggests the opportunity to 'peak behind the mask'. But it's not so straightforward, is it? Regardless how much I may want to be in full view of the world, by my very nature that is impossible.

I like clever people; I hate dense people. If you can't read between the lines you aren't meant to know their secrets. A sociopath's brain is built on a system of hierarchy. His or herself being at the top and everyone else being ranked somewhere below (usually quite far to be honest). That's part of why we're so secretive. Does a General share information with a lieutenant? Only the bare minimum. Why? Because an inferior is ill-equiped to utilize such data. Would you give a map to a dog?

Yet more and more I find myself bursting at the seams in frustration. No one is brilliant enough, smart enough, clever enough. I'm up Shit Creek without a paddle. My face is melting from the sheer madness of it all. I've always found such proclamations as "the mask of sanity' in regards to sociopathy to be, more than a little melodramatic. Mask of 'sanity'? No one could be more lucid or sane than I.

But now I look back and forward and upside down and see the melted plastic of conformity sticking to my chin and I ask myself, 'what am I really?' Reality to me, has always been a four dimensional construct. Not everything is straight lines and neat little boxes we can all be sketched into. I've always believed strongly that I am everything I appear to be and more. Actions are the words on the page, it doesn't matter that the lines between tell a different story.

If I give a million dollars to charity one day and kill your mother the next, am I a humanitarian or aren't I? Empaths like to view the world through a muddied window of their own pre-programmed beliefs and ideals. If God says a cat has five legs, it has five legs goddammit! Likewise, if you kill or rape or pillage, or perhaps just happen to lack empathy, you cannot possibly provide a speck of good for society. The concept is too traumatic to process. In psychology it's called Cognitive Dissonance, and is the behavioral basis behind why religious hordes are so fucking stupid.

It's also the basis behind why, unless I dance on a pile of corpses in broad daylight with a bloody knife in my hand and a neon-green shirt that reads "I DID IT!" on the front, no one will suspect be of being anything more than perhaps a bit strange when looked at closely. And I suppose that's what I am when boiled down to size. Psychopaths are just like you, only a bit stranger.