My love,
I give this to you, on our wedding day. I won't be reading this aloud. I won't be in a crowded room surrounded by people when you read this.
In a few hours, we will be husband and wife, and the life we both dreamed of will finally become a reality.
But until then, I wanted to leave you with a little something to think about.
I love you. I've loved you since we first met, way back when. We were kids, but how could either of us foretell the future?
Kurt had Courtney, Johnny had June, John had Yoko, and I've got you. You have been my one constant light, and I want to hold you so tight that you'll never extinguish. I hold a special place in my heart for you, and in that little room you will always be safe.
This may sound cliché, but when I saw you again for the first time, so many many years after we first met, I knew that this day would come. I knew that I would be standing across from you, and I knew that I would hear those words that I have longed to hear since we crossed paths so suddenly and unexpectedly; "You may now kiss the bride".
We've kissed many times, and from the first time our lips touched, I knew it... I felt it... I tasted it... that you'd be my wife. When you lay your hand on my face, electricity flows through my skin. It crackles with anticipation. My heart... my soul... it lights up with a fire bright and powerful enough to keep us both warm on the coldest night.
Well, you've read enough, and I've written enough. I figure if I don't save something for the vows, then you won't have anything to look forward to. Well, besides our own private afterparty, when the reception is done and over with. ;)
I cannot wait to spend the rest of my life with you. See you at the altar.
**note: this is just a little something i came up with. i picture, in my mind, me leaving this to my wife-to-be on the nighstand for her to find when she wakes up on our wedding day. obviously, it's a little fictional, because i'm nowhere close to being married. but this is the kinda thing i'd do.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
"Sick of the same old thing, so I dig a hole and bury the pain"
I'm back again... I managed to find my way onto a computer. I'm thankful for that. I don't get much of a chance to write these days.
I wouldn't call myself "on the run", but it's just a lot safer if some people don't see me. I managed to talk my way out of that damn place I was in last week; I'm so good with people, it's scary.
Well, scary could be considered what I've done to... hmm... should I call 'em victims? I dunno. My subjects? Yeah, that's more appropriate.
Okay, on to what I went through this bullshit for in the first place. I feel the need to release these demons inside me. I've taken so many lives, one could compare me to Bundy or Dahmer and call them pussy little faggots in comparison. What I've done to my people makes Manson look like Micheal J. Fox.
Maybe a little background information on myself wouldn't hurt. If you knew more about me, you might actually like me. My name is Martin. I'm a nice guy, or at least I like to think. I grew up in the city, but spent a lot of time outside of it during the summers and Christmas. I was never picked on as a child, but I never had a lot of friends. My parents have always been good to me and my sisters (i'm the only boy), and I don't ever remember any unkind words being thrown my way.
All in all, I guess you could say I had a pretty sensible and normal childhood. I never killed puppies, I never pulled the wings off of flies or tortured anything. As a matter of fact, I'd always be greatly saddened if I happened to come across a bird with a broken wing.
Ask my mom; I was constantly bringing home stray animals or anything that needed help.
High school wasn't much different. People liked me, I guess, but they also didn't pay a lot of attention to me. Not for lack of trying on my part; I just blended in. I consider myself to be of average looks. I've always flown just under the radar.
Maybe that's why people never ever suspected me of doing what I've done until I finally got caught. But we'll talk about THAT later. For now, I just need to tell you about some of the things I've done. The last time I was here, I do believe I mentioned the first time I killed someone. There was no rhyme or reason behind killing her; a voice inside me just told me that she had to be killed. And kill that little bitch, I did.
I've never been selective. I have raped old men, I have killed young girls. When the urge hits, I just do what I'm told. Think of Bruce Banner turning into the Hulk. It's like there's a green monster inside me. The only difference is that when I change, it's all on the inside.
The second time I took a life, I came in my pants. It was the most intense orgasm I've ever experienced in my life.
What happened was this: I was waiting for the bus one day, and a... hmm... I use the term loosely here... gentleman came up to me asking for a cigarette. He wasn't really that much of a man, considering he was wearing lipstick and eyeliner. My first thought was that he was a faggot. Did I mention that I hate fags? Well I do. I'm not big on niggers either.
But that's besides the point.
The green monster knocked at the door, and I answered. I had to come up with a plan quickly, so I struck up a harmless conversation with the guy, with it ending in me inviting him back to my apartment. He thankfully obliged.
What is it with these fags anyway? Are they really that hard up that they'll fuck just anybody? I don't get it. Queers have always blown my mind. I don't understand them. Sometimes you just know when somebody wants to fuck you.
When we got back to my place, I locked the door behind me and grabbed his cock. With that, he took it as a sign I wished to be kissed.
Not exactly.
I played along for a bit, and when his pants were off, I pushed him down onto my couch and made as if I was going to suck him off. Well, I did have him in my mouth, but it was by no means a pleasure for him. I bit down as hard as I could, and chomped his own personal shit disturber clean off.
Now, anyone who knows anything about anatomy knows that if a dude's got a raging hard-on, it means his heart is gonna be racing.
And what happens when a racing heart comes into play with a wide-open wound? Yep. Blood splatter.
I guess it wasn't an issue, because, well, I wasn't gonna get caught. Not for this guy.
But people know about it now, because I feel the need to release my demons. I'll be brought to justice eventually, but until then, I'll just talk about these people. It's a good way to kill some time.
So El Faggo starts to scream... I took his now dismembered member, and shoved it into his throat. And what happens when you get something put into your mouth that shouldn't be there? You choke. Who would've thought a dick was a better sound muffler than a sock? Well it is. I guess the fact that my hands were around his throat helped, too. To look into someone's eyes while you have your hands around their throat is almost liberating. To have that control... It made me extremely aroused.
I was hard as a rock... I didn't need to touch myself to know how hard I was. The look in his eye was one of terror, pain, and "Why are you doing this to me? What did I do to deserve this, man?"
At what seemed like the very instant I saw the life flicker from his eyes, I came in my pants. It was one of those "eyes roll up in the back of your head, every toe and finger involuntarily tighten" orgasms that you read about in the porno magazines.
If you've ever choked someone, and I doubt you have, something funny happens to their eyeballs. They turn reddish and bloodshot. That's what I read, anyhow, and, well, I guess I read right this time. It was actually really fun to see.
The blood had severely slowed from the gushing waterfall of his crotch wound earlier at this point, as well. I guess it was due to his heart not beating. That might have something to do with it.
But it hadn't stopped. Gravity is a real bitch. I had to move the body into my bathroom to do what else I wanted to do.
I was still pretty hard, believe it or not. I still had some life in me, if you will. Not like this soon to be dismembered body.
It didn't really take much as far as an effort goes to haul him into the bathroom. Adrenaline is a funny thing.
After I had him tossed into the tub, I went a-searchin' for a sharp enough knife with which to take off his arms and legs.
And with much work, it happened... But a thought struck me when his left arm was removed. I've done the whole "stranger" technique when it comes to masturbation before... You know; you sit on your hand until it falls asleep, then jack off. It kinda feels like a stranger is doing it.
Well, I took that one step further.
I took this guy's arm, and formed his hand into a position all men are familiar with. So I jerked off with the dismembered hand, and came all over the place where his dick used to be. That was the second most intense orgasm of my life.
And, well, I kinda lost interested after that. Jerking off on a dead guy's body with his own dismembered hand can take a lot out of you.
I don't need to spare you the details of how I got rid of the body. Let's just say I highly doubt it's ever gonna be found.
Well, it seems I've gotta get going again. I'm not really too sure about this café. I just got a really really suspicious look from someone. To tell you the truth, I think it was the bus driver that was on the route that day me and El Faggo took the bus back to my place.
I'll be back as soon as I can, though. I have much more to talk about.
I wouldn't call myself "on the run", but it's just a lot safer if some people don't see me. I managed to talk my way out of that damn place I was in last week; I'm so good with people, it's scary.
Well, scary could be considered what I've done to... hmm... should I call 'em victims? I dunno. My subjects? Yeah, that's more appropriate.
Okay, on to what I went through this bullshit for in the first place. I feel the need to release these demons inside me. I've taken so many lives, one could compare me to Bundy or Dahmer and call them pussy little faggots in comparison. What I've done to my people makes Manson look like Micheal J. Fox.
Maybe a little background information on myself wouldn't hurt. If you knew more about me, you might actually like me. My name is Martin. I'm a nice guy, or at least I like to think. I grew up in the city, but spent a lot of time outside of it during the summers and Christmas. I was never picked on as a child, but I never had a lot of friends. My parents have always been good to me and my sisters (i'm the only boy), and I don't ever remember any unkind words being thrown my way.
All in all, I guess you could say I had a pretty sensible and normal childhood. I never killed puppies, I never pulled the wings off of flies or tortured anything. As a matter of fact, I'd always be greatly saddened if I happened to come across a bird with a broken wing.
Ask my mom; I was constantly bringing home stray animals or anything that needed help.
High school wasn't much different. People liked me, I guess, but they also didn't pay a lot of attention to me. Not for lack of trying on my part; I just blended in. I consider myself to be of average looks. I've always flown just under the radar.
Maybe that's why people never ever suspected me of doing what I've done until I finally got caught. But we'll talk about THAT later. For now, I just need to tell you about some of the things I've done. The last time I was here, I do believe I mentioned the first time I killed someone. There was no rhyme or reason behind killing her; a voice inside me just told me that she had to be killed. And kill that little bitch, I did.
I've never been selective. I have raped old men, I have killed young girls. When the urge hits, I just do what I'm told. Think of Bruce Banner turning into the Hulk. It's like there's a green monster inside me. The only difference is that when I change, it's all on the inside.
The second time I took a life, I came in my pants. It was the most intense orgasm I've ever experienced in my life.
What happened was this: I was waiting for the bus one day, and a... hmm... I use the term loosely here... gentleman came up to me asking for a cigarette. He wasn't really that much of a man, considering he was wearing lipstick and eyeliner. My first thought was that he was a faggot. Did I mention that I hate fags? Well I do. I'm not big on niggers either.
But that's besides the point.
The green monster knocked at the door, and I answered. I had to come up with a plan quickly, so I struck up a harmless conversation with the guy, with it ending in me inviting him back to my apartment. He thankfully obliged.
What is it with these fags anyway? Are they really that hard up that they'll fuck just anybody? I don't get it. Queers have always blown my mind. I don't understand them. Sometimes you just know when somebody wants to fuck you.
When we got back to my place, I locked the door behind me and grabbed his cock. With that, he took it as a sign I wished to be kissed.
Not exactly.
I played along for a bit, and when his pants were off, I pushed him down onto my couch and made as if I was going to suck him off. Well, I did have him in my mouth, but it was by no means a pleasure for him. I bit down as hard as I could, and chomped his own personal shit disturber clean off.
Now, anyone who knows anything about anatomy knows that if a dude's got a raging hard-on, it means his heart is gonna be racing.
And what happens when a racing heart comes into play with a wide-open wound? Yep. Blood splatter.
I guess it wasn't an issue, because, well, I wasn't gonna get caught. Not for this guy.
But people know about it now, because I feel the need to release my demons. I'll be brought to justice eventually, but until then, I'll just talk about these people. It's a good way to kill some time.
So El Faggo starts to scream... I took his now dismembered member, and shoved it into his throat. And what happens when you get something put into your mouth that shouldn't be there? You choke. Who would've thought a dick was a better sound muffler than a sock? Well it is. I guess the fact that my hands were around his throat helped, too. To look into someone's eyes while you have your hands around their throat is almost liberating. To have that control... It made me extremely aroused.
I was hard as a rock... I didn't need to touch myself to know how hard I was. The look in his eye was one of terror, pain, and "Why are you doing this to me? What did I do to deserve this, man?"
At what seemed like the very instant I saw the life flicker from his eyes, I came in my pants. It was one of those "eyes roll up in the back of your head, every toe and finger involuntarily tighten" orgasms that you read about in the porno magazines.
If you've ever choked someone, and I doubt you have, something funny happens to their eyeballs. They turn reddish and bloodshot. That's what I read, anyhow, and, well, I guess I read right this time. It was actually really fun to see.
The blood had severely slowed from the gushing waterfall of his crotch wound earlier at this point, as well. I guess it was due to his heart not beating. That might have something to do with it.
But it hadn't stopped. Gravity is a real bitch. I had to move the body into my bathroom to do what else I wanted to do.
I was still pretty hard, believe it or not. I still had some life in me, if you will. Not like this soon to be dismembered body.
It didn't really take much as far as an effort goes to haul him into the bathroom. Adrenaline is a funny thing.
After I had him tossed into the tub, I went a-searchin' for a sharp enough knife with which to take off his arms and legs.
And with much work, it happened... But a thought struck me when his left arm was removed. I've done the whole "stranger" technique when it comes to masturbation before... You know; you sit on your hand until it falls asleep, then jack off. It kinda feels like a stranger is doing it.
Well, I took that one step further.
I took this guy's arm, and formed his hand into a position all men are familiar with. So I jerked off with the dismembered hand, and came all over the place where his dick used to be. That was the second most intense orgasm of my life.
And, well, I kinda lost interested after that. Jerking off on a dead guy's body with his own dismembered hand can take a lot out of you.
I don't need to spare you the details of how I got rid of the body. Let's just say I highly doubt it's ever gonna be found.
Well, it seems I've gotta get going again. I'm not really too sure about this café. I just got a really really suspicious look from someone. To tell you the truth, I think it was the bus driver that was on the route that day me and El Faggo took the bus back to my place.
I'll be back as soon as I can, though. I have much more to talk about.
Saturday, January 31, 2009
"Guess the black bugs have come, my friend, to get me"
If I could impart one bit of wisdom...
one small nugget of knowledge...
one piece of advice...
upon all of ye reading the ramblings of me while I sit here in this cell and await nothing but, well, nothing, it would be to try what I have done to get here.
Kill. It just feels good.
The freedom, catharsis, and orgasmic ecstacy I felt while I opened up throats and gouged eyes, while I took "inflicting pain" to a whole new level, while I carved holes into people just to find a different way to fuck them, was unlike any amount of cocaine ingested by Tony Montana. The crazy drug-fueled orgies in which men like John Holmes and Ron Jeremy would partake have nothing on the pleasure I felt while I killed.
Some would call me a pervert, some might use the word sicko. I've been called a freak. But no one has ever called me a human being. Do you know what that's like? I eat, I breathe, I shit, I fuck. Just like you. I'm not a stupid man. I maintained above-average grades in school until I was expelled.
But that's something we'll have to touch upon later.
You'll come to love me. I know you will.
The first time I did it, I didn't plan on it. Didn't know it was gonna happen until I came to and found my index fingers two knuckles deep in the eyes of the kid who was sitting in front of me on the bus. She couldn't have been much more than fourteen, and she was one of those emo-fags. That's what I choose to call 'em. You know the kind; they go around with their hair dyed black and styled in such a way that it covers their face, piercings in body parts that have no need for metal.
I've never been a fan of the "emo" style. Never will be. I don't know what it was about this girl that set me off, but when I caught a glimpse of her, I felt some kind of rage building in me. Try to think of it as a pot of water on the stove put over a low flame... ever so slowly building heat... minute by minute, getting hotter and hotter until.. KABLOOEY...
That's essentially what happened. By the time it was nearing my stop, I had made my mind up I had to kill this bitch. I wanted to make a statement to these kids. I had to. I felt deep inside that it was my mission to rid the world of those which I deem "not normal". Emo-fags just don't cut it. Lots of people just don't cut it, but all do-gooders of the world have to start somewhere.
I didn't get off my stop as planned. Luck was on my side, as "Jenny" (i don't know her name, and didn't care to find out) seemed to be going a bit farther out on the circuit. The bus was getting to the point where it had to turn around and restart it's run, so Jenny got off two stops after me. I let two people get off before me, smiling and gesturing with my right arm that I didn't mind them going ahead. So far, everything was hunky-dory. A-ok. Comin' up roses, if you will.
The day was fantastic, but moonlight would soon be creeping in. It must have been near suppertime, judging on how low in the sky the sun was.
(have I mentioned I'm a very observant person)
For an early spring evening, it was fairly warm. For that, I was thankful. I figured young Jenny wouldn't be in a rush to get home and warm up. Then again, who knows with those fuckin' emo-fags?
But no, luck did happen to be in my favour once again. She had to walk along a stand of trees that lead into a section of the town park. There was a little path just to her right; a path I was very familiar with. I grew up in this town, and know Sunshine Park like the back of my hand. I've taken this particular bus route many times before... and I guess it's kinda funny that the little bitch just so happened to be there, at that day, at that time. She should have just stayed home.
I think it's fair to mention that the town is usually dead (there I go with the wordplay; I can't help myself!) on Saturdays. There's a farmer's market on the other side of town, and the theater usually brings in lots of people, as does that new comedy club that's opened up. I guess people are always looking for something new.
Oh my, I've gone off on a ramble. I need to tell this first story before they turn the lights out on me!! There's nothing more frustrating than trying to write in the dark.
I am very, very thankful for the inventors of mp3 players and headphones. Emo girl had no clue I was walking faster and faster to catch up with her, as she simply couldn't hear my rapidly approaching footsteps. If there were any cars going by, they certainly would have noticed something was up.
I must remind you once again of that path... Timing is everything, and as I got within grabbing distance, that's exactly what I did. Grab.
She screamed... Oh man, did that little cunt try to make noise. But I quickly covered her mouth with my right hand, and pinned her arms with my left. Being left-handed, it would make sense to use my strongest arm, right?
Who would've thought a fourteen year old girl would have so much fight in her? I had to find a way to silence her, and silence her I did.
I dragged her farther into the woods, and off the beaten path. I mean, who wants to be caught doing what I was about to do, right? But the light was quickly fading anyway... And in the state of mind I found myself in, I didn't see the need in being that careful.
Man, could this girl ever put up a fight. She was squirming and moving and jumping and twitching. As with any forest, you're bound to find a tree stump or two. So what'd I do? I bashed her head against one.
And I did it again.
She stopped screaming. Stopped making noise.
But I could tell she wasn't quite dead, because her chest was slowly moving up and down. The little bitch still had some life in her.
"We can't have that, can we?", I asked myself,
"Nope. Methinks you should do something about those eyes, just in case she comes to", I thought.
So here's where we get to the part where I was knuckle-deep in her eye sockets with my index fingers. It really wasn't that gross when I pierced her eyeballs. Think of it as putting your finger into a bowl of old Jell-o. Soft, yet still kind of hardened. That popping sound isn't one I'll soon forget, and the goo that oozed out around my fingers and down her cheekbones was almost satisfying. My palms were resting on her face, and I had the thought to fuck up her face as much as possible. I just had to.
My thumbs immediately went up her nose, and tore upwards. I'm surprised how easily her nose came off her face. Oh, did I mention how much she twitched and writhed on the ground while I popped out her eyeballs? I don't think I noticed when she actually died, but I didn't care. I had to demonize this body.
With her nose gone from her face and hanging off my right thumb, I took notice to a noise approaching me. People? Might have been. But again, I wasn't fearful. Not in the least. Once you pop, it's like a container of Pringles; you can't stop.
Given the fact that she was my first, and I came unprepared, I had to work with what I had around me. Use my surroundings, y'know. Thankfully there were rocks of all sizes laying around. So I took one, and I brought it down on her mouth.
And I brought it down again.
And again.
Once more, just for luck. It was starting to look like she had fallen face first from the top of a building. Nothing was left to her fucked up mouth. Not even a tooth.
But man, I couldn't stop at the head. I took that rock, and I carved into her stomach. I carved into her legs, her thighs, her arms. The blood wouldn't flow, because little emo-bitch's heart had stopped beating long ago. I made her body look like Micheal J. Fox had tried to draw the Mona Lisa with a utility knife on it.
Oh, the joys and wonders of a rock. I had completely disfigured her face, her body, and the lives of those attached to her. When I stood up, I had a realization. An epiphany, if you will.
I had to rid the world of those I deemed unfit for human interaction. It was up to me to kill off the freaks, the unworthy, and the useless. God was telling me something. And I would not get caught. I was a smart man.
Lo and behold, here I am. Caught. I guess I ain't too smart, huh? I've been through trial, I've been into a regular cell, but that didn't work. Even the inmates were too enraged at my "work", the judge said.
Death, apparently, is too good for me. Death would be the easy way out, said the judge.
So here I sit in my little cell. The light is going to be turned off soon, so I've gotta clue up. You've got a little taste of what I have done.
I want to tell my story... and with nothing now but time to kill, I'll do just that. If you'll indulge me, you are in for one hell of a ride.
one small nugget of knowledge...
one piece of advice...
upon all of ye reading the ramblings of me while I sit here in this cell and await nothing but, well, nothing, it would be to try what I have done to get here.
Kill. It just feels good.
The freedom, catharsis, and orgasmic ecstacy I felt while I opened up throats and gouged eyes, while I took "inflicting pain" to a whole new level, while I carved holes into people just to find a different way to fuck them, was unlike any amount of cocaine ingested by Tony Montana. The crazy drug-fueled orgies in which men like John Holmes and Ron Jeremy would partake have nothing on the pleasure I felt while I killed.
Some would call me a pervert, some might use the word sicko. I've been called a freak. But no one has ever called me a human being. Do you know what that's like? I eat, I breathe, I shit, I fuck. Just like you. I'm not a stupid man. I maintained above-average grades in school until I was expelled.
But that's something we'll have to touch upon later.
You'll come to love me. I know you will.
The first time I did it, I didn't plan on it. Didn't know it was gonna happen until I came to and found my index fingers two knuckles deep in the eyes of the kid who was sitting in front of me on the bus. She couldn't have been much more than fourteen, and she was one of those emo-fags. That's what I choose to call 'em. You know the kind; they go around with their hair dyed black and styled in such a way that it covers their face, piercings in body parts that have no need for metal.
I've never been a fan of the "emo" style. Never will be. I don't know what it was about this girl that set me off, but when I caught a glimpse of her, I felt some kind of rage building in me. Try to think of it as a pot of water on the stove put over a low flame... ever so slowly building heat... minute by minute, getting hotter and hotter until.. KABLOOEY...
That's essentially what happened. By the time it was nearing my stop, I had made my mind up I had to kill this bitch. I wanted to make a statement to these kids. I had to. I felt deep inside that it was my mission to rid the world of those which I deem "not normal". Emo-fags just don't cut it. Lots of people just don't cut it, but all do-gooders of the world have to start somewhere.
I didn't get off my stop as planned. Luck was on my side, as "Jenny" (i don't know her name, and didn't care to find out) seemed to be going a bit farther out on the circuit. The bus was getting to the point where it had to turn around and restart it's run, so Jenny got off two stops after me. I let two people get off before me, smiling and gesturing with my right arm that I didn't mind them going ahead. So far, everything was hunky-dory. A-ok. Comin' up roses, if you will.
The day was fantastic, but moonlight would soon be creeping in. It must have been near suppertime, judging on how low in the sky the sun was.
(have I mentioned I'm a very observant person)
For an early spring evening, it was fairly warm. For that, I was thankful. I figured young Jenny wouldn't be in a rush to get home and warm up. Then again, who knows with those fuckin' emo-fags?
But no, luck did happen to be in my favour once again. She had to walk along a stand of trees that lead into a section of the town park. There was a little path just to her right; a path I was very familiar with. I grew up in this town, and know Sunshine Park like the back of my hand. I've taken this particular bus route many times before... and I guess it's kinda funny that the little bitch just so happened to be there, at that day, at that time. She should have just stayed home.
I think it's fair to mention that the town is usually dead (there I go with the wordplay; I can't help myself!) on Saturdays. There's a farmer's market on the other side of town, and the theater usually brings in lots of people, as does that new comedy club that's opened up. I guess people are always looking for something new.
Oh my, I've gone off on a ramble. I need to tell this first story before they turn the lights out on me!! There's nothing more frustrating than trying to write in the dark.
I am very, very thankful for the inventors of mp3 players and headphones. Emo girl had no clue I was walking faster and faster to catch up with her, as she simply couldn't hear my rapidly approaching footsteps. If there were any cars going by, they certainly would have noticed something was up.
I must remind you once again of that path... Timing is everything, and as I got within grabbing distance, that's exactly what I did. Grab.
She screamed... Oh man, did that little cunt try to make noise. But I quickly covered her mouth with my right hand, and pinned her arms with my left. Being left-handed, it would make sense to use my strongest arm, right?
Who would've thought a fourteen year old girl would have so much fight in her? I had to find a way to silence her, and silence her I did.
I dragged her farther into the woods, and off the beaten path. I mean, who wants to be caught doing what I was about to do, right? But the light was quickly fading anyway... And in the state of mind I found myself in, I didn't see the need in being that careful.
Man, could this girl ever put up a fight. She was squirming and moving and jumping and twitching. As with any forest, you're bound to find a tree stump or two. So what'd I do? I bashed her head against one.
And I did it again.
She stopped screaming. Stopped making noise.
But I could tell she wasn't quite dead, because her chest was slowly moving up and down. The little bitch still had some life in her.
"We can't have that, can we?", I asked myself,
"Nope. Methinks you should do something about those eyes, just in case she comes to", I thought.
So here's where we get to the part where I was knuckle-deep in her eye sockets with my index fingers. It really wasn't that gross when I pierced her eyeballs. Think of it as putting your finger into a bowl of old Jell-o. Soft, yet still kind of hardened. That popping sound isn't one I'll soon forget, and the goo that oozed out around my fingers and down her cheekbones was almost satisfying. My palms were resting on her face, and I had the thought to fuck up her face as much as possible. I just had to.
My thumbs immediately went up her nose, and tore upwards. I'm surprised how easily her nose came off her face. Oh, did I mention how much she twitched and writhed on the ground while I popped out her eyeballs? I don't think I noticed when she actually died, but I didn't care. I had to demonize this body.
With her nose gone from her face and hanging off my right thumb, I took notice to a noise approaching me. People? Might have been. But again, I wasn't fearful. Not in the least. Once you pop, it's like a container of Pringles; you can't stop.
Given the fact that she was my first, and I came unprepared, I had to work with what I had around me. Use my surroundings, y'know. Thankfully there were rocks of all sizes laying around. So I took one, and I brought it down on her mouth.
And I brought it down again.
And again.
Once more, just for luck. It was starting to look like she had fallen face first from the top of a building. Nothing was left to her fucked up mouth. Not even a tooth.
But man, I couldn't stop at the head. I took that rock, and I carved into her stomach. I carved into her legs, her thighs, her arms. The blood wouldn't flow, because little emo-bitch's heart had stopped beating long ago. I made her body look like Micheal J. Fox had tried to draw the Mona Lisa with a utility knife on it.
Oh, the joys and wonders of a rock. I had completely disfigured her face, her body, and the lives of those attached to her. When I stood up, I had a realization. An epiphany, if you will.
I had to rid the world of those I deemed unfit for human interaction. It was up to me to kill off the freaks, the unworthy, and the useless. God was telling me something. And I would not get caught. I was a smart man.
Lo and behold, here I am. Caught. I guess I ain't too smart, huh? I've been through trial, I've been into a regular cell, but that didn't work. Even the inmates were too enraged at my "work", the judge said.
Death, apparently, is too good for me. Death would be the easy way out, said the judge.
So here I sit in my little cell. The light is going to be turned off soon, so I've gotta clue up. You've got a little taste of what I have done.
I want to tell my story... and with nothing now but time to kill, I'll do just that. If you'll indulge me, you are in for one hell of a ride.
Sunday, January 4, 2009
Something old.
So here are a couple of poems I wrote last year.
The first one is about my love of ham.
The second poem is about a broken heart. Nuff said.
--Ham--
I love ham
tasty
salty
good
it’s great
with a glaze
warm or cold
you
can’t
go
wrong
god dammit, i love ham
—Darmok—
I met you
and i thought you were cool
but then you changed your clothes
and turned into a different person
it’s not that i don’t think you’re cool
anymore
but
you’re just like that episode of
star trek: the next generation
where captain picard gets stranded
on a planet with a humonoid alien
and the thing is
the alien speaks english
only in metaphors
and picard speaks
like a human
so the whole episode
the alien guy tries hard
to get through to picard
to communicate with him
in his own language
and they have
great difficulty
and right at the end
they finally get it
so you’re picard
and i’m the alien
and i really want
to communucate with you
but i can’t
because you
won’t let me
and it frustrates me
but
the thing is
i
still
think
you’re
cool
The first one is about my love of ham.
The second poem is about a broken heart. Nuff said.
--Ham--
I love ham
tasty
salty
good
it’s great
with a glaze
warm or cold
you
can’t
go
wrong
god dammit, i love ham
—Darmok—
I met you
and i thought you were cool
but then you changed your clothes
and turned into a different person
it’s not that i don’t think you’re cool
anymore
but
you’re just like that episode of
star trek: the next generation
where captain picard gets stranded
on a planet with a humonoid alien
and the thing is
the alien speaks english
only in metaphors
and picard speaks
like a human
so the whole episode
the alien guy tries hard
to get through to picard
to communicate with him
in his own language
and they have
great difficulty
and right at the end
they finally get it
so you’re picard
and i’m the alien
and i really want
to communucate with you
but i can’t
because you
won’t let me
and it frustrates me
but
the thing is
i
still
think
you’re
cool
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