Tag Archives: serial killers

Ponerology

It’s been over a month since I’ve posted!  Guess what I’ve been doing lately?  Studying evil!  See, it’s kind of hard to write goofy blog posts when I’m subjecting myself to mass doses of human fuckedupedness.  It’s more than a bit challenging to put my findings into cogent sentences, but fortunately some have done a pretty good job before me.  Some polish guy with a name I can’t type because it has a special character in it wrote about broken societies being taken over by psychopaths who institute totalitarian governments in his book Political Ponerology.  It’s pretty much Orwell minus the plot and it will traumatize you for life.  Speaking of psychopaths, Robert Hare has done some amazing work on them.  If reading the work of these two dudes does not traumatize you enough, here are some of the youtube videos I’ve been horrifying myself with lately:

Canadian serial killer rapes and butchers prostitutes on his pig farm in Canada for YEARS while Vancouver police kind of suck at policing.

• 11-year old girl strangles toddler boys to death in shitty English slums in 1968 and the authorities sit on their asses for an alarmingly long time.

Japanese dude murders and eats pretty exchange student in Paris with no ill consequences and goes home to become a celebrity in his native land (best-selling author, porn star, lecturer, TV personality etc).

Are you advocating for the destruction of the human species yet?  What’s so fucked up is not only these freaky outliers but the responses they get from the authorities and society at large.  It looks like evil is not so much a discrete feature in the human personality as what emerges when other features are missing.  The most obvious missing feature is empathy.  But, as anyone who is acquainted with a bunch of engineers knows, being socially retarded is not an immediate gateway to murder.  A researcher named Cleckley called what I’m about to talk about “semantic aphasia.”

Once upon a time, because of the vagaries of bodily chemistry, I was crazy in love with an asshole.  Yep, it happens to many of us.  One thing he used to do that destroyed my universe of a regular basis is totally contradict himself without apparent awareness.  He’s state some philosophical belief of his, and a week later say something that was in complete opposition.  At first, I questioned him about these inconsistencies to try to figure out what was happening in his (deficient) brain, but the resulting conversations always made me want to eat a gun.  So I learned to shut up and stomach a whole bunch of bullshit.  I made constant excuses for that weird emptiness inside him.  And thus a cock-addicted co-dependent was born.

What was especially weird about his frequent lies is that it seemed, most of the time, he was not actually aware he was bullshitting.  It seriously flummoxed the shit out of me and made me want to stab myself in the soul.  This is apparently a common feature of psychopaths.  It’s called semantic aphasia and it’s how come they can say without blinking, “oh I ripped a dude’s eyeball out of his face last week and then fucked his brain through his empty eyeball hole until he died but I have never committed a violent crime.”  Psychopaths can say shit like that because they literally don’t know what words mean.  They can give you the dictionary definition of a word but they are unable to feel its emotional content.  So, if you say to a psychopath, “nazis raping baby pandas,” his brain will respond the same as if you said, “tapioca pudding.”  (Unless he thinks tapioca pudding is icky, in which case his brain will have a stronger response to the pudding, I’m guessing.)    Because of this deficiency, this means that even the smartest psychopath will be unable to catch falsehoods when they come out of his mouth.  Ain’t that some shit?  Doesn’t that shed a whole lot of light on your ex-boyfriend?

I’m not necessarily saying that your shitty ex-boyfriend it out there butchering whores, but I’m saying he suffers from the same lack as the whore butcherer, on a smaller scale.  He is, in essence, a mini-psychopath.  The world is absolutely CRAMMED with these people.  People who cannot feel meaning.  Couple that with lack of empathy and it’s Jeffrey Dahmer time.

Soapbox moment: Empathy and meaning are at the root of morality, which is why stories are good for us because they build both.  So tell your little ones a shitload of stories, and maybe in a generation or two we can dispense with Wall Street.

Okay, now I need to go find some chocolate and a purring cat.

Seriously, kitty cuddles STAT, please.

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the glass delusion

Happy 2012!

I started this blog two years ago, a year before 13 rue Thérèse came out.  It is still put-putting along to record some of the random firings that sometimes occur in my braincase.  Yay me!  Speaking of random firings, In the Red was horribly stuck for a long time.  Then I started spending all my time thinking about this weird religious ecstatic from late medieval France who’s occasionally made appearances in my head.  I was planning on making her my next book, but I was like, fuck it, since I’m not writing anything, I might as well work on this.  I wrote a few pages in her wigged-out voice.  Then I did a whole bunch of research about random late medieval stuff.  They had the most fascinating mental illnesses back then.  There was about a 200 year span from the 15th to the 17th century where it was fairly common for people who were probably schizophrenics to suffer from something called The Glass Delusion.  They believed they were literally made of glass, which made them terrified they would break, and also that people could see through them to their very souls.  A pretty awesome allegory for the human condition, if you ask me.  Apparently, King Charles VI of France suffered from this ailment and wore protective padded clothing during his psychotic breaks to keep from getting shattered.  (And then the English were like, hey, the French king is fucking nuts!  Let’s invade and take his country.  And thus began the Hundred Years War.)  For a completely fascinating take on the glass delusion, check out this article.

Speaking of madness and the Hundred Years War, did you know that Joan of Arc’s field marshal was a child-raping serial killer?  What.  The.  Fuck.  Well, um, at least it’s reassuring to know that murderous sexual predators are not an innovation of the modern world.

History is so fascinating when you begin to delve into the fucked up personalities of the seemingly sterile actors in your textbooks.  Anyway, this was an interesting little side trip that had the additional benefit of getting me unstuck: I wrote a few pages of In The Red today.  So maybe the answer is to toggle back and forth between two novels while working.  Either this will keep me from losing the rest of my fraying wits, or it will completely finish the job.  Stay tuned.

Let us close with a public service announcement for my fellow Americans: If you’ve been watching the electoral process lately and thinking, Jesus, I would vote for a ham sandwich over any of these dudes, I recommend googling some of the hunchbacked insane homicidal venereally-diseased kings that used to run things in Europe and reflecting that democracy is indeed the worst form of government, except for all the other ones.

Apparently, sending your kids to sleep over at his house was somewhat ill-advised.

This is what happens when people are empty.

I just did a bunch of stuff to my blog!  I put all three covers of my book’s editions published so far under the “13 rue Thérèse” tab, and will keep adding them as they get published.  (I think France is next at the end of this year.)  Also, each tab now has its own header, different iterations of the same photograph in various PhotoFunia montages.  Is it awesome?

It was nice to go all OCD for a while on something that is not terrifying.  A few days ago, I watched a two-hour interview with Jeffrey Dahmer and his father.  Then afterward I went on a huge google binge about American serial killers.  And then I went to bed.  My advice would be, now that I have done this: do not do that.

I have effectively fucked myself in the brain for this whole week.  Some of the specimens from my ill-advised google binge:

Backwards through time:

  • Ted Bundy, 1946-1989, good-looking dude with crazy gleam in his eye.  Raped and killed a stunning number of young women (30 confessed, actual number unknown).  Necrophiliac.  Interstate murder sprees.  Represented himself at trial.  Executed.
  • Albert Fish, 1870-1939, scruffy old gent who tortured, mutilated, raped, killed, and ate children.  Seriously.  If you ever want to sleep again, do not read the letters he wrote to the families of his victims.  A masochist as well as a sadist.  Made psychiatry look damn bad when he was diagnosed as “sane” so he could be executed.
  • H.H. Holmes, 1861-1896, one of the original American serial killers.  Harvested victims from the Chicago world’s fair, usually single young women who stayed in his hotel/”murder castle” (outfitted with various torture chambers and body processing amenities).  Raped, tortured, killed and stripped his victims of flesh–then sold their skeletons and organs to medical schools.  Really.

So, you see, I have fodder for nightmares for quite a while.  Also, here is something that I find just as disturbing as the horrific crimes committed by these severely fucked-up individuals: the shocking amount of time these dudes operated with total impunity.  I mean, holy shit.  Holmes built a fucking hotel with gas chambers and lime pits in the middle of Chicago.  And none of the representatives from the medical schools ever asked him, dude, where do you keep getting all these skeletons?  Sometimes total human indifference is as unfathomable to me as the most depraved evil.  You might remember this story about Dahmer if you paid attention to his trial in the early 90s: one of his victims, a 14-year old boy, escaped when he woke up from his drugged sleep while Dahmer was off doing something.  The boy went stumbling out into the street buck naked and ran into these two women.  He was terrified and incoherent.  They called the police.  The police showed up.  Dahmer had the balls to show up too and collect this kid from the police despite the two women pointing out that the kid was clearly scared of him.  Because the testimony of two black chicks and a kid drugged out of his mind weighed nothing against the soothing words of one calm white dude, the police escorted the kid back to Dahmer’s apartment.  They took Dahmer’s ID but did not ask him to show them around the place despite the weird smell emanating from the bedroom.  They delivered the kid right back into the nightmare.  They left him there to be raped and killed and chopped up.  Dahmer kept his skull as a trophy.

This is what happens when people are empty.

Right now I am going to pretend that I am not a human being.  I am a fallen leaf.  I dance on the wind and decay gently into the ground with no scent.

I am a mirror.  If you do not like the image I cast, it is none of my business.  If you smash me into pieces, all you will do is make your hand bleed.  Watch out, the edges are sharp.