This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 24; the Twenty-Fourth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. The theme for this month is BLACK AND WHITE.
People have such crazy notions these days. Like murder is taboo. Like a murderer has no right to be heard by an everyday audience. Like if you ignored to acknowledge my existence I just might cease to exist. You secretly hope that, don’t you?
I could change that for you. Give me a chance, yeah?
Now that you choose to hear me, you must know my story is rather tragic. I’m not raging with vengeance or evil though. That’s what I hate about you. You judge me. And you pretend like you’re fair. Justice and all that baloney.
Some sing, some write. I kill. It’s much the same. It’s art.
And the thing with art is, you can’t decide it to be ugly or beautiful. It all boils down to a perspective. Odd isn’t it, that an uneducated bunch of your folks gang up against me for a bad show of art and suddenly I’m crime material?
And then there is the rigmarole of a pattern. A serial killer must positively have one, they say. Crazy notions I told you! My ‘episodes’ don’t have a pattern. Unless you thought the lack of one to be the pattern. Which could make sense, but then that leaves only a shadow of mutually exclusive outcomes never to recur, as opposed to a universe of unexplored outcomes that you have no idea about.
Worse, if I unwittingly chose to imitate myself from the past that would leave you all confused and messed up. A bit like you are right now, eh?
To tell you the truth, I never choose my victim. If I could, there may have been some satisfaction. But that’s bad for my soul. It’s selfish and if you don’t know by now, I’m a giver. My subject is nothing more than a variable. I often see the attractive faces on board, their dainty laughs, lean fingers and wonder what would change if they encountered me up close. Would their eyes still flutter? Would their lips quiver in shy anticipation? Or is it all a facade that will rip apart?
I don’t know if the sting hurts. But as my pierce scathes one soft layer of flesh through to the next, deeper and deeper, there is a faint trail of crimson that oozes without restraint. The stuff you’re really made of. All those ideals of truth, morals and identity can go kiss the drain for there is just one raw emotion.
Such a beautiful thing. It makes people so real. Come back to their innocence. The arrogance, the class, the tantrums, all those additives washed away leaving plain simple pleading. Uncomplicated. Man, I dig it!
I take away the life breath but I give to you in those last seconds of your pathetic existence what really is priceless. What always was. Every act you were ever passionate about, every soul that ever touched you comes alive. I taught you to value it! Now that is satisfaction.
I don't care for your disapproving gaze and I'm not afraid to confess it to the world. It's what I am. A German knife.
One that talks into murdering innocent strawberries every single day of my life. Big ones, little ones, unripe ones, ones that look good on the outside but taste really bitter on the inside.....all of them.
Go figure! :P
Go figure! :P
When you have a day that looks a glum black and white, tip the blues away with a splash of red.
It’s a sick world with a sick sense of humor!