THE PUBLIC WOULD FIND AN EXCUSE FOR MY BEHAVIOR MORE COMFORTING THAN HEARING THE TRUTH
Well he's dead, I got my nachos and my slushee....and as the sound of those approaching sirens indicate the desert is on the way rapidly.
I understand the difference between truth and desire my good man. The Public would find more comfort in me making an excuse for my behavior than they would from hearing the truth. The truth has never had the reputation as a sedative, an aid towards achieving restful, solid sleep at night.
The people want to hear me explain that I was broken, driven mad by the cruelty of mean and bullying individuals. individuals they can blame and also claim no affiliation with or responsibility for, oh "that's horrible, we aren't like them"...they want to hear me sobbing, apologizing, relating the stories of my abuse from these misanthropes, the dozens of times they dangled worms in front of my jar or even a chicken leg, the names , "Guppy Head", "Fish Man", "Mackerel Mullet", "Mister Limpet", "Rolly Polly Fish Head" and so many other nick names. In fact the repetition of so many calling me "Freaky Fishy" was the obvious influence on the creation of my "new" name .
Yes the public want an explanation, a motive and a shortcut back to believing everything is logical in the world and that we have rules and that things are in order.
A "poor me" play from the "criminal offender" is a tried and true method of facilitating them being able to begin internally reconstructing the delusion of their fragile security. Which in truth is sadly nothing but illusory self denial.
Perhaps they want to hear a first hand account of the day that one of these miscreants driving by me sitting in the back of a pick-up truck, using a surf fishing rod, "cast" at me and hooked me by my filter and dragged me four miles down the road! What a horrible day. There was one bright spot that day, it was the day I began to understand the beauty, the power, the SUPERIORITY of these beautiful new arms of mine. When they finally stopped dragging me down the road. the surf caster and his associates, got out of their motor vehicle and approached me, battered, lying in the road bleeding and broken. They were laughing hysterically, my suffering providing them with sadistic enjoyment. I grabbed this "fisherman" by his forehead and I squeezed his temple until his eyes popped out and his skull broke into bits. The sound of his screaming was music to my tortured soul.
If I don't use abuse as my explanation, how about addiction? Drugs. I became hooked after all the medication I needed after my unfortunate accident and that sort of thing.
The commoner needs a reason for my horrible deeds that makes sense to them. But the truth is the opposite of what they want.
I do what I do because I like doing it, I like how it makes me feel satisfied and whole. The addiction I have isn't to any substance. I am addicted to the fear of my targets. I am addicted to causing them pain and I am addicted to seeing dumb quick mart clerks and mean cops die...and I am fond of slushees and nachos from gas stations.
I am living a perfect life for me and I like it.
You better "take cover" as they say on the television box, here they come...excuse me...
THE PUBLIC WOULD FIND AN EXCUSE FOR MY BEHAVIOR MORE COMFORTING THAN HEARING THE TRUTH
Well he's dead, I got my nachos and my slushee....and as the sound of those approaching sirens indicate the desert is on the way rapidly.
I understand the difference between truth and desire my good man. The Public would find more comfort in me making an excuse for my behavior than they would from hearing the truth. The truth has never had the reputation as a sedative, an aid towards achieving restful, solid sleep at night.
The people want to hear me explain that I was broken, driven mad by the cruelty of mean and bullying individuals. individuals they can blame and also claim no affiliation with or responsibility for, oh "that's horrible, we aren't like them"...they want to hear me sobbing, apologizing, relating the stories of my abuse from these misanthropes, the dozens of times they dangled worms in front of my jar or even a chicken leg, the names , "Guppy Head", "Fish Man", "Mackerel Mullet", "Mister Limpet", "Rolly Polly Fish Head" and so many other nick names. In fact the repetition of so many calling me "Freaky Fishy" was the obvious influence on the creation of my "new" name .
Yes the public want an explanation, a motive and a shortcut back to believing everything is logical in the world and that we have rules and that things are in order.
A "poor me" play from the "criminal offender" is a tried and true method of facilitating them being able to begin internally reconstructing the delusion of their fragile security. Which in truth is sadly nothing but illusory self denial.
Perhaps they want to hear a first hand account of the day that one of these miscreants driving by me sitting in the back of a pick-up truck, using a surf fishing rod, "cast" at me and hooked me by my filter and dragged me four miles down the road! What a horrible day. There was one bright spot that day, it was the day I began to understand the beauty, the power, the SUPERIORITY of these beautiful new arms of mine. When they finally stopped dragging me down the road. the surf caster and his associates, got out of their motor vehicle and approached me, battered, lying in the road bleeding and broken. They were laughing hysterically, my suffering providing them with sadistic enjoyment. I grabbed this "fisherman" by his forehead and I squeezed his temple until his eyes popped out and his skull broke into bits. The sound of his screaming was music to my tortured soul.
If I don't use abuse as my explanation, how about addiction? Drugs. I became hooked after all the medication I needed after my unfortunate accident and that sort of thing.
The commoner needs a reason for my horrible deeds that makes sense to them. But the truth is the opposite of what they want.
I do what I do because I like doing it, I like how it makes me feel satisfied and whole. The addiction I have isn't to any substance. I am addicted to the fear of my targets. I am addicted to causing them pain and I am addicted to seeing dumb quick mart clerks and mean cops die...and I am fond of slushees and nachos from gas stations.
I am living a perfect life for me and I like it.
You better "take cover" as they say on the television box, here they come...excuse me...