Re: True Story of the Day
Posted: Wed Sep 06, 2023 4:28 pm
I think i may understand what the deal is with serial killers of the sexual variety and what about the act of killing is so wonderful to them. The reasons of course are psycho-analytical and normally I'd only talk to Lacan, Freud or Jung about this.
Becuz we are so imbued with a metaphysical sense of mystery surrounding physical death, the act of resolving this mystery by taking a life must satisfy that certain anachronistic curiosity. Homegirl is laying there alive. You start to strangle her and watch her face and eyes as she stops breathing. U are right there in the moment when someone is dying. This is happening inches from your fuckin face bro. Now whatever is happening in this guy's brain has got him so mystically fascinated with this process of dying that he just goes full retard. He wants to see what happens, must see what happens. Or that's how it starts but then it morphs into a functioning sadism once the sex and violence become entangled and the intensity of killing becomes part of the sexual gratification itself. It's gotta be something like that.
Also as the killer is compelled by a kind of experiment that, becuz of its intense and passionate nature during the context of sexually dominating the victim, a personal intimacy is experienced that causes the killer to feel fully responsible for his victim, fully possessive of her. He decides when she dies, etc. This too adds to the warped mystical fascination and fantasy in his head. One of em believed that his female victims became his soul mates in another world... that killing them in this world would create a union between them, etc.
If originally the killer experienced no exhilaration while killing and only did so to eliminate the witness/victim, but then eventually became enthralled by it becuz of the intensity of the experience, he's in the stage where he enjoys the dumbfoundedness he experiences every time he kills someone and the lifeless thing lays there before him in the woods. He looks around for a spirit or ghost. Listens maybe for birds chirping uncharacteristically. A crack of thunder. A gust of wind. Something, anything, that might prove there's life after death. Where did she go? He gently pokes her. Her eyes now glazed and cloudy stare lifelessly past his head as he looks down at her. Melissa he says softly. It's not a question like Melissa can u hear me. Or maybe it is. He doesn't know becuz he's in a strange place right now. An empty wine bottle and a length of rope on the ground beside him. Dancing Queen comes on the radio and he hears it through the opened passenger door. My God what has he done. He plays back the hour prior to his killing her. What she said and how she sounded, how real and alive she was as she lay there habdcuffed in the sexy beige Volkswagen beetle just an hour ago. And now. Now she's this cold, motionless body that can certainly never love him now yeah way to go Ted u really played that one well.
U see what i mean man? All this intense shit is happening at some point in the serial killer's head. The actual experience of death... being there when someone dies and being the one that kills them - all this happening in the intimate context of sex - well that's just the most fucked up thing u could do to someone save maybe torturing them more than u had already. It's something so horrible and forbidden that even one with a IQ of 80 can sense and feel and understand and can't help but be utterly traumatized by what he has done.
Further and further he slips into nihilism becuz each time he runs the experiment, the same thing happens. The killing becomes benign and he's terribly depressed becuz the people just die and lay there. They don't leave their body. Take your boy Jeffrey D, the ultimate empiricist. He's doing autopsies and shit becuz he's looking for the soul, see. But all he finds is meat and organs. Every time a serial killer observes his dead victim he is immediately reminded of his own mortality, too. Jesus this has gotta be some depressing shit to go through. No wonder they go crazy.
Becuz we are so imbued with a metaphysical sense of mystery surrounding physical death, the act of resolving this mystery by taking a life must satisfy that certain anachronistic curiosity. Homegirl is laying there alive. You start to strangle her and watch her face and eyes as she stops breathing. U are right there in the moment when someone is dying. This is happening inches from your fuckin face bro. Now whatever is happening in this guy's brain has got him so mystically fascinated with this process of dying that he just goes full retard. He wants to see what happens, must see what happens. Or that's how it starts but then it morphs into a functioning sadism once the sex and violence become entangled and the intensity of killing becomes part of the sexual gratification itself. It's gotta be something like that.
Also as the killer is compelled by a kind of experiment that, becuz of its intense and passionate nature during the context of sexually dominating the victim, a personal intimacy is experienced that causes the killer to feel fully responsible for his victim, fully possessive of her. He decides when she dies, etc. This too adds to the warped mystical fascination and fantasy in his head. One of em believed that his female victims became his soul mates in another world... that killing them in this world would create a union between them, etc.
If originally the killer experienced no exhilaration while killing and only did so to eliminate the witness/victim, but then eventually became enthralled by it becuz of the intensity of the experience, he's in the stage where he enjoys the dumbfoundedness he experiences every time he kills someone and the lifeless thing lays there before him in the woods. He looks around for a spirit or ghost. Listens maybe for birds chirping uncharacteristically. A crack of thunder. A gust of wind. Something, anything, that might prove there's life after death. Where did she go? He gently pokes her. Her eyes now glazed and cloudy stare lifelessly past his head as he looks down at her. Melissa he says softly. It's not a question like Melissa can u hear me. Or maybe it is. He doesn't know becuz he's in a strange place right now. An empty wine bottle and a length of rope on the ground beside him. Dancing Queen comes on the radio and he hears it through the opened passenger door. My God what has he done. He plays back the hour prior to his killing her. What she said and how she sounded, how real and alive she was as she lay there habdcuffed in the sexy beige Volkswagen beetle just an hour ago. And now. Now she's this cold, motionless body that can certainly never love him now yeah way to go Ted u really played that one well.
U see what i mean man? All this intense shit is happening at some point in the serial killer's head. The actual experience of death... being there when someone dies and being the one that kills them - all this happening in the intimate context of sex - well that's just the most fucked up thing u could do to someone save maybe torturing them more than u had already. It's something so horrible and forbidden that even one with a IQ of 80 can sense and feel and understand and can't help but be utterly traumatized by what he has done.
Further and further he slips into nihilism becuz each time he runs the experiment, the same thing happens. The killing becomes benign and he's terribly depressed becuz the people just die and lay there. They don't leave their body. Take your boy Jeffrey D, the ultimate empiricist. He's doing autopsies and shit becuz he's looking for the soul, see. But all he finds is meat and organs. Every time a serial killer observes his dead victim he is immediately reminded of his own mortality, too. Jesus this has gotta be some depressing shit to go through. No wonder they go crazy.
