tomcruisehaters

Have you ever heard of the Chaos Theory? They say that a Butterfly can flap its wings in Florida and because of that small gust there could be a hurricane in Georgia...
Hello reader. YOU have something I don’t...
A soul.
So how is it that you find yourself reading this?
Why are you reading this?
Why not stop now?
No, curiosity of the conscious mind holds you doesn’t it?
Would you like to know what it feels like to tear a man's flesh from his face?
Or maybe rip his throat clear from his neck. Hold the throbbing severed veins still pulsating blood...
The sweet taste of fresh blood...
Is that what holds you here reader?
Maybe you would like to get an insight of my sinister life. Maybe you would like to no what drives a serial killer.
Am I mad?
Oh no... I’m fully aware of what I do... I’m fully aware that I am killing a man.
Do I hear voices? Maybe... who doesn’t?
You see, I have a personal theory that no living being is 100% sane. All we need is that slight push and we will snap. A single moment can change the course of your future.
Maybe that happened to me... maybe I am mad...
A recent study has demonstrated that 20 out of 31 confessed killers are diagnosed as mentally ill. So maybe I am mad...
Albert Fish, at the age of 20, ate his 12 year old neighbour.
Some believed it was because he had a fall as a child. He fell from a cherry tree and his front lobe of this brain. The tastiest bit...
That part of the brain serves the purpose of conscience. If it was damaged then poor Albert would never fully grasp that what he was doing was wrong.
But I know what I’m doing is wrong... so what drives me?
Then there was poor Ed Gein. He was a serial killer in the mid 1940s-50s. Poor, poor Ed... He killed women. Then he skinned them. He pilled the flesh from there faces while they still leaved. They screamed and they cried as he tore that skin of. When the skin is removed it becomes hard and becomes much like leather.
Ed used the human skin to make furniture. Oh yes, human furniture. And there faces? Well, he hung them on the wall. They were his trophies. Poor, poor Ed... He butchered women. But why?
Well, he grew up in a house with a single brother and a strongly religious mother. His mother was a dominate beast but Eds love for her was great. So great, in fact that when see died he dug up her body.
As Ed grew up his mother twistingly drilling into him that sex was a deadly sin and that women were evil things that would tempt you into hell. Maybe she was mad.
Poor, poor Ed... When she died he had nothing left to hold onto. His brother died in a fire.
This is when a lonely Ed dug up his mother’s body.
I believe that when Ed began killing women he believed he was doing Gods bidding...
And when he butchered them, well maybe he was putting the women to good use. He leaved with his mother until he was 50.
Maybe his cruel mother was to blame for the evil that is Ed.
Is that what happened to me? Has the events in life made me who I am? Maybe...
So dear reader. Here we are. And you are listening to me... would you like to tour my twisted mind? Would you like to enter Hell...?

The human body is so frail. Muscle can not stop a knife... muscle can not stop a bullet...
Death is not evil. Death is always there. It’s waiting for a slip up. A fall maybe. You’re happily going up to bed when you slip. That’s all it takes. One slip and your neck could shatter. Death doesn’t wait. It comes and it takes you.
Death is a friend. It should be greeted. It can take away the pain, take away the suffering, and take away the true evil that is life. The true horror lays in living.
Death is good.
Personally I like pain. I like to watch people squirm under my thumb. I like to watch them beg for death knowing full well that the pain will never end...

But me... I like pain...
There are two main paths of pain. Physical and mental.
Mental is my favourite... I love to watch a man break down. A full grown man crying at my feet and beg for me to end it, to kill him...
There is no other satisfaction...
You know the noises you here as you lay in bed? The creak, the rustle, the snap, well now, what could that be? It could be a cat... it could be the wind... it could be a burglar... it could be a serial killer...
Many killers get thrills from watching there victim. They like the feel of dominance so it is prone that they could come into your house and get you while you sleep.
You see, dominance thrills them. To get you unaware, to get you when you are off guard... that creak could be a cat... then again, it could a killer.
And what if it is a burglar? Well then, is that o.k.? Oh no... If a burglar panics then he will kill you with out thought. You remember that thing I said about a single moment in life could change your future? You remember how I said that the human body is so frail?
Well a burglar will act with out thinking. If you confront him/her; that was never part of his plan so what does he do? He acts with out thinking. One bullet and death descends.
So that creak at night could be a cat, or it could be the end of your life.
That is mental torture. Mild mental torture...

Then there is a killer’s signature.
How I love signatures....
Do I have one? You could say I do... maybe the fact that I slash my knife from the bottom right of the neck to the top left of the neck.
Many killers kill women. The fictional 'Strip Strangler' killed women because they rejected him. He broke into there apartments and waited. When they were tucked up in bed he would strike. He would rape and suffocate his victims. Imagine you had rejected a boy and that night it all happened. It would be dark. You would be powerless. He would brutally rape you. Pain would wash threw your body... you would beg for death because you know now that there is no help...
You know your going to die...
And then he strangles you. To be strangled is not a nice way to die. In fact it’s horrible. I prefer to slash the throat and let my victim drowned on there own blood as it gargles from there neck.
But the fear of it. To be raped and killed before you even realise what has happened. You might have won the lottery that night. You might have gone to bed all happy thinking that in the morning you would go out and buy a car...
And that night you are brutally and cruelly murdered.
Fear life, for that is the true face of evil...

Maybe the false intellectual complex of logic sadly shaken by life’s turbulent events could be an explanation. Even the strong minded are prone to insanity.
In one sense, I could argue that we are all slightly mad.
Lets pick an example; a couple life in a nice big country house. The couple have been together for 10 years and have a strong and stable relationship. Then tragedy strikes. The man’s father dies. In his grieve he fails to comprehend his wife’s pregnancy. But she tells him. His grieve creates a mental barrier preventing information from settling into the brain. He loved his father a great deal.
As the weeks pass, the pregnant woman becomes more and more demanding that he get other his father’s death. In blind rage the man strikes out. In short, the woman has a still born baby because of her husbands attack. Grief riddled and guilty the man kills himself.

Now, was the man mad? Did anger and grief momentarily blind his sense of sanity? Did that simple act lead him to kill himself? Or does the story go deeper? Maybe his wife provoked him unknowing that he was mentally unstable. Could this be argued as madness? In truth, sanity doesn’t exist. We all have believes that could be considered mad. We all do things that could be considered mad. Such as killing ourselves. Sanity doesn’t exist.

now what one is the Killer? can you tell?
look into the eyes of death. if you feel uncomfortable then you are correct.

'click here to find out'

Now if you got that wrong, or guessed, let me explain why. You see, there are two main types of serial killers.

1; Organised Killers
Personally, I put myself in this category. For you see, Organised Killers show knowledge and understanding in the field of forensic science and tend to be of high intelligence. They plan every detail and, like myself, are perfectionists. There clever planning enables them to cover there tracks. Now Organised Killers are special because they are just like yourselves. You will find that must caught serial killers are family people, having a wife/husband and children. There described as’ looking like yourselves’, ‘normal’, and ‘wouldn’t hurt a fly’. So you see, Organised Killers blend in the Norm of the world. Your father or mother could be killers.

2; Disorganized Killers
The ‘Brutes’ as I call them. They are the ones you know are dangerous. They look unstable, and commonly are, and are short tempered. They show a lack of knowledge. They lash out and kill leaving all evidence behind. Fools. They deserve to be caught.

So you see, serial Killers are everywhere and you don’t even know it. They look normal, they act normal, but they are not normal. Fear life, for it is a treacherous path to death.

On could argue that Intelligence equals madness. A twisted irony isn’t it? But why? A question where no answer will ever be delivered to satisfy.
There has been a serial Killer who eat woman who looked like his late mother. He believed he was preserving her soul. Grieving.
There has been a Serial Killer who raped women and the left them in sexual positions. He gained ‘pleasure out of this. Sexual.
There has been a killer who captured and tortured his ‘subjects’. It gave him a sense of pleasure. Dominants
There has been a killer who killed men who whistled at her. She cut of there penis’s and made her ‘subjects’ eat them. Dominant Revenge.
There has been a killer who killed cheating wives. His own wife had cheated and died in a car crash whilst trying to evade her husband. He killed cheaters believing he was ‘cleaning the world of sinners’. Religious.

I kill for the fun of it. I don’t need sexual pleasure because killing is my pleasure. I kill I feel whole again. I enjoy watching people brake under my thumb, I even enjoy it when they escape my grasp which has happened more that once. I give my ‘subjects’ a chance. Because, to me, if they can escape I have done my job. They are still broken inside.
The world is still broken inside.

Piczo