Cereal Killerz

I've been reading a lot about serial killers in the past few days. Yes Serial Killers. I think it started with a fascination with the Sufjan Steven's song John Wayne Gacy Jr.. It is one of the most beautiful pieces of music ever written. So careful not to step on toes with sympathy for any party involved (either "bad" or "good") but instead it holds a sadness aimed at the whole series of events.

So I think it started there. But only started. As I read more, (the particulars aren't important) I wondered, was I reading out of morbid facsination, or was it a result of curiousity, or some affinity I felt for/with these people? I decided it was the latter. Which is kind of scary I know.

Now that all of you are thinking of how you are going to set up my intervention, or hitting 'comment' to recommend a good therapist, perhaps I should explain a little. I'm not sure I vibe on the whole killing people thing. The thing I feel kindred with serial killers about is the search for perfection. That perfect killing, the one that makes the others pale in comaprison. The one that exacts all the little rituals leading to the ultimate expression of how you feel and open every cathartic gateway so the pent up emotion can flood out and your life can fall neatly into place.

Serial killers don't get more and more outlandish with each killing because they are taunting anyone, they do it because the last time it didn't work. The death didn't achieve its goal, peace.

Maybe I'm giving the mentally unstable more credit than they deserve. Maybe not.

Isn't that what we all want? Isn't that what we all are? Little unfulfilled desiring machines? If we ceased desiring what would we do? What motivation would we have?

Maybe that's my fascination with serial killers. Maybe I feel right there with them pounding away at something and thinking, "This is supposed to work. Why isn't it working?" But the problem is the serial killers and I are looking to satiate ourselves with these things, these projects, which are outside ourselves in hope that that will quiet our souls.

Maybe we all are. Sadistic little bastards.