Sending My Regrets
This is for a YouTube comment in which I carted out one of world’s most useless words, “psychopath” without any prompting. I realized after pouring over the entirety of comments that I was the only person who ever used that word.
Shame on me. Shame, shame, shame.
And good on the world for letting it wither away, if that comment section was indicative of the direction the world is headed.
The Jerry Brudos story, subject of the YouTube documentary where I commented to viewer replies, is significant to Monstrous in that Ann Rule’s book Lust Killer, written under the pen name “Andy Stack”, was the first full-length true crime book I purchased on my way down.
Turned out the book was about this guy who knocked off five women, who would take them home to torture and photograph before he killed them. Once he did two girls together, where one girl watched the other get murdered while waiting for her turn; all kinds of grisly details.
On my way up, a direction I’ve been continuing along to this day, I met Ann Rule at a writer/agent conference, didn’t freak her out like she used to freak when I said I related to Ted Bundy, and later sent her my opening chapters, I believe, along with the context in which mention of her book would appear. She wrote back helpfully with regard to my manuscript, if only her suggestions for improved marketability wouldn’t have compromised my artistic vision, and added that she didn’t mind my mention of Lust Killer, that she was happy to have done her part to ensure that Jerry Brudos was never released from prison.
I seriously wonder how the math works, what the relationship is between the true crime genre and crime rate. On one hand you’ve got countless sickos (until of course they are counted) having their paths greased toward destruction thanks to books like that, and maybe on the tip of the pinkie of the other you have a last nail being hammered into a living murderer’s coffin. The other four-plus digits, I imagine you’ve got the whole human race gathering around the wound and experiencing the catharsis of murder vicariously so that they don’t have to kill.
It’s something that makes me wonder what my own book’s relationship to the murder rate would be, if it achieved wide circulation. What’s plain enough is that forces great and small don’t want it to succeed. Monstrous is a therapeutic book for my soul bros that tells them they’re not crazy for viewing the world as they do, something they know already but it’s still nice to hear. But is it therapeutic for the masses who would have taken pleasure in say a gimp being thrown in a locker when social standing seemed so important? I’ve got a title that practically makes people come in their shorts, but a content that doesn’t necessarily take them the rest of the way.
In the end I say who knows, though probably Monstrous will lead us closer to our doom, which is our course by definition. All things die and we’re not dead yet, so we must be getting closer all the time. To this I can only shrug and assert that no liquid human is meant to survive their own Enlightenment into a gaseous form.
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