Just this second determined that the Amazon reviews for “Snakes in Suits” was the wrong thing to get lost in.
How did that happen? I had looked up the origins of “going postal”, was led to a book on the subject of U.S. Postal Service violence and culture, then drifted off toward the ‘Snakes’ because it was viewed by a number of the same people. If you don’t want snakes in the corporate world, where do you want them?
Today I began the application process to become a postal worker myself, and I must say I have never encountered such a killer-friendly organization. Preferential consideration for veterans, the more active-duty the better, and they require that all males my age have registered with the Selective Service, a personal job app first.
I couldn’t remember if I had dodged that like I had wanted to, like my moral bone would have been proud of, or if I had registered and simply crossed my fingers that it wouldn’t lead to my getting drafted and shipped off, at which point I would have needed to shoot up my barracks in order to look myself in the mirror.
So I checked my status online, at the risk of putting myself on the radar, and for the benefit of potentially earning a $15 per hour job– and found that yes, I had registered. Can I claim rebel points for putting it off until the 25th day of 30 after turning eighteen? And will others get gung-ho points in the eyes of postal recruiters for registering on their eighteenth birthdays?
I don’t recall an allowance for ‘free thought’ in the conscientious objector exemption when it was relevant to my situation; seems the law is written more friendly today toward an individual who objects individually, rather than who cloaks himself as unthinkingly within a pacifist religion as a soldier letting the military do his thinking for him.
Making love and not war is all well and good, but for me the overarching belief has been that the question of who, if anyone, I should kill was a matter of too much importance to put in anyone else’s hands.
A layman’s snap judgment– sorry. Maybe what we’ve been seeing in Trey Sesler’s more recent videos is the onset of schizophrenia; maybe the pneumothorax self-reported on plays into it somehow. I have not pinpointed where the change occurred, but boy is it striking to compare Mr. Anime’s recent stuff with his earlier work. He used to be a genius, but not anymore looks like, and a little bird tells me that he probably remembers sharper days through his current fog now and then, and doesn’t like the change.
The murderer on his way that I see watching his videos comes from viewing his early stuff, when he was sharp as a tack and full of attitude. Often he would voice that he didn’t give a fuck, but there he was striving toward worldly pursuits as if he gave a handjob at least. But clearly he aspired to not giving a fiddler’s fart, like he aspired to so many things, and toward the end we may truly have been witnessing a man with next to no motivation.
Whatever name is to be used to account for the outward change, I do not trust it to account for his inner movement. When I play the Party Game with myself and look for comps, naturally I see myself as closely resembling Ted Bundy. But it surprised me to learn how much I had in common with earthquake preventer Herb Mullin. Sometimes a person just needs a little help to do the dirty job that needs doing. If they are too sane they have to go crazy.
I’ve noticed this a lot with white offenders as opposed to black guys. And maybe it’s not so much about being Saner Than Thou as having a too-nice persona. In the American black subculture it’s okay to be angry. They have every right to be angry, it makes sense to be angry, and the emotion is not hidden from view. The black murderer doesn’t need the extra help; he can kill you while perfectly sane. Whitey, on the other hand, is all about keeping up appearances that everything’s hunky-dory, even though if you looked hard enough you would realize he too could reasonably feel in the way that he does. So Whitey arranges a deal with the gods, or with the left hand God’s right disavows, and is transformed into the psycho he needs to be to pull his violence off.
- The Spirit of Dennis Rader
- My Friend Dahmer
- Not Much to Say
- Only the Shadow Knows
- Jagged Breathing and All
- Talking Cows
- Colin Flaherty of ‘White Girl Bleed a Lot’
- What the Heck to Call This Thing, and
- I Can See Two Starbucks at the Same Time
- I Love Trolls
- I Ended Up Reading the Book Twice
- Coming Up With a Title– The MONSTROUS by WALKER Show