Tommy Walker

The Spirit of Dennis Rader

jnorth1000 6 months ago (edited)
It’s funny how he actually trusted the police to be “honest” with him when they said they couldn’t trace a computer disk to him- and that’s exactly how he was caught. They traced it to a computer at a church where he worked, and then he complained that they lied to him, as if they were the ones with no morals. He murders 10 people, 2 of them children, and thinks the cops were the “bad guys” for lying to him. What a jerk off!

MONSTROUS by Tommy Walker 2 months ago +jnorth1000
Rader had been coming from a spiritual place where the conscious and subconscious commingle, and had let Lieutenant Landwehr, the Highest Authority available, stand in for God. He figured that God would have given the Devil his due and been honest, because the Devil is God’s favorite son. All God’s children fight to stay whole, battle against socialization, elude the authorities until they accept their moral authority as being greater than their own. Parents stand in for God all the time, as do teachers in their turn, and usually they win but not always. Not if the child in the equation is the actual moral superior to who he is matched against. In this case, it is the herded social units in the process of losing their battles and who wish to drag down with them everyone they can, who become the next line of defense. This great rolling mass that picks up more mass as it rolls looks unbeatable, but it has one weakness– truth. That’s how Garry Kasparov could beat The World at chess, and how the likes of a Dennis Rader could beat all of society too. No one gives you a medal when you win the only race that gets all humans racing, but God can at least appreciate the accomplishment, even if He’s hellbent on catching his wayward son, dead or alive, in the end.
Properly understood on the highest plane, Rader did not murder ten people, but ten cells in the social body, standing in for God, who he deep down wanted to align with, if only God could win. He had shown God beyond all reason that he was a worthy adversary, worthy of this one small favor while he edged toward a conditional surrender, on his own terms. He did not actually want to kill people, any more than he wanted to kill God; he just wanted to be recognized as worthy of standing at God’s side. God will kill millions gleefully if it means killing a Devil in dictator form, if it should come to that, but Rader here is saying no more bloodshed please. Just let me surrender on my own terms, and I will join your side.
I have my doubts as to whether Landwehr played it cosmically correctly.

jnorth1000 3 hours ago +MONSTROUS by Tommy Walker
You act like you know God. How is that?

MONSTROUS by Tommy Walker 50 minutes ago +jnorth1000
Largely I am drawing from an imaginary network of friends I had in childhood that I see now as a kind of Olympus, now that I have effectively woken up from what had been a daydreaming state that lasted many years. I have written down everything I could remember from that dream, and been blown away while re-reading at how many details suggested metaphoric deeper meanings. One of my imaginary friends was a guy I have re-interpreted in adulthood as Satan (with the help of Faust) while I know now that my planet’s General (with the help of logic) had been my network’s God. My buddy Satan and respected boss God co-starred in several stories over the years, culminating in a scene that was almost a page out of Bind Torture Kill when Rader was communicating with Landwehr.


April 29, 2016 Posted by | Uncategorized | Leave a comment

My Friend Dahmer

On page 30 of 224

I soaked Derf’s miniature “My Friend Dahmer” for free online years ago, and really REALLY loved it. So far, his long form version (in my physical hands) has me really REALLY annoyed.

The miniature was more like him taking dictation from God, consenting for his pencil to be led where it will, while the longie has him trying to force his subjective narrative into the minds of his readers.  I would need a brain transplant to conclude from what I can’t comprehend that a given point of view is nonsense, yet that is precisely how he dismisses perspectives on Jeffrey Dahmer as an anti-hero, a take on the guy that can easily be supported by a close reading of Derf’s earlier work.

He should really just shut up and draw.  Yes, to this point I’ve been treated to more words than pictures, and in fairness I had been warned.  I read an interview with the author a while back that put me off-balance, learning then that he wasn’t as sympathetic to Dahmer as it seemed his first book was.  Reminds me of Robin Williams talking about the ultra-sympathetic character he played in “One-Hour Photo”, or Ed Asner about his Lou Grant character’s famous line to Mary Richards: “You have spunk”; I hate spunk”.  Asner thought that his most beloved line was the dumbest thing he’d ever heard.

“When I was a kid, I was just like anybody else.”

This quote from Jeff is immediately contradicted by a photograph of him being a freak in high school.  Nevermind that the greater experience of childhood is pre-adolescent (when freakiness is the norm); the thrust is to discredit what comes out of Jeff’s mouth.  Just as when in the action of this graphic novel, Jeff’s peers (represented by a single speaker) call Jeff a liar when he tells them he’s been dissolving roadkill in acid as any good young scientist would.  Jeff gets angry and acts like a freak, as any normal person would if the default position they met in life was for people to disbelieve them.

After Mom and Dad, the cartoonist was extremely high on the list of people responsible for the way that Dahmer turned out. It is interesting that Derf shifts blame by asking where all the adults were, when grown-ups are like those unseen voices in Peanuts cartoons talking gibberish when you’re a kid in a kid’s world.  You seriously think that ostracizing him was going to endear him to you?


April 22, 2016 Posted by | Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Jagged Breathing and All

And those weren’t crickets– they were frogs!

March 14, 2015 Posted by | Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Forget About the Bookrings– Just 99 Cents at Amazon


I think fiction generally delves deeper in the human psyche than nonfiction. For example, I don’t think I’ve ever a read a nonfiction book that seemed to capture the inner workings of a serial killer’s mind (and creeped me out) as much as say, “Red Dragon”, by Thomas Harris.

> I don’t think I’ve ever a read a
> nonfiction book that seemed to capture the
> inner workings of a serial killer’s mind


Can I recommend ‘Monstrous – The Autobiography of a Serial Killer but for the grace of God’ written by our very own bookcrosser Tommy Walker (screen name MonstrousWalker). He has several bookrings going (registered by others) which I recommend you get yourself on. This is a non-fiction book which does exactly what it says on the tin. I’ve just read it myself.

January 2, 2015 Posted by | Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Book ‘Em Archives 2001 – 2002

(This review by Anneli Rufus followed that of “I: The Creation of a Serial Killer” by Jack Olsen.  I feared it was gone forever, but today I tried a different sort of search and search engine, and there it was. Posting it here just in case the original truly one day goes away.  Not sure about the “close calls” part, or other language in support of that statement, but this is one person’s take.)

Monstrous, by Tommy Walker.  (, 2001): Offering yet more insight into the spirit’s scariest recesses, this “autobiography of a serial killer but for the grace of God” mixes sardonic wit with vivid detail to track some very close calls. Starting with his perfectly ordinary birth, the pseudonymous Walker recalls his first murderous urges as a schoolboy and their progression into much more detailed plans. Living in an urban university district, the author nurtured homicidal fantasies, choosing locations and even victims. This is about as close as you can come to a murderer’s mind, this side of murder.

December 31, 2014 Posted by | Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Chapter Seven– Enjoy

November 29, 2013 Posted by | Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Gaskins/Earle on the Canvas and They Can’t Get Up

I was shaking in my shoes but the verdict is in: Monstrous beat Final Truth

At 15-for-63 for Donald Gaskins with Wilton Earle, Final Truth: The Autobiography of a Serial Killer beats heck out of the 27 (I think it was) out of 778 for David Guterson’s Snow Falling On Cedars, in terms of quantified citations from Amazon customer reviews, but it has never received a genre-transcendent, unqualified equal first on a reader’s list of favorite books, and my baby has.

1/17/98 sickest autobiography I’ve ever read
4/15/98 the best criminal autobiography ever?
4/19/98 best true crime book ever written; best written book I have ever read
12/6/98 the most gross (serial killer book)
7/26/99 I have never been so sickened and appalled by any book I’ve read
12/13/99 very best autobiography of a serial killer
1/24/2000 by far the most educational and disturbing book of its kind
10/11/2000 the most engrossing book I have ever read
5/11/2001 I’ve never been so horrified by a killer’s story
10/5/2002 best telling ever of a killer’s crimes
1/27/2003 no book has ever unleashed such an outpour of (previously unknown) emotions in me
1/27/2003 (he regarded it) as the most vivid account of human brutality in print. I must say I agree.
9/5/2003 best damn book I’ve read in a long time
3/9/2010 best serial killer book ever
8/26/2012 I think this is the great book of the year

I’m thinking this space may be used more and more for publishing various lists, and that YouTube may get most of my thinking.

October 26, 2013 Posted by | Uncategorized | , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Gawdawful, But on the Board

My first ‘radio show’ on YouTube, sore throat and all:

Monstrous Tommy Walker

October 22, 2013 Posted by | Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Dead Fish Handshakes

Where do they come from? Serial killers Robert Pickton and Ted Bundy are purported to have had them, and I’m afraid that I have one as well if I don’t shoot up psychologically in advance.

Basically I think it’s because the handshake is just so absurd, and the less allied among us with humanity are more resistant to that absurdity. You’re saying, if what we’re about to do makes any sense at all, that you want us both to demonstrate that we’re not carrying weapons, that it’s never occurred to anyone that a person could be left-handed or switch to their left situationally if it conferred to them an advantage, and that we’re supposed to show that we mean each other no harm by placing ourselves mutually in the starting position for a nifty judo move? The more absurd the better from the standpoint of society, which historically would also have us wear the silliest hats imaginable, through which we could prove our commitment to being a part of a group by showing that we would do anything, and I do mean anything, in order to be accepted as members.

Fake it till you make it, or lie until you believe it, is the principle involved by which handshakes begin to feel natural, for everyone feels weird about them when they’re starting out. Those who ally with the power to be found in numbers will willingly pass through ‘fake it’ to reach the other side, but like Kasparov against The World in a fair fight game of chess, I have personally always felt that my Truth against their numbers was a mismatch in my favor, so my distastes for absurdity and dishonesty have generally been enough to at least dampen the enthusiasm of my right arm and hand.

Pickton and Bundy met their vigorous squeezers and shakers as suspected or known extreme adversaries on opposite sides of the law. Bundy’s match in particular revealingly admitted that he didn’t want to shake Ted’s hand but felt he had to do it. He faked it, and made it, like a real man, lying like a rug through his fingers. Ted didn’t want to shake the cop’s hand either, but guess what– he didn’t. All he did was dangle his right arm out there, like a dead fish.

September 28, 2013 Posted by | Uncategorized | Leave a comment

My Guardian Angel

Today I met a musician who was not a human being, he said. He told me he was my guardian angel. He was a missionary of God, but not the door-to-door type; instead he was in the habit of walking along the road with folks such as myself. He had a friend sprung from jail who was nonetheless still in trouble due to his taste for heroin, but my angel was not afraid– he had saved many people who had succumbed to that stuff. He called to me from behind when I was barely a block removed from stepping outside, for directions to the main drag which was where I was headed anyway, and so we walked together for the next several minutes.

My guardian angel learned that I was looking for work, especially dishwashing jobs, and he steered me toward a place where a friend of his worked.  He had the inside scoop that his dishwasher friend might be leaving soon and that a position might open up.

He asked my favorite music and I answered psychedelia like I always do– one must have an answer when asked– though I don’t quite believe myself anymore. He turned me on to a song called Paint Me in Your Sunshine and I tried, too late, to be the first one to expose him to that big Hawaiian’s song. Turned out Iz’s version of Somewhere Over the Rainbow was the song that was played at his wedding.

My visiting guardian angel loved the area, specifically he felt blessed, that all of us in these parts were blessed, and he wanted to return someday soon to pick out a house for himself. He commented disapprovingly on somebody’s rusting auto and unkempt yard, then on a scrap of litter, the exception rather than the rule, though he wasn’t hard core enough to pick it up. He was, however, hard core enough to walk his own potential litter across the street to a private trashcan, something I’d never do (especially if someone was watching) and I told him as much. ‘So what would you do?’ in tones of ‘drop it on the ground?’. I told him I’d suffer longer. I would keep holding onto my trash, maybe stuff it in a coat pocket, but my guardian angel had permission to use the neighbor’s receptacle as a citizen of the world, in the church of the whole universe.

When the time came that we parted, our differing perspectives (mine having diverged from his and that of my original self) regarding the concept of property stood in bold relief. I had gone and bought a banana for the privilege of receiving change for the bus, though conceivably I might have been simply able to present my five to the clerk, and there came a time when I was stuck with a banana peel, with no trash bin in sight. I stuffed it in my pocket, and suffered.

Holy crap! The banana peel is still in my pocket!


But it’s really my weakened guardian angel half that was sending these psycho-vibes, trying to save both Kitty’s life and me from going over the edge by telegraphing my bad intentions. [pg 370]

But this time my badly overmatched guardian angel half had only the strength to impotently worry about what might possibly happen. [pg 395]

April 12, 2012 Posted by | Uncategorized | , , , , , | Leave a comment