A few thoughts on the Colorado gunman

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/15057589/

This article says that Morrison, the man who held a group of high school students hostage, and sexually assaulted them, before killing one and then himself, had talked about suicide before. Though he only killed one of his hostages, Morrison clearly had the mindset of a mass murderer. He wanted to kill himself, but before he did, having made the decision to end his life, also decided to live out his depraved fantasies and take a few lives with his. He'd probably thought about doing what he ultimately did for a long time, but didn't do it until, knowing he was going to die, figured he had nothing to lose.
The mass murderer and female hostages is reminiscent of Richard Speck, who took a nursing school dorm hostage before slaughtering all but one of the residents. But Speck, unlike most of his breed, didn't kill himself or die in a shootout with police. His weapon of choice, stabbing, was also rare among mass murderers, who prefer the anonymous, rapid-fire method of shooting.
On a personal note, I was invited to a party tonight, but have, once again, decided not to go. I just don't feel up to it. I guess I still need some time on my own.

Third mistrial for Gotti Junior

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/15030317/

John Gotti Jr. got a third mistrial. The charge is whether he continued to receive mob money after he claims to have "quit" the Gambino crime family in 1999, meaning the statute of limitations would have expired before the charges were brought in 2004.
The odd thing is, this article, describing Gotti's mistrials, doesn't say a thing about jury tampering. The mob has been doing that for years, and with one mistrial after another, I have to wonder if Gotti's goons are intimidating jurors. Each mistrial has been caused by a jury deadlock. We have to remember who Gotti Junior learned the family business from, a man called the "Teflon Don" because no law enforcement agency could get a charge to stick to him, none other than the legendary John Gotti Senior. While Gotti Junior is no match for his father, he clearly learned something from him on how to get out of the clutches of law enforcement. But even Gotti Senior's luck ran out eventually (he died in prison a few years ago, likely still running the business from inside).
As the last of the great American crime families goes down in flames, I can't help thinking an era has passed. I know it's not exactly a healthy outlook, but America has always had its high-profile mobsters; Capone, Luciano, Siegel, Lansky, Gambino, Gotti, and so many others, who murdered and pillaged, but looked damn good doing it and captured the attention of mainstream society, a dark menace that was undeniably appealing. With this breed dead, all we have left are street gangs, low-rent hoods with no class or style. But maybe this shows us something too. If we strip away the veneer off these legendary mobsters, all we're left with is violent criminals. But you can't help admiring, or at least being fascinated by, a guy who looks like he belongs in a Wall Street power lunch meeting while working underground.
On a personal note, I'm writing again. Last night I did some more work on a novel-in-progress (what writer doesn't have at least one of those?), created a new idea for a story, and looked over an old poem that, to my horror, still has relevance in my life. It's about me in a relationship with a guy who ignored me with the exception of certain times he thought it was okay to bring me back into his life. I first wrote it four years ago, and very little has changed. I might post it on here sometime, if I can get it just to my liking.

Won't be going out tonight

I've gotten into a creative mood, and have decided to spend tonight doing something I haven't done in way too long: writing. I have so many projects in the works that I have been neglecting due to depression and lethargy, but I'm starting to come out of it now, and am ready to channel it into my writing. And while I'm sorry that I won't be able to join the girls at Midian tonight, I always feel better after I've written, I feel accomplished, like I've actually done something, however small, with my life. Maybe, after the craziness of SMB, I just need some time to myself, to pull myself out of my rut, and after I get back to writing and, through that, exorcise my various demons, I'll be able to go out into the world again.

A quote to think about

I found this while researching one of my favorite topics, crazy religious fanatics:
"The fiercest fanatics are often selfish people who were forced, by innate shortcomings or external circumstances, to lose faith in their own selves. They separate the excellent instrument of their selfishness from their ineffectual selves and attach it to the service of some holy cause. And though it be a faith of love and humility they adopt, they can be neither loving nor humble." -Eric Hoffer "The True Believer"
While a quote like this requires a wider span of time to contemplate, and I have no information about its author, I have a few thoughts/interpretations:
Many so-called "Christians" who advocate murdering abortion doctors and intolerance of homosexuality, go on "missions" to pass out Bibles rather than food, are acting out of self-interest, not devotion to any higher power. In religious groups (or any other fanatic sect of similarly downtrodden people), they find an outlet for their need for power, in the assertion of "superior" beliefs. Religious ideals of mercy and compassion can't be shown, because their goal is to assert their superiority, not to help anyone. Not that all fanatics are selfish. Some genuinely believe they are doing "God's work," either through self-delusion or a misinterpretation of holy texts. Like I said, this requires more time than I currently have to give it full justice.
This quote reminds me of something Colin Wilson wrote in A Criminal History of Mankind, that some people have a need for dominance and, in the absence of a specific, positive talent to get them noticed, they turn to criminal behavior, for which the only prerequisite is a lust for power and a lack of conscience (if the crime isn't motivated by a specific economic need as well, but like John Haigh, murderer for profit and pleasure, "There are easier ways to make money.") as a way to assert the power and superiority they believe they have.
I better stop now, while I'm ahead, before I write something stupid. I just wanted to post a blog that was more than me whining about the lack of love in my life. In the face of my depressed ramblings and absence from public life, I have gotten great support from friends, including Jennifer, who invited me to Midian tomorrow night to be free of my problems with men. I'll try to go, since her invitation was so kind, and I really need to get out, but weeknights are never good for me, especially without a car, and I'm still worried about running into a certain someone. But if I feel up to it, I'll see Jennifer, Sharon and Amanda at Midian tomorrow night. I'll just tell myself if I see that guy, I shouldn't care, because he has made it clear that he doesn't care, and there are far better guys for me out there, along with some great friends who continue to invite me places to cheer me up, even when I more often than not don't show up because of stupid flashes of melancholy. I haven't been to Midian yet. I really should check it out. Being alone in my room with only my thoughts can't be too good for me, even if I do see a certain guy if I go out. Better to confront it and decide firsthand that I'm better off without him than to keep mulling over things alone in my room.

Dragging my feet

I wanted to go to Entre Nous last Saturday, but by the end of the day all I wanted to do was lie around in bed. I can't figure out why I've felt so tired lately. It's unfortunate, because there's so much I want to do, write, meet up with friends, that I just haven't felt like doing. Maybe the sluggishness is an extension of the depression. There are places I'm afraid to go because I might run into a certain someone, someone I can't stand the sight of right now. Once I get over this (something I should have gotten over immediately), I'll probably get my energy back. But this whole man-mess has proven somewhat useful for my writing, providing an outlet to figure all this out. What I can't figure out is why this one guy got to me like he did, when I have had similar casual relationships with other guys that have ended without so much as a second glance from either of us. Through my more logical eyes, I see that this guy was hardly something special, we were barely compatible, except physically. But like I said, I've had other relationships like that, but they didn't end with me such a mess.
So, to the Bound crowd again; you very likely will not be seeing me for a while. At least until I find out what this guy did to take up space in my mind he had no right occupying, and by figuring this out, try to destroy it. Then I should be okay. Or until then, just remember what an asshole this guy was, and that, like a friend told me at SMB, I shouldn't have to chase after anyone. Maybe it's my old self-loathing kicking in again. Despite all the guys who clearly want me (but I don't want most of them, therein lies the problem), the one who doesn't is tearing me up inside. I wonder why the bad things are always more powerful than the good.
But on a good note, I got a message on MySpace from someone who had read my blogs and, in response, called me "brilliant." Though this one falls into the "whiny" category, it was nice to hear.
I will be leaving work soon, and going home. New Prison Break tonight. Being without a boyfriend, the men of Prison Break are all I have.

Bound's new venue

I won't be at Bound tonight, or, it appears, any time in the near future. Due to personal problems, and the new location, going to Bound will be difficult for me, at least for the time being. I know I shouldn't let personal problems, that shouldn't, by virtue of logical thinking, even be problems at all, stop me from going out and seeing everyone I had so much fun with at SMB, as well as Jeanne and Justin, who are returning tonight after a long absence, but I just can't get up the strength to go tonight. I just want everyone who is going to have fun for me, and be sure to supply details on the new venue. From what I saw at SMB, it should be a good one, even though I'll miss Jeff behind the bar at the Green Lantern, and of course that Smirnoff drink special (maybe that led to some of the questionable decisions that I've made there).
It's a shame I have to miss Bound for a while. For the most part, I've met great people there; Klawdya, Todd, Jeanne and Justin, Johnny and Erin (I still can't believe I missed your wedding), Maverick, Dolphy, Jennifer, Angie and Sean, John and Emily, and so many others. Just know that I'll miss you during my absence, trying to collect what's left of my self-esteem (I'm going through another one of my depressed phases at the moment), and that you've helped me, probably without realizing it. If you hear someone scream tonight, maybe you'll think of me.

Feeling smart

I was watching the season premiere of Criminal Minds last night, and Dr. Reed was looking for a book that would help crack the code the UNSUB had sent to them. The team had already received various "clues," including a butterfly in a box, native to Great Britain. The combination of the butterfly, and the images of a blond girl chained in a dingy room by an obsessive captor, immediately reminded me of one of my favorite novels, The Collector by John Fowles. The kidnapper said the book "influenced many of my kind," and The Collector is one of the best insights into the criminal psyche ever published. One killer team (I don't remember if it was Bittaker and Norris or Lake and Ng) called their plan to capture and torture female sex slaves "Project Miranda," after the captive girl in the novel.
Dr. Reed eventually discovered that he was looking for a book published in 1963 (which made me more convinced that it was The Collector), and, based on a Chaucer poem the kidnapper sent to them, which contained the word fowls, Reed recalls a contemporary British author named John Fowles, and finally discovers that Fowles published a novel called The Collector in 1963, and the clues sent to them by the kidnapper, butterfly, music box, are all things that are collected.
Needless to say, I felt quite proud of myself that I had thought of The Collector long before Reed figured it out, even if it was only at the forefront of my mind because it's one of my favorite books.
On that note, ever since I started watching Criminal Minds, I've felt a similarity between myself and Dr. Reed. The official site for the show describes Reed as a man whose "social IQ is as low as his intellectual IQ is high." Reed himself says that everyone tells him their secrets because "I have no one to share them with." Like Reed, I have a tendency to rattle off facts about myself or what I know, often in a flat tone of voice (if I'm not shying away from conversation altogether), because that's the only way I know how to interact. My "low social IQ" has often led to me getting hurt, because I rarely know exactly what it is people, especially guys, want from me (sometimes, of course, it's painfully obvious what guys want, even to me). I don't know the right way to tell someone I want something more, or less, serious. In high school, my attempt to break up with my first boyfriend was a mess of stuttering and half-words, until I had to break away and write out what I wanted to say, and then come back.
I have always been able to express myself better in writing than in conversation. In writing, I can go back and cross out or delete the wrong words, and decide when a thought is "finished" enough to be made public. In conversation, I only get one shot, and after I walk away, I always think, like many people, maybe, of what I should have said. I should have phrased something differently, or told them something else, or not as much. But by then it's too late. Not that I haven't met some great friends recently, but my failures stay with me more than my successes.

Chavez sees the devil

Venezuelan president Chavez (the same guy televangelist asshole Pat Robertson called on the US to assasinate) called George W. Bush "the devil" in a speech at the U.N.
Now, facts aside, time for my commentary. Bush is not the devil, he is merely a tool of the devil, the devil's pet chimp. We all know Dick Cheney is really the devil. He has eluded death from heart disease several times, shot a guy in the face with few repercussions (except a joke here and there), and appears, for lack of a better term, hell-bent on world domination through the spread of "democracy." Cheney was secretary of defense during the first Gulf War, and is now vice president during the second. Just something to think about.
The reason Dick Cheney always looks like a vice has clamped his mouth shut, and he always hunches over when he appears in public, is because that's how he keeps his disguise on. Too much movement causes his "human" skin to fall off. And he walks so stiffly because, with a human body, it's hard to walk on cloven hooves.

New home for my blog

I used to have a blog on MySpace, until I was informed that Rupert Murdoch now owns everything I post on there, so fuck it. Thanks, Brooklyn Frank, for the heads up on that.
So Murdoch, owner of NewsCorps, now owns everything I have posted; my problems with men, my paranoid theories, and my hatred of "President" Bush and his league of evil. I was hoping to compile some of my blogs to publish in an anthology I heard about, but now I possibly have a legal hurdle. First FoxNews, now this. Thanks for all the bullshit Murdoch.