I love a
good dark humor pun. If you can’t take some joy out of your work, there’s no
point doing it at all. I take plenty of other joy but having a sense of humor
keeps one from spiraling into morality.
I can’t say
that I’m a killer without conscience. Some days I think that makes me more of a
monster. I know that what I do (or did) goes against what society has dictated
as good. I know that taking another life is not how we as a community move
forward. I know that it’s wrong but I don’t feel bad for doing something that I
enjoy. It’s been my purpose since I was a teenager. How can that truly be
wrong?
Purpose has
been defined as four things: You love it, the world needs it, you are paid for
it, and you are great at it. Now, I love it. I mean really love murder. It brings
me joy like nothing else. One care argue whether the world needs killers –
someone to “decrease the surplus population” if you want to give it a productive
meaning. I’m not paid for it but it’s not because I couldn’t make a living at
it; I choose not to. And am I great at it? I believe I am. One of the most
prolific serial killers of the modern age. If anyone bothered to count it all
up.
The books.
Fuck! The
notebooks. They’re at the house. I need to get them now.
I’m sorry
to cut this short, but as always, dear readers,
Stay Safe
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