Mason Myers

  There's a fine line between genius and insanity.I have erased this line.It is sometimes an appropriate response to reality to go insane.[MCRP/OC/Human/Dark/#GV]  

[mentalcrackhead-blog]

The story of how I ended up here: V Cannon Fodder

It’s been five already? I thought there might be less so get me how you get me when I say I feel absolutely smug about pulling through with this shit for as long as I have. I’m not usually the kind to sit down and you know…Write in a diary. That’s so what a girl I’d fuck would do and I’m just not into stuff like that but since this place gets more and more boring by the second, (Well really freaky and useless but boring…Yeah that’s the worst I am going with today.) , I have no choice but to find my own entertainment between these thin ass nasty walls.

My handwriting’s kinda hard to read sometimes, the shots I usually am very resistive towards, make me all dozy and they affect how my body reacts. I’m not a fan of that. It’s kind of weird having to be who you are and think the way you do but to have your body give out and not act the way it used to…

It’s kind of scary. Hah…At the end of the day, I am what I fear most? That sounds so fucking poetic right now, I can’t even…

Anyways, I haven’t been able to write more because of an unfortunate incident that I will speak about in another time and at a different place.

I want to talk about Cannon Fodder today. I feel like no one will be bothering me for the next few hours so it’s the perfect time to get to writing.

First let me start with explaining what Cannon Fodder means for those of you who are dumb enough to not be into strategy or you know war shit in general. I used to love it when I was in middle school or some shit but that got old as fast as it got cool.

Cannon Fodder: noun

Noun:  Cannon fodder

Soldiers regarded merely as material to be expended in war.

I have my own understanding of Cannon fodder and I pull the card out each time it’s necessary.

Before I thought I only killed because I was bored, because I wanted to experience but once I had sacrificed more than anyone ever does for experimenting , my own version of cannon fodder in my head, I realized that if I wanted to, I could not quit. It wasn’t a habit I picked up while hanging with the wrong kids. It wasn’t a habit at all. It wasn’t like smoking and it isn’t…I can see it so much more clearly now. I need it. My life depends on it. My entire future has been built on it, my entire ideology, my entire being. If you take that part of me away then there’s no Mason left. It’s just….Some person stuck in a fucked up asylum that no one really gives a fuck about.

Because you don’t talk about those stuff. What are you gonna do? Open up a conversation about old people who use diapers and are being treated wrongly in an asylum a few states over at the dinner table like ‘Hey, mom have you heard about that old woman who got raped in that asylum?’ just doesn’t make sense so society kind of just ignores its problems. It’s better for everyone that way. No one wants to deal with those stuff and when you do, you are labelled an activist who lives a life differently than of others and those people who don’t understand you keep announcing to their family and friends that you are just experimenting and/or trying to give back and some people nod and awe about how much of a good person you are while the others ask ‘So when is he going back to school?’ because that life isn’t just realistic enough for them. Because you just can’t live with helping people. You have to go to a good college and graduate to get a good job. If you have a million dollar house and a smoking hot wife who cheats on you with the mail man and have a two year old with an over expensive manny , THEN you can start talking about people like me and actually doing squat about it. Even then everyone speaks behind your back like ‘Yeah he’s rich so he feels like he needs to give back. Poor guy. His wife cheats on him’ or ‘ Oh that thief is doing charity? Yeah vigilante? When are the police putting these people away?’

So there really isn’t any pleasing them. You have to be who you are fully. This is who I am and I’m going to talk about my pawn.

Back then (When the story I am about to tell took place.) I didn’t really know who I was but I was beginning to realize that this for me was more than just a game and a hobby. I was understanding the highs and lows of it slowly slowly and well…Like any other teenager does, experimenting with my craft. Practicing you could say…

I can still feel how cold that basement was….The cold, moist air and how it made my nose turn red. How the excitement had me on edge. How happy I was that I got another one. I don’t remember her name now but I do remember how she looked.

I remember her fair skin and how it shivered beneath my touch.

That was when I developed my love for blades.  

The night was silent. Almost too cruelly silent that the blowing wind outside hurt…No…It burnt. The cold always burns doesn’t it?

I could hear slow tiers over the wet ground pulling to their homes. Something so silent, so quiet, so slow and calming helped me be at peace. To feel like I was at ease, like I was home when in actuality I wasn’t. Have you ever felt like that? Like your home is another place?

The mud and puddles made a loud sound as I made my way to the building. From outside just an abandoned warehouse but on the inside, my very own factory where my dolls were made. Given…I knew nothing about my message or why  I was doing it, just that I needed to and more so…I wanted to.

The entire process excited me, it turned me on, made me happy and made me yearn more than I have ever for anyone. I wasn’t just someone begging for another person’s affection, I had my own collection, my own fantasies and my own world, my own piece of heaven on earth and I savored each and every moment before I even knew what I was going to do with it later on.

She was in the place all others were, hanging from the ceiling with the cotton tied behind her head to prevent her voice from getting out. The screaming to me was never as important as the squirming. I need to know they’re afraid. That’s for me the key.

And she was.

She was passed out when I got there but as soon as the sounds of me working my tools rose, so did she and as soon as she did, she started crying. Going through the same motion they all go through, asking why they’re there and why I’m doing this to them like they haven’t done anything wrong in their lives…I mean it’s pathetic. Come up with some new lines will you? But that doesn’t mean I didn’t enjoy each and every bit of it!

My keys made a clinching sound on the iron table I had brought in with myself and after that I sat down, drawing her into my notebook exactly as she was, even with the drool running down her chin as I had the other girls, while she cried and tried to break free.

I remember her frantically trying to get away and crying with every pant. The sound chains and ropes moving around so angrily made me look up and roll my eyes with a shaking head. “It’s not going to work.” I had told her and after a few more minutes of fruitless movements, she gave in entirely, breaking into tears.

Her cheeks went red like a girl’s does when you’re complimenting an outfit you really couldn’t give less fucks about and soon she was just hanging there. Tired of trying, tired of begging.

When she had thought she was going to die, I woke her up with my blade removing the skin of her finger carefully and once she screamed from the pain and ruined my perfect calculations I stabbed her in the palm.

You’d think it’s hard to do that but it isn’t. We’re all just flesh and bone. Like steak but…More alive.

After she was done screaming and I was way done pounding into her, she kept asking why I did it.

Over and over and over and over and over FUCKING AGAIN.

It pissed me off at some point so much that I stabbed her at least twenty times…She was on my goddamn nerves AND she ruined the method I was trying to develop but then it hit me..

I was not angry because she kept asking me why I did it, I was angry because besides wanting to and needing to I really didn’t have an excuse.

That’s when I realized she was a pawn all along. All of them. They were just soldiers I needed to sacrifice to realize that not only the kill is important but so is the message behind it.

So I knew I needed to practice more. Not with my disposal ways but also with what I wanted to say with them. Every artist makes art to say something and that…was my art. My own piece. My own war.

I needed to find something to say and to say it through the girls I killed. Otherwise I’d just be a useless serial killer who raped and killed random girls.

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[mentalcrackhead-blog]

The story of how I ended up here IV: First hunt

( NOTE : Before I begin the following solo I would like to let you all know that rape is not a matter of joke and that the solo has been written with only entertainment purposes and not promotion of violence in any shape or form. I strongly recommend not following me or reading my solos if you are underage or sensitive to brutal topic.)

“Do you know why I chose you?” I asked her calmly but she only winced.

Didn’t take long for her to start crying, choking on her own sob with that low pitched sound girls make when they’re whining. No response.

“Do you know why I chose you?” I asked again, my palm holding beneath her chin to make her look at me. The tears had gone dry on her pale face and the coolness in the air or perhaps the uneasiness had made her white, usually colorless skin to go pink in certain areas and the puffy eyes, having cried themselves to their current posture, did wonders to it. Made her look exactly like the captive she was meant to be with all that wet her pinned to her face from sweat and tears and well…A little bit of water dripping. Oh the water dripping…The dripping water…That was my first mistake. I should have paid more attention to it but then again when you have a girl tied to the ceiling and ready for your entertainment you don’t really pay attention to detail. For me the focus part takes place / before / the actual acts begins. Or it was that way at least…Now I know you should never turn that part of you off. You don’t want to get caught.

She moaned in pain and I whispered caringly. “Because no one will ever miss you. It’s kind of sad, isn’t it?”

I know I know… I shouldn’t be teasing even the paper with starting it that way but if I didn’t write that down, I might forget. Things are starting to get blurry over here and I don’t exactly enjoy not knowing what will happen to me or what is…

The girl a few doors over committed suicide a few nights ago and since that has happened the whole security system has doubled. Well…It’s not like there are cameras or anything…It’s just the walks. They’ve doubles the guards and nurses everywhere to make sure everyone is sedated enough not to kill themselves or…Others.

That makes my job harder than it already is in here. You have no idea how many opportunities I have had here and just how many I had to let go…

It’s so sad I feel like strangling myself to death but that way they will never know my story…They have to know my story, and my name. And my face. They have to fear me and the thought of me. They have to wince, they have to be scared because I’m out there, roaming the cities. They have to be afraid. Oh wouldn’t that be lovely? To have women check their doors twice before they go to bed because they are afraid I’ll get to them? Ah that sounds splendid…

That’s why I haven’t killed myself yet. I can’t die unnoticed. Not after a quick spree and before they’ve learned the truth. The entire truth…And nothing but the truth.

All they know now is what I’ve told them which is what landed me here in the first place but I couldn’t exactly make any deals for the rest of them now, could I? I had to make them think I’m crazy. Who the hell wants to go to prison and be put on death row? Hah. Like I’d ever risk my life because of a few mistakes I made along the line.

I don’t really know how the others do it…Those who go unfound, uncaught and unheard of. It’s kind of sad though, isn’t it? No one knows their name or cares enough to do so but then again they probably are having fun with a blondie or a brunette right now and have no one doubting that the church going righteous man could be in fact a serial killer, spotting young women outside of the area he lives in.

That is the spookiest thing about us but I don’t quite count myself in with those.

I’m different…Younger, more experienced…smarter, better. An improved serial killer who with access to internet and various tv shows teaching everyone how to kill and get away with it, could make something so uniquely beautiful that there was no need for a mentor. I always had me. And me is fucking awesome.

So that is why I have to keep writing. With the double guards roaming the place at all times and the moaning and the weird noises the walls have decided to make, I know it’s fucking weird and sometimes I do wonder if it’s me imagining things but let’s hope I haven’t gone coocoo just yet, I find it hard to go on not thinking about it.

The need is growing inside of me, poking me and begging me to pay attention to it while I beg it to leave me alone but the need is much like eating…

You think it doesn’t control you but it takes over your body. Making your stomach growl and your head ache, making you dizzy and angry after its done making you hurt all over…So you eventually give in and shove food into your own face and after you’re done, you might feel bad for eating too fast but you know that the release you got from the agony that was controlling you was so fucking worth it.

Killing for me is like that. You think it doesn’t control you but it does. It practically takes over your entire life.

I hear it calling…It has been calling FOR DAYS now but I couldn’t find any pieces of papers to write this down on so I just had to browse through my memories and to be honest they’ve become blurry and are fainting away.

Must be all the drugs they shove down our throats.

I should be sleeping now…The lights have gone off and the wincing is audible on the background but still…It’s quieter than it is during the day and the nights for me are the worst.

I don’t like to be left alone with my thoughts when I can’t do anything about them.

Slowly drives me insane…

Which is why I have taken it upon myself to gather all the papers and tissues that I can so I can write. I can’t draw. That would take too much of my pencil away so instead I write and by the looks of it I pretty much suck but who cares? It’s not like I’ll show these to anyone.

No…This is just for me. For my own amusement and for my own pleasure so I could read back and remind myself of what I truly am.

Instead of moving out, I collected and saved all my money made with hard effort at the university ( I did research there, physicists and all of that crap) or whichever job I could handle to get a warehouse in an isolated place, never visited by anyone, like a paper town only pretty on the map, perfect for crimes I had planned to commit there.

I made sure I had easy access to it but at the same time it was safe enough to be locked from the outside and not opened from the inside when I wasn’t there.

Also…The basement made for a hell of a dungeon.

I know I know…Fantasy and all of that. Call it cliché but it’s the perfect place for me and still is standing like a good little boy.

I went through all the possible outcomes of just hunting freely and sometimes even before I knew it was a hunt, I would imagine what it would be like to just grab one of the passing strangers and do to them what I wanted to for so long but I knew that just anyone couldn’t do it for me.

The possibilities of one of them being best friends with the mayor or something like that just never seemed worth it to me so I made a list of all the areas I could actually do hit.

Women who live alone with successful jobs are the most appealing but you know what they have? Dogs and cats and those are just a no go for me and there’s no guarantee that one of them wouldn’t have a boyfriend waiting or a good friend at work who would immediately report them missing so the cougars were immediately a no go.

Same with the MILFS and housewives, the thought just makes me go ugh.

What you want to actually go after is not the pretty girl at school who has shiny hair, you want to go after the dorks who live alone and only have internet friends or…The best option of all…Prostitutes and homeless girls.

People that will not be missed or reported or cared for when found.

It’s sad when you think about it but it’s just too convenient to be forgotten.

I do have my own needs and wants under that category…

If you don’t count the no mistress, no escort, no agency bits of it, I like girls with a certain body type.

I never much did care for ‘sexy’ women. I never found that attractive, I mean yes, I will fuck one if we meet in a café or whatever but I won’t go after one. I like tiny petite girls. I always have.

That does count for the type of porn I used to watch as well by the way. Just putting it out there.

I met her well…I learned about her by whispers and the public records I couldn’t dig out, another good sign, but I made it my mission to learn everything about her.

When and how and where she took her coffee, where she lived, who she hung out with, what time she woke up and what time she worked, where she deposited her money…All of that good stuff.

They all screamed lonely and perfectly safe for me to fiddle with.

I like to give them a heads up before I actually do make a move so I leave them clues well…I know it’s dramatic but it’s so much fun!

I ‘accidentally’ bumped into her and made her coffee spill and oh my, we have the same taste in coffee! OF COURSE I would offer her mine and insist she lets me pay for the dry cleaning, which by the way I did and of course I would keep popping out in places she had business by sheer ‘accident’ but the day we met was the day I started the phone calls.

It’s an old trick in the book but don’t you just love that?

I allowed the audio from Jackson’s death to play on the background when she picked the phone up and did the same thing for every night two months straight, only missing a few nights to make her believe it was over but it never was.

Didn’t take long for her to become paranoid and start checking the doors twice each time she left and entered the house.

I even sneaked in a couple of times to rearrange the stuff she had put in , into my own liking , to mess with her head a little bit, something she had begun to notice.

Finally on a Friday night when her business would be the busiest and hardest to handle as it usually was, I stroke.

I can still feel her nails cutting my skin when I put the napkin over her face, that too taught me a lesson. ALWAYS WEAR LONG SLEEVES!

You don’t want DNA all over you.

But it was my first one and I was so excited and scared at the same time though nothing would compare to how scared / she / was. I picked up the three videos I had made so far and put them on replay on the crappy tv that was set in the basement and with her being tied to the ropes hanging from the ceiling, she had no choice but to watch them.

I think in a way her being scared was what did it for me.

I left her there for two days, I had set up cameras of course to make sure she wasn’t going anywhere but it I had to leave her there to increase the fear she already had built up.

Finally when I got to be with her alone, I turned the tv off and sat in the corner of the cold dim basement and opened my journal to draw her beautiful body and posture. I did it for hours and she cried and begged me to let her go, that she wouldn’t tell anyone.

Human instincts…Weird fucking stupid shit, that is , huh? How stupid you think I am? For fuck’s sake!!

I drew her as she was but something about the picture in front of me didn’t satisfy me enough and that pissed me the hell off.

I went to her and started fiddling with her, trying to get her in the right angles but she wouldn’t shut the fuck up so I had to use my personal gag to just shut her up while I inspected her.

I really did wanna hurt her so I tried it soft core, vanilla style and slapped her a couple of times and that got me going, which is when I knew just how much I needed to hurt someone in order to reach that certain level of ecstasy, something I felt with Alice and something I felt when I masturbated to the video of Jackson dying for the first time. That beautiful sudden moment of relief…

I couldn’t ever get there again and it frustrated me so bad.

That’s when I started actually beating her up. Making my fist crack a few bones here and there which now looking back was so enjoyable. It did hurt me as well as it did her but the way her skin changed color first to a fierce crimson and then to a blackish purple…That was euphoric for me and I knew in that moment that she’d do whatever I told her to do.

And so she did.

Said and did everything I wanted her to while I pounded into her and somewhere in between her moans , I managed to finally reach that euphoric place. Something I tried with her over and over again, for almost a week every night till I grew bored of her and well…You know how it goes.

I can still feel her bones crackling under my touch and the smell of her hair and how she bounced back and forth…I can still remember it all.

Oh hey…I actually do remember it all in details!!

The coldness of the basement, the heat of her body, her feminine voice and all the drawings of her I had sketched…

I might not be losing my mind after all!

[mentalcrackhead-blog]

The story of how I ended up here : (chapter III) Anger excitation

( NOTE : Before I begin the following solo I would like to let you all know that rape is not a matter of joke and that the solo has been written with only entertainment purposes and not promotion of violence in any shape or form. I strongly recommend not following me or reading my solos if you are underage or sensitive to brutal topics. The link below has some basic self-defense moves which in my opinion everyone needs to know so please take your time to read it before reading the solo. http://lifehacker.com/5825528/basic-self-defense-moves-anyone-can-do-and-everyone-should-know  I would also like to give you a few tips on how to avoid violent acts : 

1. Always be aware of your surroundings 

2. In parking lots, don't park next to vans. Park up under the lights. 

3. Be wary of strange men asking for help. Ted Bundy pretended to be hurt and helpless, playing on women's compassionate natures. 

4. Always carry a cell phone 

5.  If you break down on the road, call for help. Don't accept help from strangers, especially at night. 

6.   I strongly encourage self defense courses for all women. 

7.   Don't allow yourself to get within an arm's length of a stranger. If you're within arm's length, he can grab you. Never, ever turn your back on one or look away. 

8.   Dogs are nice, both at home and in the car. 

9.   If you live alone, get a male acquaintance to record for your answering machine. Have a dog barking in the background. Dogs are one of the best deterrents. 

10 . Always walk like you mean business. Don't walk with your head down or act like you're timid or vulnerable in any way. Look up, stay alert. ) 

Anger excitation

  Have you ever been able to keep it up for a very long time but not actually…You know…cum? That’s the most frustrating shit that can happen to a human being. Like you’re aroused, fully erect and inside a girl with her bouncing up and down to the point of it / actually / hurting but nothing ever happens? No matter how hard you ram it in there? You only get too close to the end and never actually reach the goal? I don’t know why I remembered this but it’s definitely one of the things I need to stress on.

I did read the last entry I had and now It’s under my bed, crumbled and squished into a ball of paper. I had to leave because ‘medicine time’ or lunch…Can’t remember which. Doesn’t really matter neither. It’s all a moo point at this place. The good thing is that I know they are bullshitting me. I know who I am and where I come from and I know where I am going. Right now, this place is the safest place I could be.

Sure there are stinky old people and a lot of gay people…God I hate gay people, and the food is like literally stuffing your mouth with shit and piss. Just because the voices in here cannot be reliable, they think it’s alright so shut us up. As if it’s alright to feed us shit, both mentally , physically and emotionally; but the thing is…With my name showing up in the paper the way it does, the possibility of dying in here ( well…Getting killed) is very slim. I do like the security in here. It’s like free body guards protecting you form the outer world though it’s more not letting anything out than not letting anything in.

I think I once overheard one of the doctors tell a reporter that it wasn’t them protecting us from what lies beyond these walls but rather them protecting the world from us. Which is true I guess…In a way. Considering Agrys Asylum houses lunatics like me.

I heard they had a record for taking in the most serial killers in the past decades but in one way or the other all of the said serial killers ended up dead or unheard of. Isn’t surprising really…Considering the whole morality of it and all. Like how prisoners get rid of pedophiles a week after they enter the prison or how a pregnant lady can walk through jail without getting raped or even touched. Morality and all of that…Which by the way I never got. Morality is for the weak and stupid. It does no good to be honest. Only puts extra weight on our fucking shoulders, like we don’t already have enough of that with modern life…I need to find myself, see who I am, why I am here and how the hell am I going to make a name for myself….To become known…worldwide. I don’t have time for morality…Anyone who says they do is a freaking liar.

I hate liars.

Anyways…Back to my point about this thing I remembered last night. More like this morning…It’s hard to sleep in this place unless sedated. Sometimes I act up for no reason so they give me some of that shit that puts me out. So I can sleep and have a little bit of oblivion.

Killing was never sexual for me in any shape or form. It was always someone I needed to get rid of like Jackson or an accident like Alice; that’s until this one weird incident changed everything.

So I was at this girl’s place, whose name I cannot remember despite me recalling the incident in great detail….Like the smell of her sweet annoying perfume and the cool room…God that room was cold and the sound of a barking dog, God that dog was loud, but her name? I can’t remember…

So I’m in her place, and she wasn’t a school mate neither, I met her at a party I had no business going to, and logically she wants to get it going.

I remember her pulling her shirt off and just standing there. I mean…It’s nice and all, staring at a half naked girl in front of you but it can get weird though she was comfortable in her own skin and I love that in a girl.

Not as much as I love the quiet very pretty ones but confidence can be very arousing and attractive.

She was a short skinny girl with small breasts and a heart shaped face, too cute for her own good but she had these eyes…They called for mischief and perhaps were the only thing about her that could give her away were she to manipulate someone into be living she’s a good ol’ Christian girl.  

She stumbled in and started kissing me softly while her hand ran up and down my jeans, lifing an erection. All chicks are that way…They like to start slow and gentle and soft and ugh.

I think it’s their way of trying to make sure that they actually want to screw a guy or maybe keep things vanilla enough so they could storm off when they no longer ‘feel like it’.  That’s another thing about the opposite gender that I can just NOT stand!!!

By the time she had me on my back and had straddled me I was all hard and ready for her and believe me….It takes A LOT of restraining not to just throw a girl on her back and fuck the living hell outta her but I’d promise myself not to do anything that would trigger all that crazy stuff I needed to keep at bay.

Haha even writing that down sounds so fucking stupid. I mean…I’m smarter than to manipulate myself (more like deluding) into believing that all of the psycho shit I thought about were just a phase…Maybe teenage hormones and all that just wanted to believe something else about myself. After all….We all do search for who we are around that age, don’t we? I just happen to be something that most people aren’t. I don’t know why everyone has to make such a big deal out of it. Well…Yes of course, I do deserve recognition for the amazing work that I have done, and yes I do the job better than anyone I’ve known or heard of and yes I did get away with it for as long as I wanted but that doesn’t mean differences should be frowned upon. Someone like me who has the control over / humans / nonetheless should be respected, loved and of course…awarded.

Wasn’t until her hand between us had made her cum and her tits in my face had become a nuisance that I realized it wasn’t working.  

She kept bouncing up and down and I managed to keep myself aroused despite how annoying and agitating I found her perfume and her low pitched moans, for which by the way I deserve a Goddamn medal! Though nothing seemed to be helping.

She placed her palm on my chest, half panting half disappointed “Okay, this is not working.”

By this point you all might think that I would give up and call it a day but have you met me? If it’s getting up, it’s getting emptied.

She slide down the bed and got on her knees, giving me a very good view of her eyes before her tongue slipped out and gently tasted the tip of my cock. And after that?  The most pleasant feeling came.

Her experienced mouth devoured me at half and then fully, following its trail with a tight hand that pumped me fast.

“Good girl…” I whispered as she pulled away to work her drool all over the shaft, making sure it was wet. The spit and precum combined all along with her trying to deep throat me made her gag beautifully and it wasn’t till I had my both hands dangled in her hair and was thrusting my hips back and forth into her that I realized I had been making parallels to the sound of Jackson’s choking when I had slit his throat which at first scared me to an early grave because I hate gay people and the thought is just too gruesome but slowly as I forced her still to fuck her face whilst tears fell down her eyes, I understood that it wasn’t the gender but rather the act I was thinking about.

I took the same girl to where I had killed Jackson a few times and I had almost no troubles cumming there but as frequent the girl became as far away and fading my memories.

I got with this other blonde a while after that and when I could no longer do it, not even thinking about Alice or watching the videos I’d made  ( oh and trust me, you’d be surprised as to how many torture porn videos are out there, my friend) , I tried something new. Something I had done with, well…/ to / Julia but never anyone else. I slapped her over and over again and made her tell me exactly what I wanted to hear and when my hand was wrapped around her throat and they had left a blue mark and she had been tied and I had been inside of her till she begged me to stop? I knew I had to have a ritual and tie them up exactly how I wanted to and that I should have a place for each of them to be devoured and used the exact way I wanted them to. Because I could and…Well…

I knew it then and there…There are two ways I can get satisfaction. One…When I’m thinking about really hurting someone and two…when I’m really hurting someone. They call it anger-excitation, I’ve looked it up. The anger-excitation sexual murderer is equivalent to the lust murderer. This killer takes sadistic pleasure in torturing his victim. For this murderer, the act of torture-killing is what brings him sexual gratification.

That? I can personally guarantee.

[mentalcrackhead-blog]

The Story of how I ended up here : Story of Alice

( This is solo is extremely mature content and discusses sensitive subjects such as rape, murder, incest, substance abuse and uses bad language. You’ve been warned. )

Wow…I did really let go in the last one, didn’t I? I wrote so much shit about Julia that reading it back this morning made me sick. Sweet loving Julia, cared for and looked after…Sweet cunning fucking whore. Why does SHE get to have all the attention? I HATE how she ALWAYS ends up in the spot light. Kind of like an annoying version of Monroe…I mean there’s just a limit you shouldn’t pass.

So I made a promise to myself…I won’t let her win. I will talk and write about myself instead of wasting a breath on that pathetic little worthless piece of shit.

Anyways…

I read back what I wrote on the paper last night and this morning and on both occasions I found myself in lust and longing. Oh just what I would give to watch one of my videos right now…

Given…I did start making those with Jackson because I found the sound of his choking on his own blood amusing but I hear that taking a trophy…A          souvenir of some sort, is what all serial killers do to relive the past. Well…I didn’t know this when I filmed Sarah, Alice, Jackson or any of them to be quite honest but I guess this is my own way dealing with it.

I mean…why go through all that trouble when no one truly gives you an award for it? No recognition, no love, no impressed applause…It’s all very depressing.

You know what else is depressing? This fucking place…The old ones are the worst. I try to stay away from them. They shit their own pants…Well I guess diapers. If I ever get like that? Put a bullet through my head.

I’m hoping it won’t be that way. I’m hoping to make a grand exit like the great minds I admire. Bonnie and Clyde would be a cheap example. They walked to their deaths… oh well…More like drove into it and waited to be slaughtered in cold blood but they were armatures on the extreme, killing at random and on a spree.

Murder like that doesn’t last long. I want to make a legacy…

See I’m not saying I was always like this or even that I woke up one day going ‘ Oh yes I wanna be a serial killer’ that shit’s just fucked up and stupid. More stupid than fucked up.

You don’t wake up broken and aching just outta the blue.

Everything happens for a reason and without a cause no action can take place. That’s just simple physics, friend.

I think little events like my whoring mother was what shaped it but this is not a story of how I became who I am today, this is a story of how the hell in the world I ended up / here. /

So…Writing is not the only thing romantic I do, right? I also draw. I started when they forced us into doing shades and in general black and white pictures in middle school and it wasn’t long after that when I started drawing pictures people called ‘Disturbing’

Of course no one knew I was drawing till one day a little mouse stole a few to masturbate to and forgot to hide them well enough and my sicko mom found it and made me go through all kinds of fucked up therapy sessions for the longest fucking time and don’t you even dare get me started on therapy…

I fucking hate therapy and more than I hate the nonsense they force into your brain, trying to convince you that you’re fucked up for a reason , (mostly because you got molested as a child) , I hate the therapists. But at least they are better than psychologists…Those are the real fun ones. They try to get into your head and play with you, always thinking smugly that they know you better than you do yourself.

That just is wrong on so many levels in my opinion. You can’t know what I am if I don’t…But hey…That’s just me and that is another story for another time.

I want to tell you the story of Alice today.

Alice….With the blonde hair and the blue eyes, Alice so kind. Strong cheek bones and a complimenting height.

She was always there I suppose…sitting two rows in front of me with her head bowed down over her desk, reading some book. I was never the one to take the front row seats in a class. I’ve always been the kind to stay away from all of that but also always failed to go below radar.

I first came to know Alice when she leaned down over my shoulder whilst I was drawing Julia, her hands tied to a radiator, a meaningless fantasy of me which Alice found disturbingly amusing. She bent herself over and picked her favorite one going “Oh you’re very talented!”

It was the first time anyone had ever said that to me. Acknowledged me…Seen me.

I guess I should’ve known then that girls like Alice don’t just recognize the beauty in others unless it benefits them. Back then…When was it, second year of high school? Maybe it was first, I don’t really remember, back then I was naïve and stupid.

I always had a way with girls, they genuinely like me and something about my ‘confident smirk’, as my mother puts it, attracts them hence getting laid was never an issue for me. I could have anything from freshmen virgin to a MILF if I wanted to…I just could never have that one interesting kitten that made my heart pound and I know there is such a fatal attraction that you could die just watching them...I know there is.

Anyhow….I slowly took back what she had taken and readjusted them into my folder. “It’s not meant to be on display.”

“Well why not?” She asked eagerly and that made me cringe. I’m not a fan of girls who talk too much or ask too many questions. I mean…Lay on your back and get it over with. The world doesn’t revolve around you it revolves around ME! It’s MY life. Ugh.

“It’s pornographic.” I teased and threw my backpack over my shoulder.

“What are you...Raised catholic or something?” Alice laughed and  her laughter caused two cute dimples to show. I guess that’s when I thought to myself ‘Oh yes…I could watch her face go up and down on my dick.’

“Atheist family. We don’t believe in God.” I told her but that was a lie. Lying has always come easy for me. Especially lying to girls. Girls are genuinely more stupid. Somehow I’ve come to understand that if you smile at them even though they know you’re lying somehow that makes it okay. Strange huh? They think they are the superior race but keeping quiet no matter how much I think it’s the right thing, doesn’t make you smarter…Just makes others think they can boss you around.

I know Julia got into some trouble for what  I told Alice that day as her father was a very respected man, hardly present? Yes but…Well known and respected. But what does that even mean? God…? Grow up…There’s no heaven, no hell…No God…No order. Don’t be stupid.

God is like…Money or Santa. Only present in a human’s dreams.

To cut to the chase, Alice liked my drawings and wanted me to even draw her in one of the poses she came up with. With a blind fold and a gag, her head slightly lowered and she asked me to draw tears on her face with blue. I don’t use colors in my drawings but I did it anyhow after she stripped down and got herself in the position she wanted.

It was rousingly beautiful to put the blindfold on her eyes and place the gag between her parted lips and soon? Her drool had moisten the gag and dripped down to her chin, something I did well to capture.

I took my time with it, drawing her over and over again. Perfecting my craft…I hate imperfections and maybe….Maybe just a / little / bit I wanted her to wait. For which she did…For hours.

She bitched and whined about it till I told her to shut up and she did.

After I was done I removed the blindfold and let her see the drawings and she was impressed I had done such an amazing job but she couldn’t wait to get outta that position as she squirmed and all of her bitching went unnoticed.

I licked her lips and pulled out the gag. It was the first time I kissed her and although she did little to move me, the nakedness and the station she had with her legs and hands all tied to a darkening bruise on all four places and a wet mouth and begging eyes, was enough to get me going.

I fucked her face with my fist pulling her head back till I came and it took me about five more sessions of tying her up and two teachers noticing she had bruises on her wrists and was spending too much time in the bathroom to realize that I didn’t want her to keep telling me to climb up the fire escape and pretend to force her into having sex with me but that I actually liked forcing her. I liked the idea of it…More than I liked slashing Jackson’s throat.

So this one time when she was tied to my parents’ bed and was getting on my every last nerve about how I should kiss her or do this and that, I turned her over and fucked her from behind with my hands on her throat trying to silence her annoying fucking moans and by the time I was done my fingers had left purple marks all around her milky neck.

I guess I should have stopped when I realized she wasn’t breathing but that was exactly the beginning of it…For me at least.

That’s when I knew that I had actually felt the life leave her body and still continued fucking her dancing little frame, it even turned me on more and as wrong as that was…I knew then that there was no stopping this.

I wanted to slash her throat and let her blood fill the bed my mother whores around on so much but I knew from experience that a dead body doesn’t squirt out the blood the way a live one would and I’m not one to get caught.

And so the story of the smart Mason Myers began.

I was so smooth about the disposal that still am proud but-

Someone’s coming.

[mentalcrackhead-blog]

The story of how I ended up here

( This is solo is extremely mature content and discusses sensitive subjects such as rape, murder, incest, substance abuse and uses bad language. You’ve been warned. )

Before I say anything…Anything at all, I would like to stress the fact that this is all pointless. All of it. Life, this place, breathing…Becoming someone. It’s all so fucking pointless.

I will most probably get caught writing this and will lose my right to use this room and the therapist will most likely get ahold of it to analyze it for his psycho fucked up reasons, trying to figure out who I am and why I behave the way I do, eventually stamping some stupid ass diagnoses on top of the few I already have and linking it to an awful childhood to make it easy. That’s the easy way, everyone goes the easy way. Or worse…I could reread it and realize how truly pointless and idiotic this whole venture on the paper has been and scrape it, smash it in my fist like a girl’s breast and throw it away like I would her.

In any case it; all goes back to one and one realization: That this is meaningless.

Anyhow…After rambling about useless worthless bullshit no one really cares about, I would like to start now.

How / do / you start a thing like this? What is this? A diary? An entry on a piece of shitty paper, in a shitty room at a shitty hospital in a shitty town all falling beneath a shitty life? I have absolutely no reason as to why I am doing this…

Doing this to reflect I guess? To see where and what I did wrong to get caught. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think I’m a genius who can’t ever be at fault, I can be but I’m also smart. I’m super smart and I don’t just say it like a girl who won a beauty pageant or had parents that kept telling her she was smart because in reality she was just a dumb cunt. I say it because I am. Advanced physics on higher level and AP extra calculus for the fun of it smart.

I could start with a cliché quote like ‘To be or not to be, that is the question’ or ‘ I became insane with long intervals of horrible sanity’ But then again…. Oh YES!  this isn’t one of those stories where the main character starts the shit with ‘I always knew what I was’ because BULL FUCKING SHIT! No one knows who the fuck they are or what the fuck they are doing at least two kids short and a marriage behind…No one knows why we’re here or what we’re doing and for sure no one wakes up one day ensured that they are a sicko. No one wants that…Like I said…POINTLESS.

Everyone just closes their eyes shut and just goes with it because that’s what you’re supposed to do.  I’m just not up for that life so I guess instead of boring the whiteness of the paper and wasting what I can sneak into my room I should start. Maybe at the beginning…But where / is / the beginning? I guess I /could/ start from puberty but that would be a lie because I know it was before that when I realized I was about to do something crazy. It was way before puberty and I hate liars, so I’ll try to be as honest as I can.

Which reminds me…Trying to find an error? Yeah that’s a big fat lie. I think in my own twisted way I am writing this so I can have an excuse to reminisce without looking away at a distance like these old farts do, glaring at a dot on the wall for hours…Those are the real crazy ones. The ones you can’t imagine what they were like before this life in this place…That’s so depressing when you think about it. Most of these lads have had a life outside here but no one ever truly has the understanding to get it…No one can see them for what they once were and to stop my mind from becoming / that / pathetic I have to keep busy. However it may be…Because…Yeah. I do fear losing my shit. In a place like this? Who wouldn’t?

I didn’t really grasp the fact that something was wrong or maybe even different about me (Perhaps this is due to parents and basically everyone else always whispering how especial and different you are even when you’re nothing but a little piece of normal shit, wasting the air actual important people could use.) till the words took meaning; so I should probably start from the strange things that started happening. Things I now know were the beginning.

First event which strikes some sort of an alert now looking back, would be this girl named Julia. ( By Julia I mean Margaret and by a girl I mean my sister. It’s just easier to distance yourself from them, give them new names and new stories. That way the guilt never catches up and I am capable of guilt, that has been proven so don’t judge, fucker!) She used to cry when I was around four and she had just been born. See…I wanted to read my comics (Mostly Batman and Joker stuff. I hate Batman…I love Joker. Joker is awesome.)  and she just wouldn’t shut up!! So I’d sneak into her room and put a pillow on her head, pressing it hard so that she may stop but she never did. Only cried harder but the good thing about the little adorable baby Julia was that she couldn’t be heard through the pillow. Some fact you and I both might need for future references.

Note : Pillows are good as a silencer in movies and in real life? They’re perfect for screaming into. No one hears a damn thing.

Anyhow, I kept on doing it till she quit crying but then…Not sneaking into her room and making her pretty baby face go red left a huge hole in my heart. As if something important was ripped out of my life and I couldn’t put my finger on it. I mean...It was weird. Why would I want to hurt her for no reason?

In case you’re wondering? That’s not why I started talking about Julia. I started talking about Julia because I did…Hurt her. Repeatedly.

At first it was petty things. Kicking her under the table or pinching her arm and slowly it progressed as I grew up. I once shoved her down the stairs just to see if she’d break her ankles…

She broke her arm instead. I was disappointed.

Juli Juli Juli…Julia. Oh the first girl I loved.

She’s so cruel but I guess…It’s all my doing.

I think the real damage was done after I was bored with picking on her here and there. I would always pull her hair, smack her around whenever I could but even after I had made her choke on a piece of an airplane she wanted so bad, I wasn’t satisfied.

Everything I did with her were just experiments or sheer boredom but then…She betrayed me. Jackson and Julia…Julia and Jackson. Everyone loved them together. Ugh even the thought is making me homicidal.

I probably shouldn’t have written that, if a doctor sees it, they won’t ever shut up about it but that was our deal…Truth and nothing but the truth.

So this guy comes around, right? Out of nowhere and starts playing with / my / toy! It was so unfair! Julia was mine. She was always mine, she will always be mine.

In my own idea and my own personal diagnoses of what and who I am…I always see this following part as the starting point.

So this is the part I tell you about the ‘incident’

When I was around fifteen I accidentally killed a cat…It was sick and all weird looking and I thought to myself…Something needs to be done about a cat like that and…While experimenting with how I could readjust his unkind features, I poked his eyes out and watched him bleed to death. Wasn’t because I was fucked up or anything…It was because I couldn’t do anything to save him and you try taking a cat with bleeding eyes to an adult…That just screams serial killer and I grew up watching shit like that. You know…Reading it in the news how psychos love to play mind games and shit? None of the names in the paper ever were magnificent enough for the attention they were getting and that boils my blood even today.

Though that’s not the point…The point is, Julia helped me bury the cat and never spoke of it again. She even slid into my bed the very night and held me after we fucked. I don’t really remember when that whole thing started…Only that it did and never stopped.

I would often place my hand on her lips with the excuse of my parents hearing us so I could recreate that beautiful baby face going red with no oxygen, even though I suspect she herself knew and knows I like it that way as she asked me to do it this one time when we were alone. Everything was perfect…Till Jackson.

The fucking amazing Jackson stealing away everything that was mine and one day? She comes back home saying it’s ‘wrong’ and we shouldn’t anymore. What the fuck kind of excuse is that? Of course it’s wrong and forbidden and you shouldn’t! But with our shitty parents? My ever absent father and my whore mother? We were all we had! She could not do that me and I wouldn’t allow it but for the first time instead of being mad at her I was…Upset. This liquid kept building inside and I couldn’t do anything to help it, it was disgusting. It was like…I couldn’t look at her,  I couldn’t breathe. How could she just change her mind about loving me? Am I that hard to love?

Then I just lost it.

I didn’t care for her wanting me anymore. I couldn’t let go and so I didn’t and she couldn’t really do anything about it.

I liked hurting her but I never meant to hurt her…I loved her and she betrayed me. This is how she betrayed me :

I spent MONTHS and MONTHS working on a plan to get rid of Jackson and the conclusion I came to was simple. I had to kill him otherwise he wouldn’t go away. I waited and waited and waited and waited some more till the time was right and I did. Slashed his throat and made it look like a satanic sacrifice.

Oh and I cut off his balls and made a necklace out of it and put it around his neck which strangely turned me on so bad that I couldn’t wait for Julia so I just masturbated  while waiting for the glues to dry.

I made a public thing out of it as well, it was a gift. It was a love song…My love song for Julia. For how much I loved her and how much I could do for her…

Of course the media is too blinded by their own belief system that considered it a narcissistic act and call for attention. I mean…I do love the attention and I do deserve it but…I didn’t kill Jackson to get media coverage. I did it for Julia..

And I filmed it too…Didn’t know why at the time since I’m very careful with what I’m doing but I did it anyhow.

In return? When she saw the paper and saw that I left her the stones we colored together in secret? Instead of thanking me she refuses to acknowledge the fact that / I / killed him! She didn’t even believe me when I said it and I had to SHOW her the film so she’d believe me!

And obviously…She wasn’t grateful at all. She looked at me like she was disgusted. Like she hated me…Like she was my mother. She has that look on her face…That look my mother does…I hate my mother.

That’s when I started really wanting to inflict pain on her. I hated her. I slapped her, I beat her, I forced her to have sex with me and the most amazing thing above all? I made her watch.

Julia was no longer someone I loved, she was someone I need to hunt, and in my quest for finding myself I found that…She needed to see everything I did.

I hate animals…I never touched them. I know it seems funny not going the path every psycho does but I guess I’m just different. I started with humans. With girls...Pretty girls.

I filmed it all. Every single one of them and I have a collection.

When I moved out, I made sure to position the camera where you could see the girl but not entirely me and with her hands tied behind her back and a razor in my hand, I’d fuck them from behind and slash their throats the way I wanted and in the end? Post Julia the collection, always letting her know that I am there and will be there.

Later on I moved to sending them to the victim’s family which by the way they can’t and never have tracked back to me for which you can say I am pretty smug.

Anyways…

I have so much more to say but…My hand is hurting and the nurse keeps walking outside so I’ll have to hide this away.

I’ll tell you how the hell I got here later.

My fingers ache and now thinking about all of this I feel so turned on. This was a bad idea.