Have you ever wanted to kill your wife, or your sister, or for that matter your children? JOURNAL ENTRY NR. 2

My mother, who I never really had a decent conversation with, hung herself just above my Cot the Friday after Good Friday, which happened to be the day after my one week baptismal anniversary. It was and still is the only action I have ever understood from any member of my family.

It's been fifty six years since that terrible moment. Fifty six life-times later and I am still acutely conscious of all the dangers lurking inside of me. I have repeatedly been tarred and feathered by my leather wielding conscience, unable to live without creating death, evolving into an extremely unstable animal human, capable of almost any unspeakable act on even those closest to me.

Have you ever wanted to kill your wife, or your sister, or for that matter your children?. Did the thought ever cross your mind that rather than being crazy, you are in fact perfectly within your rights to hurt anyone you like?. There is no one among us good enough, bold enough, precious enough to be worthy of life. Indeed, if there was ever an organism capable of being justifiably alive then I sure hope I never have the misfortune of seeing it. I would surely kill such a thing in the most brutal of ways. I mean, far greater beings have exited this place for far lesser reasons. As if one needed a reason, they don't, I don't. I got all the evidence I need every time I turn on the news. Every time I relive the bruises of my youth. You fucking pigs, you insensitive rats - look what you have created.