Someone kvetched about one of my blog posts, and it had to do with a comment about the nature of sick criminal violence. All I said was that it takes more skill to perform an atrocity with a knife than it does with a gun, and since the piece was about a man who rushed in and shot up a psyche hospital that afternoon, during which time I was home playing solitaire, the late, notorious Richard Speck was a perfect object lesson in clinical deviance. If it was my job to hire a mechanic at a gas station, I'd hire Richard before I'd hire the Western Psyche shooter, because Richard is the more dexterous of the two. But someone had to attach a moral judgement to social science, and I feel cheap. Critics. They're always people with a bachelor's degree, and they think their shit doesn't stink.
Well, for anyone who can see under the green tarp from Home Depot, there's a florid herb garden in the shade. My readings and viewings are not limited to wholesome family mental hygiene. And it's not all chilly clinical observations, with greasy notes on yellow legal pads, nervous diagrams stored under an army cot in a grudging comrade's basement, old coils of wire strewn about. I have been studying the human condition, on the Internet.
........................
Praises to Youtube.com.....to Hulu.com...to other dot coms that have media about women like Ailene Wuornos. Ailene died a complete person for having pathological convictions, thus she was better than a spineless person who doesn't know what he or she wants, even if it's someone nice, because people like that bore me. I used to drink in dive bars, had occaisson to get smashed with people not completely unlike Ailene, though these were usually men, with long hair like hers, long arms, a long history of abuse and violence and alcoholism and razor-wire frailties, and dare I postulate that an abused antisocial has commonalities. They form relationships with other losers and marginalized deviants. Well I have feelings towards the Family Of Man.
Ailene was a victim of abuse and neglect. Unlike most women, her response to it was more typical of men then women, if you look past the prostitution, which is a tactical disadvantage for she-killers. Sick-ass homicidal men get better paying day jobs, in construction, can afford a pick up truck, and can pay hookers, like Ailene Wuornos, so I have to give her bonus points for adaptation. She was the Helena Rubenstein of random homicide.
She resorted to violence with more conviction than a mere cat-fighting drunk biker chick. She did the things men do when they are like her. I must report an impressionistic observation I had after watching Nick Btoomfieild's humanizing, wonderful documentary about Ailene. She reminds me of Ted Nugent. Had she been graced, as a child, with proper love, care, and a blue Fender Mustang with practice amp, she would have become a rock star and not a serial killer. She would have had a normal career in a bar band, doing covers of Wang Dang What A Sweet Poontang.
In the 1980s the God of Literary Humanism, Raymond Carver, got famous for his book What People Talk About When They Talk About Love. Being, sadly, 2014, far and wrongfully advanced from past hope, people talk about love among the atrocities. The love of Ailene's life ratted her out, soon as cops showed up, and the hard drinking woman of Ailene's dreams also got a cut off the proceeds from books and flicks about Ailene. Boo, hiss. Still, that the killer loved and pursued personal ambitions should be affirmed by secular humanists everywhere. Believers should like that she found religion right before her execution. And, to this amateur gynecologist/head shrinker, the woman was a unique and accomplished American. She went out with optimism. I've known a lot of de-socialized, kooky spent cartridges, and few were as dangerously interesting as she.
Well, for anyone who can see under the green tarp from Home Depot, there's a florid herb garden in the shade. My readings and viewings are not limited to wholesome family mental hygiene. And it's not all chilly clinical observations, with greasy notes on yellow legal pads, nervous diagrams stored under an army cot in a grudging comrade's basement, old coils of wire strewn about. I have been studying the human condition, on the Internet.
........................
Praises to Youtube.com.....to Hulu.com...to other dot coms that have media about women like Ailene Wuornos. Ailene died a complete person for having pathological convictions, thus she was better than a spineless person who doesn't know what he or she wants, even if it's someone nice, because people like that bore me. I used to drink in dive bars, had occaisson to get smashed with people not completely unlike Ailene, though these were usually men, with long hair like hers, long arms, a long history of abuse and violence and alcoholism and razor-wire frailties, and dare I postulate that an abused antisocial has commonalities. They form relationships with other losers and marginalized deviants. Well I have feelings towards the Family Of Man.
Ailene was a victim of abuse and neglect. Unlike most women, her response to it was more typical of men then women, if you look past the prostitution, which is a tactical disadvantage for she-killers. Sick-ass homicidal men get better paying day jobs, in construction, can afford a pick up truck, and can pay hookers, like Ailene Wuornos, so I have to give her bonus points for adaptation. She was the Helena Rubenstein of random homicide.
She resorted to violence with more conviction than a mere cat-fighting drunk biker chick. She did the things men do when they are like her. I must report an impressionistic observation I had after watching Nick Btoomfieild's humanizing, wonderful documentary about Ailene. She reminds me of Ted Nugent. Had she been graced, as a child, with proper love, care, and a blue Fender Mustang with practice amp, she would have become a rock star and not a serial killer. She would have had a normal career in a bar band, doing covers of Wang Dang What A Sweet Poontang.
In the 1980s the God of Literary Humanism, Raymond Carver, got famous for his book What People Talk About When They Talk About Love. Being, sadly, 2014, far and wrongfully advanced from past hope, people talk about love among the atrocities. The love of Ailene's life ratted her out, soon as cops showed up, and the hard drinking woman of Ailene's dreams also got a cut off the proceeds from books and flicks about Ailene. Boo, hiss. Still, that the killer loved and pursued personal ambitions should be affirmed by secular humanists everywhere. Believers should like that she found religion right before her execution. And, to this amateur gynecologist/head shrinker, the woman was a unique and accomplished American. She went out with optimism. I've known a lot of de-socialized, kooky spent cartridges, and few were as dangerously interesting as she.
No comments:
Post a Comment