A year and a half ago, I bought a black leather cased jounal from Office Depot, which I would write my opinions on murderers and their crimes, rooted by my philosophies on mutilation and the average grading system (1-100). Obviously I'm not a fucking professional criminal investigator, so all of these entries slid from the WWW unto my pen. I never exposed it to public eyes.
I'm not a very organized person; My room is glazed with laundry and cosplay, and a few plushies are salted here and there. Sometimes with all the trinkets I cop from all sorts of places, I just stuff them into the dresser because I'm not really much of a interior designer. Today I finally looked at the shit that's built up over the years, and my murder ratings journal was there (gathering dust with my sketchbooks from middle school, and broken game computers).
My love for gore and the processes that goes into murder isn't just something I can drop, because these values fit like a fuckin' jigsaw piece in other aspects in my life. This isn't opposition against the legal system to make murder legal, I'm not delusional. But when you've longed so much for passion, small things like just the state of being fucking forbidden is beautiful. I appreciate rules in a sense that they're meant to be broken (cheesy, believe me). Yet the higher the stakes, the stronger the contrast of the mind's flexibility against the world. How strong is a man's passion for murder? Or better yet, does he even appreciate murder, or does he use it as a tool?
Are you intrigued, reader?
I've been thinking about adding a fun log over murders popular over the internet, tucked nicely into Carver's Movement (my gore gallery). These entries will go over the same structure my original journal went by, but that entirely depends on my mood. I get bored easily!