Psycho

Reading about Ed Gein, 1950's serial killer. It is disturbing, I'm getting a reaction in my gut which I like because it makes me feel alive, but what is more disturbing is when Maka, curled up in my lap, looks back over her shoulder at me from time to time. That contrast of innocence and pure evil is wrenching. She carefully inspects the book with her nose from time to time. I wonder what she smells.
Living in a small town in Wisconsin it's amazing he got away with what he did for as long as he did. When he was finally flushed out, the investigation into his home provided macabre discoveries. Skulls hollowed out and used as soup bowls, skulls on each of his bedposts, furniture and clothing made out of human skin. Apparently he was a frustrated artiste. Body parts found in bags and boxes all over the house. There was more but I won't go into it because Lakota is sitting on the desk in front of me and I don't want any of this evil to disturb her sweet nature. I am blowing cat fur off the keyboard as we speak.
Eddie's mommy messed him up, and when she died leaving him completely alone in the world, he took it out on women.
We all try to control other people. Paint them in a corner. Force our opinions down their throats and ignore anything they have to say. It's a diseased form of self defense. We create a fantasy life for ourselves in complete contradiction to the facts, and we cannot allow others to disturb this delusion.
Then you expire, shoot on up to heaven and come face to face with Jesus. Who says "Holy Christ, THAT'S what you did with your life?" We are immediately and belatedly ashamed.
I'm thinking that first kill for a serial killer doesn't come easy. Maybe they think about it for a long time, allowing it to transform from a random thought, at first perhaps a little frightening, to something that makes sense. Something acceptable. Something defensible.
Or maybe the abuse and twisted logic of parents bubbles inside like a pie in an oven until the timer goes off.
Or maybe life's injustices pile up one on the other until the battered brain creates it's own moral code, it's own rules for fighting back and/or setting the world right just a little bit.
Taking a life is the ultimate control of other people. You don't have to deal with them any more if they are dead. Pretty much eliminates the possibility of debate.
You do the deed and lay low, waiting. Nothing happens. No fingers are pointed. You got away with it. You are feeling pretty cocky now. When a well known woman disappeared in his home town, of course everybody talked about it. When Ed was involved in the conversation he would say "I know where she is. She's back at my farm." Which she was. Dead. But everybody assumed he was joking because he was a strange bird. That's pretty cocky.
You are feeling cocky, and after that it must be like eating M&M's or Lay's potato chips. But sooner or later you will get caught. Confidence and cockiness are two different things. A confident hitter bats .310. A cocky hitter slumps to .220.
Ed Gein's house was a mess. They said the place was a dump. Food and containers and trash and newspapers and magazines and tools and all kinds of stuff all over the floor.
Except two rooms that were sealed off. When they opened them up they found a perfectly preserved bedroom and living room. Neat as a pin, undisturbed and covered in dust.
His mommy's rooms. That was the part of the house she lived in before she died.
Ed Gein's story was the inspiration for the movie Psycho.
How many killers' careers are the result of psychologically twisted mommies? You take a look around at all the idiot parents in the world and factor my theory of Transference of Stupidity into the equation and it sends chills down your spine. Mix those ingredients up in a brain that is not firing on all cylinders and the result is a fertile breeding ground for developing psychopaths.
Excuse me. I gotta go kiss my cats.