Psychopath

While contemplating some far out goals, I think it’s about joining the “psychopaths”, in a twisted definition of it. Where perhaps everyone is already secretly a psychopath and I’m just trying to learn along.

Now in the original nuance that’s a no-no usually, a half-joke to jest publicly, (everyone a psychopath?) but perhaps there’s some leeway here seeing as it’s an aspiration rather than a fact of character, that it’s an inheritance to all humanity, perhaps. So Azazel floats down and hands the scrolls.

All of humanity is “psychopathic” however much you believe the programming otherwise. Take off your mask: we all secretly know the words to raise knives. I can write the lullaby to your murder frenzy; you can see the red as clear as me if you wanted to. We don’t have to pretend.

First, what is a psychopath and why would anyone want to be one? We’re already on losing grounds actually, seeing as we’re using “psychopath” concocted language. You can’t be a psychopath, that’s bad! (For me.)

In the typical portrayal from Satan’s Netflix reels so shows one who murders coldly, impulsively, cannot model nor bother with anyone else’s suffering… but just because you’re a psychopath doesn’t mean you kill, I don’t think.

Psychopathy is a lack of empathy. Empathy. The inability to feel empathy. Or anything, frankly.

So no, I don’t want to become the anything but the surest definition of psychopath: the inability to feel anything, for anyone, or even myself. To be completely indifferent and observing detachedly.

Where have you ever seen any actual “natural empathy” in your life, beyond a family matter? True transfer: a stranger’s bed right beside yours. From your own chalice, not tax pigs.

You can posture yourself as someone “squeaky” and thus hide your fangs but it’s all the same either way. Denounce all of this and call it so heartless because you want to “pass”, to not want an axe through your eyes. To never admit our nature and kill anyone who shows it.

Because back in the day you better pledge your allegiance. Any funny business and we didn’t have miles of statutes and contingencies of the modern corrupt lawfare. Execution works, cheap. A bullet costs 25 cents. So you learn to posture at how virtuous and loving you are.

You never were though. Never, never were. I’m just waiting for you to realize it. Or for you to mock me for not knowing yet. Or to denounce how far we’ve fallen.

Charity is cultivating hidden resentment. And humanity does not want to be saved, has no need for you, never did, learn it or feel it viscerally when you find yourself shattered a few years after reading this.

This world reward psychopaths. Why not be one?

There’s no point being civil, really, if all the benefits are missing. It’s about being ruthless.

Our sickness is universal, as a tale spun by this realm, and you will (not) escape it. Everyone succumbs.

Are you prepared to understand that empathy is pure projection, in most cases if not all cases anyway? There is no “empathy” in the medical drug oligarchic empire, psychopath ruled, seeing as all drugs slowly hollow until finished. There’s no “enlightenment” on assuming you can model another’s world and reality other than your own children til adult. I’m tired of pretending I’m not a barbarian in a suit. Whatever revolution you could dream of, being the “liberator”, so the foot falls into the next into another dynasty of “the people’s” executioners.

Empathy, in a way, can be a little comical. I suppose it’s that Western tendency toward universality, but every single person you interface with is seeped in its own world. You can try to find where the deltas split, but they’re still splitting. And the fact is you will never fully understand amongst your friends, even at times your own family: to pretend otherwise is to trivialize their life and hidden worlds.

Let’s stop pretending. Psychopaths are honest about that. Brandish your knives, your words too… try to shame and suggest it otherwise. But when I walk around all I see are heads on pikes and wander around blood dripping down the streetlights. With a red flicker of course it’s this way: this is the land of psychopaths. This is our inheritance, both of us. Will you accept it? Prove me wrong?

Assuming otherwise seems to be a sickness surely. And that sickness will be ripped out of me, out of you, and if it condemns either, well, all we’re doing is flipping the Pharisee’s tables here.

Love shall no longer part lips, though it never did.

We just fill words with our own festerings.

Obscuring that, at the end of day, someone is the master and someone is the slave.