Everyone thinks they have a name for everything. Everyone thinks they're original because they don't 'lable' people. It's not cool to label people. Not anymore. That's iso/i two years ago. And then when you decide to fuck them all and wait out high school they call you a loser. And one day you graduate and find out...
Wait a fucking minute...
The real world sucks to.
So you give up. Because you can't judge people, you can only be judged. So you start to kill the people you don't like. If everyone followed my plan, the world would be much more simple. And less crowded, I suppose. Everyone thinks they have to read me. They don't. They should all go to hell.
Go to hell.
--
I don't want to be read. Not the deep internal way. Don't try to figure me out, don't try to analyze me. Don't try to dissect me and figure out why I am the way I am. I'll give you exactly what I want you to read. This. This story. Don't infer, don't think too much into it, don't judge. Don't concentrate on not-judging. In fact, just stop reading.
So I'll tell you exactly what I want you to know. My name is Johnny and I'm 25 and I kill a lot of people that don't deserve to live. I don't kill babies... often... and I don't go looking for trouble. They cross me. I'm not a thing to be feared, unless you fit into two catagories: a)you're human b)you suck. If you're not and you don't, forget that I exist. If you are and you do, um, I guess you'll get yours.
What else do I want you to know? Well, let's start here. You can hate me all you want. You can hate me like Hitler, with zeal and passion and fury and all the logic in the world, hate me for what I am and what I'm not and for ignoring people that cry and inflicting pain, and all the stuff in between, you can hate me because I'm a freak, and you can hate me with all the energy in your body, you can make websites about me and start clubs and follow me around every waking moment yelling obsanities at me, and you still won't hate me more than I do. No one understands that all the hate is being covered. Some people feel it's their responsibility to hate people that need to be hated, and I've beat them to the punch in ten fold. I hate me more than it's possible for you to hate me. So don't bother. Unless of coarse you're human and you suck, in which case I encourage you to piss me off because then you can help me in my favorite hobby. Which, of coarse, is killing assholes.
I used to be really goth and really creative. I didn't call myself goth, because to call yourself something, you have to talk to people. I told Nailbunny I used to be goth and he told me to shut up. So I stopped telling everyone what I thought of myself. I used to paint a lot and write a little. But one day my good stuff just went away and when you're pent up with your worst enemy and you have nothing to do with yourself, you start to manifest your nightmares. You dream about killing the people that torment you and you start to do it. You stop caring. I stopped caring. I exist because I have to.
Once, I painted a picture, and first, I painted the canvas three different shades of black. It was a really big canvas, and I remember washing my brushes out and I remembered that color of the water and the color of the sponge. All I could do was compare it to my existance, my being the world's blackest sponge, just soaking up all the evil in the world, and not even doing it well. Seeing things on the news... five year old mollested and buried in the woods, pregnant woman beat to death in alley, mother of three, grandmother of eleven robbed and shot in parking garage... are all evils that I've somehow missed. I can't stand anyone's evil except my own.
You'll find in life, it's easier to blame yourself than the rest of the world. Well... it is if you're me.
Wait a fucking minute...
The real world sucks to.
So you give up. Because you can't judge people, you can only be judged. So you start to kill the people you don't like. If everyone followed my plan, the world would be much more simple. And less crowded, I suppose. Everyone thinks they have to read me. They don't. They should all go to hell.
Go to hell.
--
I don't want to be read. Not the deep internal way. Don't try to figure me out, don't try to analyze me. Don't try to dissect me and figure out why I am the way I am. I'll give you exactly what I want you to read. This. This story. Don't infer, don't think too much into it, don't judge. Don't concentrate on not-judging. In fact, just stop reading.
So I'll tell you exactly what I want you to know. My name is Johnny and I'm 25 and I kill a lot of people that don't deserve to live. I don't kill babies... often... and I don't go looking for trouble. They cross me. I'm not a thing to be feared, unless you fit into two catagories: a)you're human b)you suck. If you're not and you don't, forget that I exist. If you are and you do, um, I guess you'll get yours.
What else do I want you to know? Well, let's start here. You can hate me all you want. You can hate me like Hitler, with zeal and passion and fury and all the logic in the world, hate me for what I am and what I'm not and for ignoring people that cry and inflicting pain, and all the stuff in between, you can hate me because I'm a freak, and you can hate me with all the energy in your body, you can make websites about me and start clubs and follow me around every waking moment yelling obsanities at me, and you still won't hate me more than I do. No one understands that all the hate is being covered. Some people feel it's their responsibility to hate people that need to be hated, and I've beat them to the punch in ten fold. I hate me more than it's possible for you to hate me. So don't bother. Unless of coarse you're human and you suck, in which case I encourage you to piss me off because then you can help me in my favorite hobby. Which, of coarse, is killing assholes.
I used to be really goth and really creative. I didn't call myself goth, because to call yourself something, you have to talk to people. I told Nailbunny I used to be goth and he told me to shut up. So I stopped telling everyone what I thought of myself. I used to paint a lot and write a little. But one day my good stuff just went away and when you're pent up with your worst enemy and you have nothing to do with yourself, you start to manifest your nightmares. You dream about killing the people that torment you and you start to do it. You stop caring. I stopped caring. I exist because I have to.
Once, I painted a picture, and first, I painted the canvas three different shades of black. It was a really big canvas, and I remember washing my brushes out and I remembered that color of the water and the color of the sponge. All I could do was compare it to my existance, my being the world's blackest sponge, just soaking up all the evil in the world, and not even doing it well. Seeing things on the news... five year old mollested and buried in the woods, pregnant woman beat to death in alley, mother of three, grandmother of eleven robbed and shot in parking garage... are all evils that I've somehow missed. I can't stand anyone's evil except my own.
You'll find in life, it's easier to blame yourself than the rest of the world. Well... it is if you're me.