This post kind of connects with my last one on façades. It’s about being too much, making people uncomfortable, true natures, religion, Devil Magicks, serial killers, & you know the drill. This is all over the place, but it does have a central theme.
What am I even?
Back in my twenties I had this dream that I was a badass nun. In the black habit, but it was cut short, ripped fish nets, combat boots, toting a machine gun, taking out everyone. So, I dressed as that for Halloween that year. Not nearly as sexy as that picture there since I wasn’t showin’ off all my goods, but it also went over about as well as you think it might.
Not that everyone who came to our basement coffee house was religious, but it certain made The Childhood Friend, her mother, as well as my own mother very uncomfortable as it was somehow sacrilegious? But it also made other patrons uncomfortable. And most of them weren’t any religion & didn’t care about conformity.
It’s not like I had a real gun, though I did have my (very real) machete strapped to me (did I forget to mention that part? Yeah, my dream nun self was wielding a machete as well), but the “machine” gun was clearly a toy. Purchased in the toy section of the dollar store, complete with the orange plastic bit at the end to easily identify it as merely a toy, besides the fact that it didn’t even look real to begin with.
Was it that it was all just too… weird, because I’m not seein’ it as scary… unless….
Well, I keep having these dreams where I’m standing there with people who I may or may not know & one of ’em says, “Serial killers do or don’t do this, & there is one here, let’s find them!”, as in to capture &/or kill them. And I’m standing there worried, hoping they won’t find out that it’s me. That I’m the serial killer!
It is a reoccurring dream, even if it’s only been about five times, but I had that happen again the other night. This last time it was because some girl, that I do know & used to be friends with, died. This time it was that the serial killer won’t cry, be upset, angry, show any emotion at all. And, of course, just like the other dreams, they were going to suss out who the serial killer was in their midsts & I was panicked wondering how to either escape or blend in so they wouldn’t find me out.
It’s always some different topic, but basically how the serial killer isn’t human, as in can’t human, & it is always things that I do, or don’t do, in real life, which do single me out as being… other, being different.
I finally looked up the dream meaning & this is what it said.
To dream that you are a serial killer indicates that your compulsions and habits are working against you. You need to put an end to some vicious cycle and cut out the negativity in your life.
Only, I really don’t know how to interpret that. What compulsions & habits? Smoking & sometimes purchasing cookies? I don’t really see how those are working against me? It’s not like I’ve lost job interviews because I’m stealing someone’s cookies off their desk or smelling like smoke.
What vicious cycle? And also the only negativity currently in my life are my parents. How does one cut them out if one is living in their house. Kill them? Well, that’d certainly make me a serial killer.
Since the dream was about not morning for a friend, are cookies & cigarettes keeping me from having friendships? Not that I’m aware of. Basically I don’t see people regularly because they work full time jobs or mainly none of them live around here anymore.
I did just see a mutual friend of mine & Lil’ Small’s on Saturday night. She smokes occasionally & I did not rummage through her cabinets for Oreos, so I think I’m good. My Best Gal Pal even just this morning asked if she could come for a visit. She no longer smokes & doesn’t eat cookies & knows that I do, & will, in front of her & she still wants to come visit me.
The person in question who died in the dream, she decided to no longer be friends with us, because yes, she had stopped smoking (but when she’d visit we wouldn’t smoke in front of her), but really it was because she became a bitchy snob. Wanting all of our vintage things & whining when we didn’t just say, “Here ya go, take it all!” with smiles on our faces. Got into newer music & berated us for not listening to modern hippie dippie music & being a hippie festival goer like she’d become. She dropped us & with her new mega bitch attitude, we didn’t much mind.
That was ten years-ish ago & I’m still not sorry to see her go. Would I even sob if she died? Probably not. It takes a lot for me to love a person & love is what makes one cry when that person dies. I would say, “Aww, man, well that sucks for her sister. Oh well…”
Does that flippant attitude make me a serial killer? At least in mentality? But I’ve always been this way. But I did mention in this post how me asking for help has men lookin’ at me like I’m some serial killer about to eat them (so much so that I’ve stopped asking for help).
But it’s not the only incident where, what? People are seeing something that lurks beneath the surface of this meat suit? My own family has, on multiple occasions, stated that I was a serial killer (literally!), or even implied that I could be one. They’ve related how on some occasions they’ve been afraid of me. I’m not doing anything like raging. And it wasn’t even just from, what Lil’ Small calls my Drakkar Noir phase (dressing in all black as a teenager). They’re just afraid of me, on a random Tuesday, like I’ll suddenly turn or something.
Kids at school would recoil from me & I didn’t have to even be wearing all black or talking about serial killers or dead bodies or weird things. I could have asked for a fucking pencil. Incidentally, & I find it oddly weird, that people didn’t recoil when I talked about The Secret Basement. My secret basement where I chained up & tortured people. Of course I didn’t have a secret basement. I was just talking, but they’d laugh, & not uneasily. Why? Because it was so fantastical that it just had to be the best joke ever.
But isn’t that like a serial killer, who isn’t necessarily smart? Testing the waters, to see what he can get away with. Or a person, I mean, who would later grow up to be a serial killer, fuckin’ with their friends saying they abducted people, chained them up & tortured them, when they actually weren’t. The teenage, future serial killer, basically.
I even told something to My Best Gal Pal recently. Only something I’d just discovered about myself (it’s really not scary, but is something that shouldn’t jive, a secret, & does go along with this post) & she stated, “Oh, I already knew that!”, as in I was somehow already givin’ off that vibe & she knew it, already saw it, even when I myself didn’t know it yet, which still leads back to the question of “What the fuck are people seeing when they look at me?!”
I’m not complaining, I’m just confused because I can’t literally step outside of this meat suit & see myself the way others are seeing me. Whether it’s a constant thing they see or is something they only catch glimpses of on occasion.
And the truly odd thing is that people for the most part see me as sweet & nice & kind & some sort of push over. Some wall flower that gets walked all over. There have even been people who have seen me, like gone spelunking down through my eyes & into my soul (without permission, I might add) & saw just these things, not recoiling from the apparent monster that resides there?
So… you can see how I’m confused. Perhaps, as I’ve mentioned in another post, that I have the propensity to be a serial killer, but that thing just isn’t missing or broken or whatever. Like you might have the propensity to be a creepy stalker or a thief or hell, even a motorcycle daredevil. But you lack the thing that compels you to actually go out & be this person.
We all have our weird things that we might half-ass day dream about, but we just won’t. Why? Probably because we fear the cops & prison & aren’t compelled to just do the thing, which isn’t an issue for the serial killer or the creepy stalker of the thief or whatever. The thrill seeker who constantly runs red lights & drives 80 MPH. You might want to do this, but you don’t. And I don’t mean the kid who does steal the car but is nervous the entire time or the kid who robs some old lady, but is scared of getting caught the entire time. No, I mean the person who has no emotions over it. They must do it.
What if that’s all humans? It’s all in there, but some of us lack the thing that tells us “No, don’t do the thing.” & for us to obey.
I do, like most people, have the thing in me that says this. “No, don’t do the thing.” & I’m terrified of prison. I don’t feel compelled to do anything that’s illegal. I don’t know, that even if I were “broken” that I’d have that overwhelming compulsion. I don’t have an overwhelming compulsion towards anything. It’s difficult to make me move. I just don’t wanna. It’s a lot of work & this is why I don’t really have this problem.
Sure I’m addicted to cigarettes & coffee & I have felt that compulsion to obtain these items. But also, I would not go steal from someone at gun or knife point to obtain these things. I wouldn’t murder for them. I’d just lay there & cry & hope for the strength to scrounge around the house & find change enough for them or wait until pay day. Both of which have happened before. The lazy way, because anything else is way too much work & effort… even for something I desperately want & have a compulsion to obtain.
Ah, but you wouldn’t be in control, you might say. With something like high criminal activity of this nature or murder or rape or whatever. True. If I lost whatever it was that made me no longer care & I just had to go & murder people, well, I wouldn’t care. Like you said, I can’t control it, so what can I do. I’m not really worried about it.
I either am or I’m not. I think it’s just that I’m the person that isn’t scared to discuss these things or say, “Ya know what? I might be a serial killer if things had gone differently. It might be in there.”, unlike other humans, but some of y’all are thinkin’ about it (, because I know that some of y’all what true crime stuff – or perhaps it’s thoughts of criminal activity other than murder most heinous, perhaps it’s robbin’ banks?).
‘What would I be like if I were a serial killer? What would it be like to peel someone’s skin from their meat or hang ’em up to bleed out? (I think this is where I go too far & people recoil from me. I mean, come on! If you watched a show about a serial killer & he did this, you’d think ‘how did they do that? What would that be like?’ & not because you want a how-to… but also perhaps this is just too much for polite society?) What would it be like to not feel & this is how you feel? What would it be like to dispose of a body & how would I go about that?’
Like perhaps I’m the type of person who would use this “interest” to write horror stories or come up with special effects for a horror or sci-fi film, because one must have this type of mind for that type of work. “How’s this blood gonna squirt out if they get a chainsaw to the guts?” sorta deal.
I’m actually the type of person who would get other people to do things for me. I’m that lazy. I’m not afraid of blood, so it’s not that I wouldn’t want to get my hands dirty (literally or figuratively), I just, eh… that’s a lot of work. So, I’d have minions or henchman, but also… I’m a loner Dottie, a rebel. It’s a lot of work to corral people & have them follow you. Plus, then they’re following you & asking, “What now, boss?” & that’s a lot of work too, thinking for other people, so just no.
Just saw this picture where someone took the game of Guess Who? & put in pictures of serial killers. ‘Oh man, I would suck at that game…’ is all I could think while laughing a little.
“OK. So this was some really creepy white dude… that killed a lot of women!”
*hand to face* “Sarah, are you gonna start all of ’em like that?”
Pretty much. I have a hard time keeping people straight or remember names. Sometimes I can remember specific things, but I think they are too specific & also too vague. Case in point, I was playing Trivial Pursuit with dad & My Best Gal Pal once. The answer to the question was Hermann Goering. I knew it, but I couldn’t remember his name so kept throwing out weird, random things.
“Ooh! He’s that fatter Nazi. In charge of the Luftwaffe. He was probably gay. Collected stole a lot of art.”
Which all of that is exactly what I would have thrown out, if the tables were turned & I was getting them to guess. My Best Gal Pal doesn’t know Nazi’s at all & dad, who does, was lost. They were looking at me like I was crazy. Perhaps it was the fat, gay, art parts that threw dad off (since he knows that he was the head of the Luftwaffe).
“OK. Just stop guessing. It was Hermann Goering.”
“Yeah! That’s him!”
Dad rolled his eyes. My Best Gal Pal laughed in exasperation. But I wasn’t gonna let it go. They didn’t believe me, but I was right. Well, maybe not about the having possibly been gay part. I looked him up.
“Look. Hermann Goering. He’s not a slim man (as most of the mega Nazi’s were). Right here, head of the Luftwaffe. And here, had a lot of the stolen art in his collection. See? You don’t have to give it to me, but I was right.”
Going back to serial killers my hints would be:
“He was the Dating Game guy. Mega Creepy. Name like Coca-Cola.” (Rodney Alcala)
“Mega creepy. Had a truck & torture chamber. Lived out west.” (Toy Box Killer – couldn’t have told you his name was David Parker Ray.)
“Creepy white dude who had a candy factory & teenage boys doing his bidding. From Texas?” (Dean Corll)
“Was gay, mega creepy, worked for KFC, was a clown, watched stag films in his home, walled up boys in his home.” (John Wayne Gacy)
“Mega creepy white dude. Ate some kids. Shoved needles up his junk.” (Albert Fish)
“Dental cast of his teeth are used in forensics which creeps me the fuck out! Had that yellow super beetle. Lured women to help him. Corpse fucker creep.” (Ted Bundy)
“That black guy who killed children.” (Wayne Williams)
“Stupid white guy who came up with his own stupid name. Got caught recently.” (BTK – had to look up his real name. Dennis Rader.)
“Mega creepy white dude who owned a van. Killed a lot of women.” (These are various killers (or duo teams) that are circling around in my brain… & I just can’t place them other than that. So you’re never gonna get the answer.)
How many would you have guessed from my fucked up answers? I think maybe not many. Too many random details like “corpse fucker” or “watching stag films”. But I’d just go with the information that I know, that happens to come forth at the time, which is exactly what I did here. Or else you’d get very little information or misinformation. Dean Corll didn’t currently own a candy factory… it’s just that his family used to, but it’s stuck in my head that he had one.
So yeah, who wants to play Trivial Pursuit or Guess Who? The Serial Killer edition with me? *laughs*
But we’ll get back to religion, since that did start this post & is in it a little up there. I was raised Catholic, which might be why these people couldn’t believe I’d dress up as a mercenary nun? I don’t know. But I have had some weird experiences.
I didn’t much enjoy being Catholic and am not now. In fact, my mother practically died trying to get me confirmed thinking it would save my soul from El Diablo. How well did that go over? I get confirmed on Palm Sunday & knew that after that I’d never go to church again. On Easter Sunday I was to be found in the den, watching old VHS recorded epis’ of Tales From The Crypt that I’d gotten from a friend, telling my mom that no, I would not be going to church with her that morning. She was suckin’ lemons, but according to the church, I was now an adult & she couldn’t make me.
I’ve actually been to church since then, a few times, & I kind of felt like I might go up in flames, which obviously did not happen. Those I’ll state in this post, but we’ll get to that.
So, in the Kindergarten class of Sunday School mom was called in to have a conference because I coloured the angels black with red eyes or else green (skin, not eyes). The teacher thought I had the demons. I was told to not colour in the angels to look like this ever again.
Was questioning everything since about that age (was it for or five?), which agitated my mother & other people at the church.
Since about twelve or thirteen I realized how macabre & vampiric/Cannibalistic the holy Eucharist thing was. Really I just wasn’t feelin’ church & didn’t want to go, but still had to (until I was confirmed).
Grew up with Irish priests, because Mississippi was still considered a missionary zone by Irish priests until the late ’90’s or something, which is when other priests from other area’s would show up. We were getting priests from Africa, which let me tell you was cool. I wasn’t going to church, but The Childhood Friends mom worked there, so I had to go in there sometimes for various reasons, which is how I knew.
It was also not cool, because I felt like the Catholic church was just out there forcing people to join up with their religion still. But Africa is completely different from Irish & I dig accents, plus that one guy was really cool. They have a Yankee priest now & I’m not a fan.
Anyways, so as a teenager, when we went on vacation mom would insist we go to church (ya know to keep savin’ my soul *rolls eyes*). So, while visiting relatives in Vidalia we’d go to that little Catholic church. Never the Basilica over in Natchez & I don’t know why. But they had a priest from India so that was a whole different mass & it was cool, linguistically speaking, but still I didn’t want to be there. At all.
With my childhood church, Lil’ Small & I went on a mission trip to Mexico in our twenties. Really, I just wanted to go to Mexico. I wasn’t in it to, what? Save? Convert? the already very Catholic Mexicans? Like really what were we even doing there?! But Mexico is not the point, as I’ve already discussed then in other posts. It was about mass.
I was kind of excited to attend a mass that was spoken all in Spanish, by a Mexican priest. Yes, we had to attend mass, every single fucking day & when we went out into the desert to those villages, mass was said. Only it was this old Irish priest, speaking Spanish, but like he was summoning the devil. It was hilarious & terrifying & horrible all at the same time. I could feel Mexican women in isles next to mine, cringing, & eyes going wide like it was terrifying to them as well. ‘Me too, y’all. Me too.’ I would think back with my energy.
Basically after the second mass in the second village, I just walked out in the middle of it. After that I’d just stay outside. Most people in the villages didn’t even attend these masses. So, I’d be outside in the square looking up at the stars in the middle of the desert with men over there talking amongst themselves or these women to the left of me doing work & chatting or someone walking by on their way to somewhere.
I didn’t speak to anyone & they didn’t speak to me. I just spent 45 minutes by myself & it was nice. The calm in nature & it was really beautiful out in the desert which I didn’t realize that it would be. Even in the daytime.
This was also after I was confirmed & wasn’t attending masses any more. Going back a little, when I was thirteen or fourteen, our then Irish priest, his nephew & niece from London came for a visit. He was VERY tall & slim & so were his relatives, these kids a little older than me (16 & 18?).
Since The Childhood Friend’s parents worked at the church she felt like she was the unofficial welcoming committee. Like if anyone knew was going to like & want to pal around with anyone, it should be her… not me. But that’s not how it worked out. I didn’t even go up to them, they saw me & sought me out. She was suckin’ lemons over it. The nephew even gave me one of his mixed tapes that he’d brought on the trip, thinking I’d like the music they were into over there.
Then later, fast forward to my early twenties & I’m not going to mass anymore, but am seen around the church because of business reasons with The Childhood Friend or her mom. There is some young, Irish priest there, I guess learning to be a priest? Finishing up? So, he’s not officially a priest yet. A priest in training basically.
He’s maybe five years older than me & apparently thinks I’m hella cool. I thought he was as well, because what Irish priest tells you they dig horror films? That’s unheard of to me! What’s sad is that Ireland kind of has an unspoken rule (or did) that one son would go into the priesthood. So, one of our priests actually wanted to end up married with a million kids in a little house in Ireland, but he was the one that had to go & be a priest.
What am I getting at here? I think this kid was the one in his family forced to go into the priesthood, but didn’t really want to. I don’t know for a fact, but I’m pretty certain he had hearts for eyes over me, which is why I didn’t go on a date with him, because he totally asked me out on a date to see a horror film.
I mean, I may be goin’ to hell, but I’ll not add priest seducer to the list of my “crimes”. Sad though, because apparently he just wanted to be a guy listenin’ to music & watch horror films & ask girls out on dates.
The Childhood Friend was upset that he wouldn’t give her the time of day & I could feel the daggers from her mom over what in the hell I thought I was doin’ seducing a future priest. But it wasn’t my fault. I didn’t come in to “meet” the new priest. I was there on an off chance for other reason s that had nothing to do with him. I didn’t even know he was there. I’m not interested in priests or pasty white people.
I mean he was a little weird (which I realized because he was interested, but at first I was all, ‘what is this?!’), he was fun to talk to, but no. Not even if he hadn’t of been a priest, unless he hadn’t of had hearts for eyes over me & we were just going as friends, then possibly. So how many people can say they were asked out by a baby priest? Probably not many. See, my life is really strange.
Then I decided to see a Rabbi, not as in date, but because I had questions. I wanted a religious person to talk to about religious matters, & I’m not comfortable with priests. I know they’re not supposed to talk, but that was way to close to home base & my own mother, so no.
But man, was I fucking determined. I called (which I don’t do), I left a message on the recording machine for a meeting (which I also don’t do), I answered my phone that I had them (which I also didn’t do), & went to the meeting with fired purpose (which again, I don’t do… I tend to be nervous). But apparently this was something that I just had to do.
It was a nice meeting, though I remember little from it. I remember him asking if I’d talked all this over with my family & him saying that I should (but I waved that off, because I don’t discuss real things with my family). I was there questioning if I should have a religion at all or if I should be Jewish, because I knew I wasn’t going to be Catholic.
I unnerved him slightly, but he wasn’t afraid of me. “You were questioning religion since you were that young?!?”. Giving me wide, blink-blink eyes when I said, “Well, we just stole everything from y’all. All our practices & such in church. It’s all from y’all. The tabernacle. The lone candle always being lit & all that jazz. Right…?” since he was just blinking at me. Perhaps it’s because he’d never heard such a statement from a shiksa before, or in such a matter of fact way. Then he stammered out, “Yes… well… yeah.”
We discussed cigarette smoking. How he could purchase them, an entire pack, for like 60 cents back in New York & I was wondering how old the fuck he was because he looked like he was only in his forties & he was an adult when this happened. Somehow in the conversation, prior to this cigarette banter, I learned he was from Israel but went to New York as an adult & then later to here.
He had asked if I was a smoker, but he wasn’t judgmental about it, stating that he used to smoke, but then saying I should stop, but in a way that didn’t piss me off. Was it cool & collected & not berating or high & mighty?
This dude, though, saw something in me that shook him. My Best Gal Pal said that Jewish people will try & get you to not be Jewish. Like the three rule thing. Turning you away, I guess to see if you really want this journey (which I did know about that). It could have been that, but the feeling was certainly not that. Maybe he was going through the motions of telling me that this wasn’t for me, but there was something else there, inside him, really saying “This really isn’t for you. …& also what are you?!?”
I basically had all my questions answered & I don’t need religion & dude saw something in me (which is it what everyone else sees? That I’m this magical unicorn with Devil Magicks that is a big, giant mountain? I could eat you, but I probably won’t.).
It really was the last little religious hurdle that I had to overcome to get the bindings off & find myself again. And I think it was like a two hour meeting, but I can only remember like 20 minutes of it & I felt like we moved to three different places in his office, but that seems stupid & why would that happen?
After this meeting with the rabbi, I would go to church two more times. Lil’ Small insisted that we go to high mass. I think it was Ash Wednesday. I thought I would go up in flames. Some imposter in their midsts. Some demoness empress setting food in a Catholic church.. on a high holiday sort of deal. It didn’t both me that we did not confess our sins prior to this mass, which is sort of the rule, or having denounced this religion that I was going to partake of the Eucharist. Nope, it was just being in that church.
The next time was only two years ago. Lil’ Small was house sitting downtown near Sacred Heart, which is that horrid private school I was forced to attend. I still had issues, man. Not just with the religion, but with the time at school. This time it was my idea. I wanted to conquer this. I wanted to step foot in this church that I had to go to every Friday morning as part of school, look it straight in the eye, & be done with it.
After which I went to Walgreens & purchased the Pure Embodiment of Evil & felt better about the world. And what the fuck is that supposed to say about me?
Alien Tea Shoppe 