It helps me relax over the weekends.

... awful lot of federales out there ... 

You on vacation, Brooks(?) or have they taken you away from me? It would explain your absence at the McDonald's. The free wi-fi was the best thing on their menu. Mind you I didn't even need to go inside for a connection. I can write what I want in the notepad, get close enough to their broadband, copy & paste my updates and SEND. All it takes is a few seconds.

The Bureau has the man power & cash flow to complete my story, but they're being ridiculous to not include you. You wrote my profile ... You know me better than my own mother. You know every aspect of my signature. Why shouldn't you be included ...

Why aren't you included?

I see it now. You haven't disappointed. I get it now.

The clues ... LOL ... I've purposely offered MORE clues just to get your attention ^_^ And when you don't show, I go even further ... You little shit. I bet you're sitting in Lakewood with a fat fucking smile on your face. They set up a control center for you. I imagine you're delegating the puppets around every link I've stupidly connected for you.

Okay. Not a problem. We can take it up a notch ^_^

The weekend had little surprises. Much like your gawd I rest over the weekends ... that will probably change at random now.  I'd hate to be orderly. Order is like the ticking of a clock; everything does as it should, we become comfortable with that and eventually we don't give it a second thought.

You remember the loud ticks & gong of my mother's antique clock? Did you know sometimes my mother would ask me if the clock was still running? She became so accustomed to the noises that she no longer heard it. She subconsciously drowned itself out in her brain. Ask Katherine about habituation. It makes us equally complacent & asleep within the world. Fills me with dread.

I prefer to be awake. I'd loathe to harmonize with the billions of lethargic drones. People existing on auto-pilot.  They seek such comfort in complacency. Most will wait to be rescued rather than do anything. Most will watch another die waiting for the rescuer. That's insanity, Brooks. Then again the entire basis of your job depends on their unconcerned contentment, so feel free to disagree.

Chaos slaps our lives in the face. Anarchy forces change. Maelstrom forces survival. Pandemonium puts everything and everyone on an equal playing field.  It's goal seeks to persuade desires for control & organization to learn from nature.  Like tornadoes chewing the expensive homes of a fragile status symbol, tossing their expensive cars and self-satisfaction like wadded paper to the waste bin.

Yes, Brooks ... Sudden confusion will wake you right the fuck up.

Especially Hitch-Hikers

Please answer me Detective; Why would anyone hitch-hike? That level of trust in a complete stranger is perplexing. Acknowledging of course that same trust can refer to stopping for a hitchhiker as well.

As a product of complexity, I can easily recognize innocence ... The chaste duo thumbing for a ride on the freeway were fortunate enough to travel in one of the few States that allows it. A misfortune of the ignorant to accept ME as the solution to their needs.  Of course I've come to feel that good luck has little to do with fate & coincidence.  Luck is just a fluke of the coin ... one person's advantage is another person's disadvantage ... together they simply exist, waiting for someone to define them.  I'm going to guess the two young lovers I happened upon didn't see it that way. I merely identified my victor of circumstance.

Do you like lesbians, Brooks? You're southern upbringing probably fancies visions of playful nudes exploring sexuality, but the reality is so much more normalized.  My duo was no more or less in personality than what your Bible would declare the faithful to be. Which is another point all together.

The label your Predestinarian Baptist Church "primitively" adheres to everything under Christianity is like cavemen bowing to whatever shiny object distracts them. There is no merit in a Christian label, Detective. I know you disagree. But you may as well write Jesus on a paper plate, adorn it to your wall and believe it "holy" ... because that damn label is just so fucking infallible.

Think of every number I've collected and ask yourself if you perceive a difference or a similarity? I'm defined a "serial killer", therefore you must recognize I'm choosing these people by something they each have in common. Do you really believe there's any real aspect between one pair of eyes to another?  I see the ones I like and I want those ... You decide whether or not there's any correlation of my actions.  Serial killer, my ass.

Oh. I think we just had our first ramble ... LOL ... I suspect of everything I've written to the world, this will be the sole one that hits the newspapers? Tell me I'm wrong, Brooks.  My honest opinion about religion would surely paint me the monster in your gawd-fearing world .... correct?  A simple ramble of emotion defines me the lunatic through what limited knowledge people already have. Words are such a thing ... Aren't they? It's funny how people see "good or bad" definitions in emotions.

Does Katherine still console you about your rage? I bet she makes you feel better in lots of ways. Oh my ... perhaps it's best if these words do not reach the journalists? We wouldn't want Joyce to start with those questions again ... She's always had a way of making you mad. I bet she wants Danny & Michael to see "Daddy" as the villain. When will that woman ever see what she's making you do?

Where were we? The lesbians ... of the two sharing my ride, I preferred the eyes of only one of them.  Sweet doe eyes.  Brown with hazel slices ... I suspect these eyes change color with the seasons. We'll have to wait and see.

I believe the lover grew jealous as my attentions stayed focused on the doe. We peaked on several topic changes until the highway cleared of other cars.  Did you know they were religious? 68 attended the University Catholic Center, met the jealous lover there. Do you find it amazing how an "abomination" can have faith, Brooks? 68 gripped the fingers tightly in prayer ... There was no struggle with my first cut, just tears for the violent means I used getting around the obstacle partner. Wasn't a very large obstruction mind you, but I've only met such will power in confident men ... I wonder if that means something psychologically?

I know you believe these people make their choices to defy gawd, but I ask you, "Where would anyone find the strength to defy Jesus with four knife wounds deep in the chest?" How self-ingrained does this defiance of "sin" have to be for one person to continue their charade and protect another deviant? Will you still contend with the preachings that there is no "love" there? You probably will, but I saw it first hand.

When I teased 68 with a gentle knife fucking, the prayer went on. The shriek and gasp of a sliced clitoris aroused only kicking and clawing (remember the fingernails again MR. forgetful). As blood poured from that viewable cervix and even though all hope was crushed, the prayer grew louder. By the time I finally stabbed the flexor tendons and ended the flailing ... I assumed I was the Lord ... LOL ... Seriously, this was as close to being in love as I'd ever known. I almost stopped to taste those quivering lips. Can you imagine, Brooks?

Everything was bled out soon enough. I had six quarts of hemoglobin soaking up the floorboard that I could never clean.  I drove them to their destination. Oddly enough to a State where hitch-hiking remains technically illegal, but same sex marriage isn't. It's darker now. I located a motel with easy access to pool cleaners and overly-chlorinated water, but these clothes are useless as is the vehicle. The entire town will see the duo before word reaches you, Brooks because I left them at the doorstep of an LDS Church ... I heard they will baptize the dead.

Christmas Does That To People.

In October the stores will decorate for Thanksgiving. In November the stores will decorate for Christmas. But in December they keep the decorations up until after the 25th. You ever notice that, Brooks? Sometimes retailers will start stringing lights and cardboard reindeer on Halloween night. It becomes an assault on the senses; Discounts on sweets, music playing from the ceiling and even the Christmas smells. It's all done with purpose and all retailers do it at once. You ever wonder who plans it this way?

Black Friday was the early morning I saw the mouse eyes of 66. Black pupils ... impressive coincidence. Life said something with that one, "This is your fate and this is my message."  A black day of greed, selfishness & the insatiable hunger of fat sheep. And Life presented me with eyes that mirror the absolute soullessness of it all. I was so thankful. I followed and planned for 66 the entire weekend.

A day in the life of a regular person can be entertaining. Every detail we all take for granted is droll automation. I find it similar to babies enjoying colors from the television screen. 66 lingered by a snack machine and I imagined the same result from staring into an open refrigerator. There was no real hunger, it was pure boredom and I find it curious that someone might fill their tedious void with mere food.

I chuckled to myself, made a game of a snack choice decision by narrating the words 66 might say ...

"Cluster bar? Nutty. Chocolate. Would finish it in 30 seconds and then I'd want more."
"Chips? Messy. Would last me til I get back to the car though."
"Did I fart? Getting old. Farts just fall out of me now."
"A Pepsi might work. I'm not thirsty, but at least the farting would be by mouth."

... you know you want to laugh, Brooks.

Oh, I befriended a stray cat. I called him Vito. He looked like a Vito. He curled up in my lap while we followed 66 here and there and back again. So talkative ... He likes dehydrated fruit, which is odd for a carnivore. I was always told they only eat meat, but Vito has ate peas with me too.  He climbs around and under the seats when we drive, but mostly he likes the lap or windows.

I still have the car from my extended recess in Missouri, if you must know. It growled along with a rusted muffler, rattling the license plates on the floorboard. I became fond of the sound. I made a comfortable use of it too, but it wouldn't survive my next trip. You can find it tucked away in the pilot parking lot of 3PL with 66 and little Vito. Take good care of him. He can be a monster sometimes, but he's quite good around children.

We made several stops on our last day. 66 returned to the same ATM twice in an hour. Sadly there was only three dollars in the billfold during our long conversation. We chatted for hours, shared some tears and I had a good laugh or two ... "sleigh bells ring, are you listening" ... You'll see what I mean when you open the car door.  Just remember, Vito had to eat something.

I have mild nostalgia.

You know that moment late in the night beneath your covers when you realize there will be no sleep?  Is there a name for that feeling, Brooks?  You'll just provide "insomnia", but I'm looking for something meticulous. I've always enjoyed the saying, "I forgot how to fall asleep" - Let's just go with that definition, and maybe later you can bend the ear of your forensic psychiatrist friend for the word ...

How is Katherine anyway? Tell her I read her book on reprocessing bad memories. It was in the bargain bin of a coffee shop. Her current address was on the back sleeve beneath a $1.00 price sticker. I mention it only in passing ;P We both know I'm several days away from her, but I consider debating her quite often.

I was somber yesterday. It was your fault. You didn't show up to my last wi-fi location to catch me ... it made me lonely. It took me to a dark negative place.

You have to accept responsibility for my pessimism, as much as I have to take responsibility for what I did. I know that we're meant to accept responsibility for our own feelings, but I think that's bullshit. I don't care what the fucking DSM books claim; People will make you feel all sorts of things. Road rage probably being the easiest. What's really important is what we do while we're in the emotion. Because no matter how much desire or indifference rests inside us, it only qualifies the positive/negative definitions when we act upon it.

I know you agree, Brooks. How many moments of anger with Katherine went unjustified by her textbook quote, "I'm not responsible for how you feel"?

So. I walked along the main road away from the Presidential street names.  I unknowingly found myself amongst the hidden sins of this community; The section 8 apartments; Where raised concrete walls block the views of highway travelers. No one wants to see slums when they first enter the illusion of a civilization ... LOL ... My god, the businesses lost if wealthy investors notice TAXES paying for free room & board to the "wrong side of the tracks" as some call it ... City Planners designing blatant lines between the wealthy and the poor. You ever notice that? It was always obvious to me.

Did you ever get your mom out of the old neighborhood, Brooks?

I went random because of you. You pissed me off.  I hate waiting for someone that should be there but isn't.

67 should have been special, don't you agree? The unworthy waif I came across wanted to sell me prescription Xanax to "help purchase baby food", as if I'm gullible enough to believe such a con. Thirty 0.5 milligrams - was a bargain price for $25 ... You know my mother was addicted to those little footballs. I grew up with it. Her friends supplied her overuse. You know it makes me sick to even see prescription bottles?  67 didn't even have Alprazolam ... later I Googled it, and learned it was blood pressure medicine.

Imagine for a moment if there were success in selling these to some desperate fool? It could have killed them. This was a civic duty, Brooks. I did your job. You can't let this garbage multiply & spread. So you're damn welcome.

I handed back the meds and reached to my side pocket.  I quickly flipped & unfolded the five inch blade and drove it up through the platysma muscle. I brought my arm in close for balance and lifted with all my strength. It worked too. Not one loud scream, just lots of kicking and scratching. Remember to check the fingernails ... the top of my head still itches.

I carried 67 to the wooden alcove of nearby dumpsters. I chuckled at our dance. Rethinking it now, I've added sweet music to the memory. My release dropped the flopping head onto the stank pavement. I lurched on top while the sickening thud still echoed and fish cut through the epiglottis & larynx. The hissing whistle of the lungs were surely full of fluid, but I'm not one to play games of chance ...  Silence ungolden as the heart ticks away ...  Blood coughed out of the wound as I sliced passed the jugular. I nicked some tendons near the jaw and it unhinged itself.

It gave me an old memory ...

Did my mother tell you about 9? Blue eyes with flakes of silver ... one spot of gold in the left. I kept them in a mason jar behind the canned fruit in our cellar. I was still in my practice phase, a little sloppy and terrible about hiding evidence. One eye popped and drain itself before I could scoop it completely. I filled it with gelatin and sealed the break with glue. A horrible mistake. I'm always learning though. Was a rookie that found it ... Correct? Danny Bowzer? It disappointed me that clues were contaminated.

Luckily you uncovered the baker's dozen stacked behind the tool shed ... but you probably overlooked 9 all together.  Did you know if you slice the skin just right, that you can remove the covering of the head almost effortlessly?  Do you, Brooks?  Put your hand on your head and move the skin back and forth ... LOL ... it was designed to come off.  The meat was already decomposed (I should have learned to embalm) but you may have seen the clean lines I made to disconnect the tissue. I pulled the eyeless face all the way to the front but the mouth held on for dear life ... You have to cut away the gums, you see.

Yes, 67 reminded me of 9, which is a good thing. It connects the two. Creates a line of sensibility about this one.

It was garbage night. All that remains at the scene are a sanguine puddle and the snail-ridden flesh mask.  You should hurry. 67 now belongs to the landfill. I'm hoping for a search party. It does some good to get your fingers dirty again, Detective. It keeps the ego at bay.

Speaking of ego ... I am currently reading from Orwell's 'Animal Farm' ... remember that for future reference.

Dear Brooks ...

I loved to travel. A visit to the beaches, a hike in the mountains, mild contemplation in the view of deserts. It gave me a sense of freedom. It flipped itself thoroughly and now leans toward a sense of necessity.  It feels like a chore.

This laptop ... LOL ... I remember that day, curiously perusing the contents when some strange noise "clicked" from within. I wouldn't recall it for several days until I found my image in some local newspaper. Not the best picture, but still ... enough.

Someone had found me using technology I was unfamiliar with. I assumed a family member tried their luck at detective work. It's always the family members that refuse to let things go. When something is taken from you, that wake to victimization, it does something to people. Even a midnight knock at the door where feet scamper away in laughter ... it makes the mind spin with questions.  The search for answers & justice are often one in the same.

27 was the college youth I stole ...hmm... borrowed is a good word. I borrowed it from 27 ... the brown eyes.  Like the stare of an expensive doll, painted in autumn flare, so wide and filled with innocence. I'm near certain it relates to some childhood imagery. I ponder the universe that led us to such a rural location in coincidence.  A simple moment where one pumps fuel while another longed for coffee. For anybody else, it would have been forgotten. But here I am tracing my memory upon the same computer that connects us still.

Rain poured. The heavy weight of it rattled across my hood. Thin lines of wet creased along the edges carefully. It was nature's camouflage and I was more than used to manipulating it. People pay little attention to their surroundings in such moments. No one cared or wavered when I opened the door of a car that was not mine.

The trample of footsteps and the body in motion, cutting through the pour were easy to detect. No one really wants to soak their clothes and I always felt that running in the rain somehow made that worse. My young brown eyed 27 did not weigh such thought, I assumed, as legs rushed for the compact shelter of warmth inside the vehicle ... fumbled with dollars into some duct taped wallet ... those surroundings were of no concern. There was never a glance for the laptop removed from the passenger seat.

The car started; heat flowed from the vents to counter clouded windows. More camouflage. Music opened, continued a favored song perhaps, lyrics clearer as it's sound was lowered ... "Into the flood again" I heard, "Same old trip it was back then".  A growl of words. They spoke to me. "Am I wrong? Have I run too far to get home" ... it was a pause for me to wonder.

I reared from the backseat, a shadow in the still auto ... the cocoon. I was greeted briefly by those eyes again in mirror.  Wider then ... innocence lost in confusion. I reacted as I always have. 27 had no common response. It was okay, not many do ... I prefer it that way.

Need I reminisce? The details of hands gripped in hair, the leverage of my mass or the ease which turned necks crack? Would it be for my own fondness, maybe an offer of clues or clearly for some apathetic low grade entertainment?  I am new to the blogosphere, Detective Brooks. I imagine you ignore most of these words in favor of IP addresses & wi-fi locations ... a shame, really.  But just stay with me, Brooks ...I don't know what I would do without you.