There Will Be Blood

[kimberlysteele]

Oubliette plan from the Bastille...or ice storage chamber.  Nobody knows.

 

I'm not exactly physically formidable.  I am under five feet tall and not particularly strong in my upper body, though I do take pride in the fact I can kick like a mule.  As I age, I am hilariously destined to become shorter, so at age 75, I'll likely have shrunk to 4'9".  Oh well.  I have always been small, and as far as I can tell, I have been of short stature in most of my previous lives, including the one where I was a singing sailor from Portugal and my most recent turn as a wealthy widow born in the Belle Epoque.  Maybe that's why it's so funny that I possess certain killer instincts.  

One of my favorite horror films is an adaptation of a novel called Audition directed by prolific Japanese director Takashi Miike.  In the novel, an aging widower named Shigeharu Aoyama who owns a media network decides to "audition" a new and ideal wife.  The women think they're auditioning for a TV show, not to become the wife of a mogul.  A peculiarly graceful young woman named Asami captures the widower's imagination.  As the widower is lured into Asami's mysterious web, his dead wife returns in the form of a ghost to warn him.  He does not heed the warnings, and the outcome is gruesome.

Audition's Asami is an ex-ballet dancer and also a serial killer.  She may be slight and slender, but lurking underneath her lovely brow are some dark and murky thoughts.  The moral of the story is not to judge a book by its cover, especially if you do something extremely stupid like attempt to find a wife via a manufactured audition.

Big Brother Lite

When 2020-2023 descended into hysterical partitioning of public spaces, masking, social distancing, and coerced quaxxines, I believe we all got a brief, glancing sample of what Maoist or Stalinist dictatorships feel like.  For some unwell people, it probably felt like coming home, soothing their inner virtue-signaling Nazi.  For most of us, it sucked and we could not wait for it to be over.  In China, people were welded into their apartment buildings and starved to death.  Not only were they forcibly quaxxed (China claims to have an over 95% quaxx rate) but their cats, dogs, and occasionally their children were "confiscated".  In the case of the cats and dogs, most of them were killed, often left in plastic bags outside apartments while they suffocated to death.  Shanghai in particular was known for its abject cruelty when it came to starving its citizens and their companion animals.  To add insult to injury, white-suited goons patrolled the streets and buildings as medical soldiers, doing the dirty work of killing animals, welding people into buildings, beating them senseless in the doorways of their homes or in the streets, or dragging them off to quarantine internment camps.  As usual, none of the virtue signalers in the US batted an eye even when passably similar things happened in nearby Canada.  

Though many would seek to reassure themselves that such atrocities could never happen where they live, I did not think that for one second.  Humans gonna human.  All along, I have known it could go that way where I live in the suburbs of Chicago, Illinois.  People I knew for years made their exodus from Illinois because of Stalinism-lite in my state.  My piano dealer moved to Kansas with his entire family: children and grandchildren.  A student's family moved to Texas even though it cost them dearly and they did it in the worst real estate market in years.  My musician friend moved to Oklahoma.  My mechanic moved to northern Wisconsin.  The tiniest hint of what Illinois could become scared the living crap out of them.  I have my reasons for staying; I am still here.

If Illinois had become like Shanghai, locked down and oppressed, it is an understatement to say I would not have accepted such an outcome.  Perhaps it is because I am American to my core and perhaps it was because I saw too many Die Hard films at a young, impressionable age, but if the white suited goon circus ever comes to my town and expects me to go without a fight, they've got another thing coming.

Snapped

For years I was puzzled by my own anger, which has always been disproportionate considering how I grew up and the pampered, genteel existence I have enjoyed in my present incarnation.  Even as a child, I repressed extreme rage that often made me feel like screaming.  When someone would piss me off, I wanted to react and cause permanent damage to them and everything around them.  In my 30s, I wrote several works of fiction in an attempt to work out some of the monumental rage that underpinned my daily life and nightly dreams.  Writing out my demons helped quite a bit, and also helped me to make ends meet by selling ebooks during a rough financial time.  Later, I took up a daily habit of discursive meditation, the Sphere of Protection, and divination.  Writing fiction let off steam, but the aforementioned habits extinguished the renegade burner.  Via the aformentioned habits, I realized why I am the way I am and why at age 9 I wanted to violently end the life of a girl who dunked me at the swimming pool: I was a serial killer in at least one of my past lives.

Of course I could be wrong: maybe I wasn't a serial killer in my past life and maybe I'm just defective in the brain.  At any rate, I believe that I was a wealthy Scottish landowner in one of my past lives.  I was a man, hence the ability to own land.  Serial killers during that time were simply known as warriors because it was par for the course to have taken a hundred lives on the battlefield by the time one reached the tender age of eighteen if you are any good at wielding a sword.  In my own case, my main strength was not swordmanship but tenacity and a strong stomach.  When I went into battle-mode, there was no stopping me, and that was how I retired with fabulous treasures instead of succumbing to my wounds on the heath or losing my marbles like so many of my brethren.  After my battling days were over, I enjoyed capturing and terrorizing my enemies, which helped build my reputation for something besides being able to hold liquor.  My favorite way of torturing my enemies was simply to leave them in my oubliette until they chewed their own tongues off and went screaming mad.  I wasn't a freak who bathed in blood like Bathory, but I did savor the screams of the impaled and I was never short of creative ways to torture victims.

I may have changed into a mild-mannered educator from an upper-middle class background, but I have never been able to outrun my past, despite it being in another lifetime that happened a long time ago.  The instinct and desire to sink back into that existence is always pressing at me, waiting for an opportunity to take the lead.

Having gone through a lot of terrible karma associated with that lifetime, including starving to death in at least three lifetimes after it as at least partial comeuppance for my oubliette, I know now that it would take extraordinary circumstances to re-ignite my old ways.  Things would have to be a hell of a lot worse for me to take action on my dark thoughts, despite those dark thoughts being an omnipresent part of my psychic wallpaper.  

Had Shanghai 2022 occurred here in Illinois, that would have been enough for me to regress.  I knew it at the time and I know it now.  If the US government, NWO, or other white-suited goons show up at my door, part of me will honestly breathe a sigh of relief because I can go back to my old ways without any concern for the karma I will gleefully create.  All I have to do is find a white goon suit, and of course one of those will be easily lifted from a member of the lackey battalion.  I will then commence a reign of horror upon Stalinist/Maoist forces until I am stopped, and of course I will do everything in my power to avoid detection.  And of course serial killers being what they are, I will likely put one in an improvised oubliette and let Nature do her thing just for laughs.

There are more like me than anyone suspects, especially in the US.  Though China seems to be mostly sheeple, I suspect there are more and more disobedient rogues with nothing left to lose.  Of course we will never hear about them in the present era of censorship, but I think someday there will be legends told of warlords (and warladies) who, when faced with being welded in their apartments, killed a white-suited goon, stole his outfit, and then took an entire village and studded its walls with the heads of political pundits, self-righteous Karens, and media bloviators.  End of empire is a bitch.  Such is the tide of our Age of Aquarius as the would-be mono-party, Piscean communist forces give way to setting individuals free so they can go in their own directions and towards their own Wills... or else.

 

 

 

Comments

[kimberlysteele]

Thank you and gods bless you for being brave enough to comment NWW. I knew this one would go over like a lead balloon -- nevertheless, I am sticking to my guns. I am what I am. This post was meant to be a shot across the bow to the bots, AI, and government shills. If they want to go there, I can go there, but until they go there first, I will be the mildest of all mild-mannered music teachers. I don't even kill spiders or earwigs. I will never go there first or without solid reasons.

Did Julian of Norwich write that? Talk about the power of positive thinking... Good for her! I have never been able to transcend my far easier circumstances.

Thank you, I am grateful for you as well.