Murdering someone in particular is a quick fix to satisfication. You scheme. Then you take the sharpest wicked knife from the kitchen, jazz it up with some gems, and then let it dive into the throat of the person who wronged you.
To add a touch of panache, swish it around his or her head so that you can savour a look of fright - a fright that they never thought of when they ruthlessly slashed your life in two.
While you swish and savour the look to the tune of a Western Classical symphony - say the Turkish Rondo composed by Mozart - jab the knife down the throat and get it to dance its way to the chest.
In a span of a majestic minute, a sparkling fountain of blood - reminiscent of the mystical red of the rubies - rises up as the person looks on, in a royal state of shock mixed with magnificent pain and a longing that you complete the deed as soon as possible.
Well now, it depends on how horrid the person was to you. If he or she were a mass of brutality, chances are you will let the knife linger and wedge its way down to the spine so that at least when death arrives, some feeling is born in that body.
You may also want to play the smooth operator and snuff their soul out in one swish of the blade the way they wrecked your happiness and in turn your life with one whiplash of a sentence.
Either way, you know you will go to prison and meet a man or a woman more experienced in this art than you are. And given the fact that that is not your intention, you will reign in the thought of murder and not go onto murder at all.
But, in the world that lives up there in your head - the world in which all your deeds seem just and plausible - the crime has been committed and the criminal has attained nirvana.
To add a touch of panache, swish it around his or her head so that you can savour a look of fright - a fright that they never thought of when they ruthlessly slashed your life in two.
While you swish and savour the look to the tune of a Western Classical symphony - say the Turkish Rondo composed by Mozart - jab the knife down the throat and get it to dance its way to the chest.
In a span of a majestic minute, a sparkling fountain of blood - reminiscent of the mystical red of the rubies - rises up as the person looks on, in a royal state of shock mixed with magnificent pain and a longing that you complete the deed as soon as possible.
Well now, it depends on how horrid the person was to you. If he or she were a mass of brutality, chances are you will let the knife linger and wedge its way down to the spine so that at least when death arrives, some feeling is born in that body.
You may also want to play the smooth operator and snuff their soul out in one swish of the blade the way they wrecked your happiness and in turn your life with one whiplash of a sentence.
Either way, you know you will go to prison and meet a man or a woman more experienced in this art than you are. And given the fact that that is not your intention, you will reign in the thought of murder and not go onto murder at all.
But, in the world that lives up there in your head - the world in which all your deeds seem just and plausible - the crime has been committed and the criminal has attained nirvana.
Comments
Keep writin' O master of words...