Monday, April 16, 2012

Cracker Barrel killings 04/12/2012

         Birthday Massacre: The killings in Brooklyn Ohio. April 12th 2012.

          Intro to thoughts most will not tolerate nor consider.

           Play this as you read:

Let me start by saying I am breaking my own rule of engagement with this post. I said I would not go into the realm of violence and killings that seem to permeate the United States unlike most countries that do such human trashing for religion, civil rights or other such acceptable causes. I say acceptable most loosely: We can so easily find justifiable reasons to kill each other on the mass scale and cheer as hundreds, thousands die for “our’ cause.

The killings and wasting of families in other countries is so okay with us, as Americans, we cope with this on an almost daily basis. We have so reduced human life to the least common denominator that collateral damage and the decimated lives in the wake mean less than zero to us.

To any of you with children: What would you do if your innocent kid had their body chopped in half while some country said: WE’VE GOT TO STOP THE EVIL DOERS!

Those wasted lives hadn’t even paid taxes to fund their own comrades in their fight.

We in United States cannot say this. Our taxes make the bombs, bullets and planes possible to make such things happen abroad. We are all guilty for such collateral damage. We are, or so many would like to say, are responsible human beings. We work, we pay our bills and support a welfare system; perhaps giving to charities with what little money is left to us after local, state, federal and county taxes cut us of our real monetary worth.

Bottom line: our funding of the American Military machine is far bellow what we think as a people of the Earth. We seem to be more interested in our IPODS, the latest cell phones, and our single minded greed to further ourselves on and individual basis: fucking all others to advance such things, finding innocent deaths justifiable. Yet many of us head to churches once, twice or maybe three times a week to feel at home with God, Buddha, Christ or the Sacred heart of the Royal Frisbee, to level things out and dispel

guilt unknowing to us, though tugging at our hearts making us feel uneasy from day to day existence knowing something is wrong within us.

Yet we fund the killings, with each dollar we pay.

And to think we left and revolted against taxation without representation.

With the exception of the American Civil war when counties voted, when has the People of the United States of America ever personally voted for a war?

Brooklyn Ohio: April 12th 2012.

Sitting in a sometimes loud, though happy place to talk, eat good food and share the events of our lives. We have great wait staff attend to my wife, friends and I as we go about our stories. Fire burning in the open hearth, whiffs of Yankee Candles joining us and happy children wanting to finish eating and play with the cool toys in the store. My wife and friends almost wanting like our children, to see the things you can’t get from other restaurants.

The waitress, I’ll call her Aimee-Lynn, brings the bread to us. The scents of muffins and cornbread take hold as we imagine the butter and jelly we’ll spread on them and how they will taste.

Content with all around us. Peace after this never ending week. What more could we ask for?

Our children, not so taken by this, ask for more IBC root beer, to which, Aimme says she will oblige them with a genuine smile, short brunette hair dancing on her shoulders, liking her shift.

Looking around at the wall items: The tree saw, old trombone, pictures of stoic men and women from a long age when glass negatives were the norm. The Triangular puzzles which vexed most.

The food arrives.

A family next to us is celebrating a child’s tenth birthday. Such a happy kid, beaming with the light that only the innocent can possess.

We begin to eat. Smiles all around.

The sounds of Dolly Parton shattered by gunfire.

The fantastic smell of fried apples goes horribly afoul when mixed with the smell of fresh gun powder.

Madness takes hold.

The plastic electronic bird in the store, with flapping wings, mimics the gun fire and the shrieks of those close.

A crazed man with eyes filled with desperate hatred and total anger keeps firing. A child, his child, becomes lifeless by his hand on her tenth birthday. His wife, who had said she was leaving him, gets blown away. They youngest child gets nailed, though still carries some air within her tiny lungs, isn’t dead.

Pandemonium sets in, my back toward the shooter. Fearing this nut will keep firing, rather to have myself take a bullet before those I love, I cover them as we head for the kitchen area. We get the to parking lot, hearing a train go by, seeing some bank building behind us, smelling Italian food and the wood fire of Cracker Barrel. We run and keep running.

More gun fire crushes this once gracious night, making my children shake and my loving wife look more pale. And there was nothing more I could do.

We hunker down until the Brooklyn Ohio police give us, and all those around, the All Clear. They have either captured this freak or killed him.

The looks of fright my children displayed, their wide, brimming eyes with tears yet to fall: the horror of my lovely wife’s expression, sweat beginning to descend, long blond hair mussed up as she hunkered over our children as a second barrier over my own body.

We arrive home after giving witness statements. We do this with some sense mixture of shock and relief as our physical lives weren’t connected by bullets that so freely filled our dinner.

My wife calls off her job the next day.

I do the same. We call the kids off from school and daycare.

We think of counselors, knowing full well our kids have seen a horror that so eclipses anything we have ever witnessed.

Where do we go from here? Where do we trust and teach our children to do the same?

We took our children there… There is guilt that goes with this….


>>>Authors note to the above: I was not there. I simply put myself into the restaurant that I have visited many times since it opened. I planted myself in the respects of a man that might save his family, as witness statements would concur.

In my minds eye, I can visualize almost anything. Those closest to me would attest to this. I can do this with a coldness totally devoid of emotion, giving verbal, olfactory or written images to what I see. This more often than not brings out an emotional response that I can see, yet not feel. Call it this: In my Minds Eye.

But I can write about it in a way that may touch others and make them see, think and hopefully do what I cannot: Feel.
My god has not forsaken me. My god and those chosen for me to seek out, got meds to level me out and be whole again.

I kicked the booze via Laurelwood. Got meds to control Manic Depression, as my family and others told me I needed years ago. My 49th year has seen the most medical and mental benefits I have ever used than in 30 years of having such things.

Yet, thinking clearly, writing clearly, so few of those I physically know, comment, and so often change the subject when I bring up this site I have created.

Clamping down roads to be later traveled.

Was the shooter a Psychopath?

I would have to say he wasn’t. Based on all known things; he did have one account of domestic violence some twelve years ago and a few histories of theft.

What he did was not some well planned out event. Unlike Manson, Bundy and Ramirez, who did what they did, calculating what would be gained: and most significantly, giving themselves up to law enforcement without being killed for the sole purpose of bragging rights and the eventual historical accounts for their deeds.

\ Ego plays such an enormous part with psychopaths, both the killing and the Non-violent alike, that running out into a parking, knowing cops were there to kill them, just does not fit.

This fucker acted out in a crime of passion. Nothing more, nothing less.

The children? His Children?

Collateral damage and little more.

And who really gives a shit about collateral damage in the United States of America?




     My humble thanks to those in the US, Germany, Russia, Italy, Ukriane and Canada and Spain. You knew i was close and asked to put thought into word. You shoved me: This is nice to see. Thanks!

Vacations outside themselves.

           Constants between normal people and the Nonviolent Pyschopaths: Trips outside themselves.

Alcohol can play such a huge factor in what makes one lose themselves for a while and open up to a world of utter mind-boggling possibilities for acceptance. We’ve all been there. Booze in the proper quantity can us open up, lose inhibitions and maybe dance on a table in an attempt to simply be noticed. This area does not stop at sheer heterosexual relationships but can, and will, go into the homosexual as well.

Wanting to be noticed is wanting to be noticed. They will try anything to pull someone toward them. The drunk at the bar will fish, throwing out the hook through an abuse of both alcohol and pent up sexual energy that they hope will snag someone, anyone, to perhaps bed them for a night or last much longer. The morning after is the telltale of things to come.

Wake up and they are still there can tell a few things. Either the prey was too drunk to leave, perhaps passed out, or just simply wanting to be with the fisher-person that captured their wanting soul. The one that so freely put themselves out there, to advertise enticements unabashed, a promise of dreams and desires fulfilled either do this because they desire a mate or simply feel hungry.

The hunger to suck someone in, be the vampire, and make this idiot their puppet. The other that can’t seem to get a partner any other way even for a short time and sell themselves like some cheap hand-me-down item at a thrift store.

This is the oddest parallel in the world of nonviolent Psychopathic relationships.

Booze or drugs live so keenly in both the regular and NV-Psychopathic world that is quite difficult to distinguish which is which. Alcohol and drugs play a huge factor in both realms. Alcohol is so accepted that both the predator and prey eclipse each other for the single want to be desired and conquered, to eat and be eaten.

Though many non- psychopaths get bombed to kill a bad week at work or sad lives in general, they advertise themselves out there with such complete and utter abandoned to be taken advantage of. Hey, look at me! I’m not with any partner. Come and get me!

To feel alive again after hours of being someone else’s subordinate. To cut loose, be free and not give a damn what any thinks or how they carry themselves.

The NV-Psychopaths get wasted for an attempt to feel emotions they had trashed years/decades ago. A glimpse at yesterdays gone by on their quest to feel nothing, no regrets and no remorse for their actions and perhaps, no hurt. To touch what they were, some bastard form of nostalgia as booze/drugs leave them bare and open to the ones they would have devoured yesterday. Looking, perhaps, to be used/abused in humiliating sexual activity or by sheer dominance.

What better arena than a bar, saloon or tavern for both to be relative equals?

This is where the lines get blurred .The predator and prey alike, have no clear clue to what their real motives truly are. And it is almost impossible to distinguish them apart from one another.

Until the next day when they arise. One with a screaming hangover, wondering what they did the night before. Hoping they didn’t offend a friend or hurt someone. The other awakens just fine, perky and ready to go. And very, very hungry. They got what they couldn’t ask their current food source for. Reckless uncontrolled desire for which they would not risk the one they are using, gaining money, or possessions from.

This is when, if having taken a fancy for the lamb, the NV-Psychopath will either stick around for greener pastures (bigger gains) or seek out other eating grounds seeking same.

Of course, they may do neither, and simply return to the current tasty steak they haven’t quite finished yet.

The flaunting exhibitionist the next day will feel totally different. They will not be surprised if the one they spent the night with looking for Mr. Goodbar, if you will, leaves and never calls them again. And damnit! Why do they always use my toothbrush?!? Oh, well, I got fucked real good and the guy/woman even let me piss on him. Wow, that was different!

That’s right. The NV-Psychopath will let such things happen.

Normal people will go on vacations. They’ll travel to places both near and far to experience different things, foods, environments and cultures. They will go to places that have a historical significance they are curious about. They’ll go on cruises to see far away places that contrast their normal surroundings. Perhaps a trip to wine countries in California, Pennsylvania or even Ohio to sample the source and locations of the wonderful beverages they have indulged in over the years. A jaunt to the battlefields of their ancestors; witnessing reenactments with their blasting cannons and muskets popping as men fall, nearby cattle jump and car alarms go off in the reality check as modern technology mocks the witnessed event of old.

They go somewhere with families, by themselves, or with friends, but the bottom line is: They go to someplace different to feel, learn, and explore.

In total contrast, the NV-Psychopath will stay in the general area, maybe venturing by going a city or two away for anonymity’s sake. These are the ones that are living off their prey and what they do the satisfy them.

Some of more affluent circles will even go on ‘work related’ trips to places like Vegas, New York City or even Amsterdam.

The affluent types con their wives/husbands/girlfriends by saying: I’ve got to do this, honey. Sorry, this one I can’t take you on. I need to maintain focus and you know I can’t do that with your sexy self around. This is too sudden to plan for and you know we can’t get a sitter on such short notice. No, hon, we’ve asked far too much of your family already. The company says no this time, sorry, stock holders are watching us for excesses.

These will have their ‘vacations’ planned long in advance. They have the ability to lie so clearly meshed with their spouse that no suspects anything.

Content with their marriages/relationships, these juggernauts of the corporate world seek brief rounds of being abused, controlled and dominated, like the average NV-Psychopath.

A common ground.

Both want the same single thing. To go beyond themselves in areas they have grown too familiar with. Not to learn so much as simply wanting to give up as their heavy workload of manipulation has worn them out. A trip outside themselves where their normal mind tricks of massive imaginations just cannot fulfill them.

They will allow themselves to be humiliated to the point of being beaten, burned, cut or even pissed or shit on to have their ‘vacation’ from the humdrum lives they live. This seems to be what recharges their batteries much like normal humans experience during their vacations.

Vacations, play a part in the relative normalcy of both regular people and NV-P’s.

A trip outside themselves.