Occasionally I Contemplate Murder 8
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aybe murder is, in essence, an act of revolt against the Gods - a demonstration of disagreement. Men consciously interfering with the heavenly order of things, and getting some kind of kick out of it.
Although the Gods disapprove, they don't let their aversion lead to any kind of action in this earthly coil. They might accuse us in the hereafter, when the deed is irrevocably done, but they don't put a stop to murder.
If baby insists on playing with his little penis, a sensible parent knows not to stop him, or baby will stay forever in a state of compulsion to do just that. Could it be that we need to kill each other, now and then, to be at all able to overcome this compulsion?
In that case - for how long?
Man is an adaptable little beast. The horrible act of murder can easily become more and more of an addiction.
Well, there are people who believe that diluting substances changes them completely, so why not the other way around? Anything nutritious must be poisonous, in too large a dose.
Even air makes you dizzy, if you inhale rapidly and forcefully. And if you don't inhale enough, that gets you, too.
A very delicate balance, life.
It's not hard to conceive the thrill of it all. We've been hunters for many hundreds of thousands of years, guarding the life of our species through the reluctant death of other beasts - and what prey is more of a challenge than man himself?
I can't avoid death, cannot keep it off - but I can speed up its arrival, on others as well as on myself. By invoking death, I pretend to control it, and get a little more used to facing it.
Yes, that can be satisfying.
Whatever that may be.
Therefore, I'm not sure that the "laissez faire" strategy of the Gods, if that's the case, is the wisest line of action. By allowing us to indulge in murder, they might - instead of making us become fed up with it - make us forever addicted.
Not so many of us commit murder, and not as often as in past days, we're led to assume. However, when we do, we tend to think in a larger scale than yesteryears. Also, we develop ever more efficient equipment for it.
Murder easily becomes a hobby, a habit of sort, whatever the reason proclaimed for it. We excel in coming up with reasons.
Summing things up, we seem to do a twisted kind of progress. On the other hand - we never really stop playing with our penises, either.
In past times it was quite a messy business, of course. The murderer was never farther away from his victim, than for the blood spilled to stain also himself.
That is no longer the case.
Except for the traditional kinds of killing, used solely by those of primitive taste or lacking in means, there's a multitude of methods, not requiring the murderer to be closer to his victim than the distance that can be traversed by a rifle's bullet.
On the other hand, I guess it has always been precisely the imagination that tormented every murderer the most.
What's it like, on the other side of the event? The perspective is vertiginous to both participants alike. What's it like, the land of death - and the remaining life of one who caused it?
Yes, that uncertainty is shared equally by the victim and his bane.
Even if the memory of the deed torments the murderer's mind for no other reason than his expectation and fear of such agony - the pain is no less real.
The mind is a devilish trap.
Frequently, the reason appears to be of almost ridiculous insignificance. Indeed, it seems as if people find it much harder to bear with minute irritations, than with the grand injustices.
Whatever the proportion of the cause, in spite of our mysterious fear, many do take the step.
Fear is an attractive, seductive brew. Who wants not to taste catastrophe?
The only thing one really has to do, is to trick one's self-protective instincts into believing that there's a good chance of getting away with it.
An easy task.
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by Stefan Stenudd 2006, 2011
Paperback, 124 pages