The Artist Chronicles: Chapter 2 - The Artist Passes Judges on the Damned, A Love Letter

The Damned deserve nothing…

My dearest Clementine, my darling, my adored,

It has been too long since I’ve seen those lovely eyes of yours. And I’ve seen many eyes since we’ve parted though none can quite capture the same passion for life. Even now as I write this there’s a jar to my right with a plethora of green pupils. None can quite match the brilliance of yours. I can only imagine the flecks of light that sparkle within the green pools of color when my thoughts shift to the notion that there is pain in that gaze. Understandably it would be from my own actions that an ounce of saline would fall upon your face.

Think not of me as a monster for my absence. Nor should you feel the need to defend me to anyone. I’m hardly the unspeakable creature that they’ve painted me out to be. Those who truly understand my work will see its honorable merits. For what do the damned deserve? The damned deserve nothing more than the swift reward of pain. They’ve inflicted pain and it is meant that they should meet their end by the sins that consumed them. You’ve been right to encourage and support my mission of cleansing the filth. I thank you for the very weapons, the knives that sit beside me always. Your gifts have made my job more efficient and you will see the impact they have on my craft.

As by now you’ve already received the boxed gifts I’ve sent with my letter. They were attained by the means of your newly furnished tools. My creative hands now belong to your open arms. Please darling, think nothing more of these small tokens than as an expression of my affection. Their beauty was hard to miss and instantly reminded me of you. Please understand that such gifts pale in comparison to your shining grace. The voice of an angel falls short of your lovely voice, yet I can think of no other way to be reminded of yours than to cut out a tongue. Words of sin shall no longer afflict this tongue while it is in your care. In place of my own, I send these two capable hands; yours to hold in place of mine. I envy that they shall touch the soft smooth skin I must live without. They are all that I can send to you while mine are inexplicably tied to the remaining death that must be dealt. Lastly you will find a set of brown eyes, think of them as a small gesture to remind you I’m always there to look upon you. You can only imagine the pain it fills me with to remain far from your side. It is not by choice that I am away…

Darling, I have heard the news and continued to follow word by your correspondence and wire. There has been great speculation whether I have been apprehended. As by my own word and actions please let me put those rumors to rest for your troubled mind and continue to extend the only veritable truth; My own.

Dearest, I remain a free man. Continue to think of me as an Artist deeply committed to his work. The only regret I have is that my work continues to drive me from your open arms. I cannot deny that this distance troubles my mind as well. The last words of correspondence from you indicated that there was an armed man immediately at your front door after my departure. I cannot begin to apologize for any discomfort that may have caused you or your mother. It was not my intention to further drag you into these matters. Detective Tafal has nothing more pressing on his agenda than to bother the innocents while ignoring the filth that runs rampant throughout the streets. That is truly the hands of the law hard at work. The very notion that you’ve been harassed makes my insides sick. With my last breath I will make certain that Tafal and his men pay for this intrusion into your home.

My darling this absence will continue as long as there is filth to be cleansed. There will continue to be work for my hands as long as Tafal, his blue boys and goons refuse to see the obvious trash that masquerades as good people of society. It never ceases to amaze me; those sins that fill the hearts of men. For as long as there is a need for justice it is imperative that I continue in this manner. Without your understanding I could not continue to be the creator that I am. Thank you my love, my Clementine.

Your eternal artist,

Your Beloved.

What kind of love letter might a Serial Killer send? Why not? Serial Killers might fall in love. Of course what they might send to their beloved's as tokens of their affections might be better left for speculation. Written in blood with a finger enclosed? Or maybe an arm or a leg? “Look what I killed for you honey!” Oh my! All joking aside, I do happen to find serial killers to be fascinating subject matter. Unless you are one I suppose. Then it’s like living in the zoo and people taking pictures while they poke at you. Anyhow, this borrows from a little older [I want my pain...]  which borrows a quote from Easton-Ellis. I’ve been juggling this notion of old and new all week while getting down with my projects… among other things. enjoy, kisses. m.

The Artist Chronicles: Chapter 1 - The Artist wants to inflict his pain upon you.

I want my pain to be inflicted on others.
(10-20-09)

My dear Detective Tafal, and to those who seek to find me,

You shall never enjoy that pleasure. Your own arrogance will completely blind any pursuit to apprehend me. Humorously I entertain your notions of my inner workings and whereabouts, as they are absolutely ridiculous. Absurd! Common horse sense couldn’t help any of your criminal investigations in the least. Such blunders among the ‘men in blue’ can’t be helped as it requires little or no education to join the ranks. Overweight buffoons, who waste their time reading lewd magazines and leisurely arriving to the scene at the pace of a snail. It should be no wonder the corpses don’t up and walk away before the dedicated arm of the law arrives. Yet you try to understand me. Allow me to enlighten you.

I want my pain to be inflicted on others. The innocent people who dress themselves up in deceit need to take hold of the truth that lives within. It is my job to bring the discomfort to the surface of my victims. The families that I tear apart deserve the judgment my hand deals. These casualties are like alarm clocks bringing about an awakening in the minds of others. Lessons taught by the suffering hands of the weak. Punishment for daring to live in the guise of a marriage and home; Lying in the name of God. Absence of Fidelity. The women I deliciously cut into pieces after I’ve strangled are common trifling whores. Mothers, daughters, and sisters are all insignificant creatures that lured filth into their beds. Lurid men that are attracted to these devilish fiends deserve no mercy at my hands. Husbands, sons, and brothers are all insufferable and weak men that hunger for the debauchery that these ladies offer. Castration and removal of limbs are a method of torture before the agonizing slow death experienced at my discretion. These despicable men and women deserve to be gutted and mutilated beyond any recognition. No recognition for these souls when they depart to the gates of hell. The Damned are cursed to act out the sins of life in purgatory for eternity. Faceless monsters.

As by now you have realized that I have my affinity for souvenirs. There are reports of my keeping Betty Sue Watson’s head. I did not. As for her blood, yes, indeed I did bleed the young woman dry before I cut off her head. The torso and head can be found buried in the flower bed nearest the east side of the church. The thought of placing her head in the rectory did cross my mind, but I felt that to be quite sacrilegious and inappropriate in conduct. My intention was to return this harlot to blessed ground where her soul might know the comfort of peace once more. As for her blood, I’m hoping you enjoy the color of my ink as my quill rather fastidious. By my recollection, I’ve kept the eyes of the last three boys, and the ears of the last two women. Further it is misunderstood as I do not eat the organs or look for quiet moments with the dead. These women and men are wretched mortals lacking in any virtues. Truly such filth could never provide the proper company for an artist such as me. I’m a lost genius, drowning in my own immaculate brilliance. My work is gifted to me from the divine and it is my mission to return these infidels to the Hell that they emerged from. The pain of this life that I endure can not end until my undertaking has come to an end.

For now gentlemen, good luck in your flawed investigation. You will not find a better adversary than I. Detective Tafal I remind you that you walk a fine line of good and evil with an army of heathens behind you. Do not trust your ‘men in blue’ so entirely. Most of these lawmen have broken the rules set forth by your own society and live the life of animals outside of the day. Behind closed doors in the dark hours of the night you will find there are few innocent among them. Soon enough my hunt will continue beyond those who lie in the eyes of God. Do not find yourself in the path of the damned dear sir… as an artist’s work is never finished.

Yours humbly,

The Artist

Tis the season for the macabre and this year I've let y'all down. teasing with a marathon. and then nothing. Will make it up soon. Nothing like before. For tonight while some of you watch a bit of someTHING here's a little more darkness. Another. Older one. This was the first time for a letter. No, that's wrong. But still had lots of fun with this one. Serial Killers can be ever so fascinating subjects. Well, not unless you've met them I suppose or you are one. I don't know. Anyways, addictions and crazies and the irrational things that we humans do for the sake of making a point or sometimes a little bit of nothing. At least they are done. Enjoy if you've never read it. Kisses. m.

Stop The Killing!

Dear Sir or Madam, or any concerned citizens,

It is imperative that you read and take action immediately…


February 7, a man was seated in his parlor entertaining no one for tea. Shortly after the clock struck three o’clock that fateful afternoon, he was executed in the most horrific manner. What remained of his insides were lain across the foyer while his body now an open cavity, rested alongside the warm tea.

Nearly a week later on the eve of St. Valentines a pair of lovers wait patiently for the next available table at a restaurant. Briefly excusing themselves for a quick smoke outside the pair came face to face with an unholy instrument of death. Swiftly and quietly tearing the flesh from the body a blade spills their blood into the street. In a matter of seconds both had met their end by the hands of a killer.

Today the world is swimming with hatred and discontent. Thousands are dying every day. These are irrational slayings. You can help bring this madness to an end. You have to power to end it. Stop the killing! Your donation will help a mad man find peace. Please intervene or there will be more. Your involvement makes a difference in someone’s life. You can not ignore this call for help. There is no turning back. You’ve sealed your own fate. Opening this letter puts the choice in your hands. On your conscious. To ignore this cry for help is to assist a killer. Your hands are bloodied. Do not hesitate. Make a difference today! GET Involved. Wipe the blood off of your neighbors hands. Each dollar means a potential life saved. Give your donation promptly. Without the necessary funding there will be more deaths. There is no need for this unnecessary violence. It is URGENT that you make a contribution. GET INVOLVED! Or there will be more. Today is the day to make a change. No need for bloodshed. A killer can be bought for a small fee. One more dollar can save a person’s life. Appease the enemy. PAY NOW! Each day another man dies by the hands of a killer. Think of the gift you are giving. Life is a generous commodity. Take action! Think of your neighbor. Your dollars can spare his life. It is your duty to GET INVOLVED! Spread the word. Participation is the key. Send this letter to as many people as you can. The more awareness generated will lead to the end of these unnecessary killings. Ignoring the problem will not make it go away. You will live to regret your decision of NOT GETTING INVOLVED! Don’t put this letter down. You could be next! You can not live your life afraid and wondering what is behind you!


DONATIONS CAN BE MADE IN THE FOLLOWING MANNER:

PLACE ALL DONATIONS IN THE UNMARKED ENVELOPE ALONG WITH A LIST OF THE NAMES OF THE FUTURE RECIPIENTS FOR WHICH YOU WILL BE FORWARDING THIS OPPORTUNITY.

ALL ENVELOPES ARE TO BE PLACED IN THE NEAREST POST BOX. MARKING THEM WILL BE UNNECESSARY.

THANK YOU FOR YOUR CONTRIBUTION!

CASH DONATIONS ARE ENCOURAGED!

CHECKS WILL BE ACCEPTED IF MADE OUT TO ‘CASH’ ONLY!

DON’T HESITATE.

YOU DO NOT HAVE THE LUXURY OF TIME!



---

I'm still working on a few things but I wanted to give you something. This is the chain letter from The Chain. I couldn't resist. It took me about thirty minutes to come up with it. LOTS OF FUN! I'm needing a laugh. Begun the process of writing submissions. (*pulling hair now!) And I've realized that there are quite a few things that didn't get destroyed with the demise of the HD. Thank G-d I still use a pen and paper. Anyhow will come back harder with more. Kisses. M.

The Artist Chronicles: Chapter 1 - The Artist wants to inflict his pain upon you.

My dear Detective Tafal, and to those who seek to find me,

You shall never enjoy that pleasure. Your own arrogance will completely blind any pursuit to apprehend me. Humorously I entertain your notions of my inner workings and whereabouts, as they are absolutely ridiculous. Absurd! Common horse sense couldn’t help any of your criminal investigations in the least. Such blunders among the ‘men in blue’ can’t be helped as it requires little or no education to join the ranks. Overweight buffoons, who waste their time reading lewd magazines and leisurely arriving to the scene at the pace of a snail. It should be no wonder the corpses don’t up and walk away before the dedicated arm of the law arrives. Yet you try to understand me. Allow me to enlighten you.

I want my pain to be inflicted on others. The innocent people who dress themselves up in deceit need to take hold of the truth that lives within. It is my job to bring the discomfort to the surface of my victims. The families that I tear apart deserve the judgment my hand deals. These casualties are like alarm clocks bringing about an awakening in the minds of others. Lessons taught by the suffering hands of the weak. Punishment for daring to live in the guise of a marriage and home; Lying in the name of God. Absence of Fidelity. The women I deliciously cut into pieces after I’ve strangled are common trifling whores. Mothers, daughters, and sisters are all insignificant creatures that lured filth into their beds. Lurid men that are attracted to these devilish fiends deserve no mercy at my hands. Husbands, sons, and brothers are all insufferable and weak men that hunger for the debauchery that these ladies offer. Castration and removal of limbs are a method of torture before the agonizing slow death experienced at my discretion. These despicable men and women deserve to be gutted and mutilated beyond any recognition. No recognition for these souls when they depart to the gates of hell. The Damned are cursed to act out the sins of life in purgatory for eternity. Faceless monsters.

As by now you have realized that I have my affinity for souvenirs. There are reports of my keeping Betty Sue Watson’s head. I did not. As for her blood, yes, indeed I did bleed the young woman dry before I cut off her head. The torso and head can be found buried in the flower bed nearest the east side of the church. The thought of placing her head in the rectory did cross my mind, but I felt that to be quite sacrilegious and inappropriate in conduct. My intention was to return this harlot to blessed ground where her soul might know the comfort of peace once more. As for her blood, I’m hoping you enjoy the color of my ink as my quill rather fastidious. By my recollection, I’ve kept the eyes of the last three boys, and the ears of the last two women. Further it is misunderstood as I do not eat the organs or look for quiet moments with the dead. These women and men are wretched mortals lacking in any virtues. Truly such filth could never provide the proper company for an artist such as me. I’m a lost genius, drowning in my own immaculate brilliance. My work is gifted to me from the divine and it is my mission to return these infidels to the Hell that they emerged from. The pain of this life that I endure can not end until my undertaking has come to an end.

For now gentlemen, good luck in your flawed investigation. You will not find a better adversary than I. Detective Tafal I remind you that you walk a fine line of good and evil with an army of heathens behind you. Do not trust your ‘men in blue’ so entirely. Most of these lawmen have broken the rules set forth by your own society and live the life of animals outside of the day. Behind closed doors in the dark hours of the night you will find there are few innocent among them. Soon enough my hunt will continue beyond those who lie in the eyes of God. Do not find yourself in the path of the damned dear sir… as an artist’s work is never finished.

Yours humbly,

The Artist