His Brain is Squirming Like a Toad

Figure with Meat by Francis Bacon
I've had a weird obsession with death and murder lately. I am excited to see The Black Dahlia, and not just because my girlfriend is in it, but because I generally am interested in the story behind the film. Now, I am not necessarily an evil or disturbed or in any way bad person, but I find things like serial killers and strange death phenomena to be fascinating. I think that if I wasn't so full of whimsy and general light-heartedness, I might be a goth kid. I used to be a goth kid in High School. I think I concerned Jason the other day when he eyed the pictures I was looking at on the internet on my laptop, because they were mostly crime scene photos that I had come across while researching The Black Dahlia. Sure, a lot of the photos were gross stomach turning gut wrenchingly disgusting, but I am still totally fascinated by it. I think that it is also a very personal thing, and I don't want to sound weird, but my fascination with the macabre is not something that I want to chit chat about on a date or a party. And no, I am not going to purchase any Gacy originals or carpet samples from the Tate house. No, I am not going to secretly experiment with torturing small animals or lye. I just think it is strange and eerie. The idea that these people exist is horrifying to me, and that people are completely capable of eviscerating one another is so frightening I can hardly apprehend it. But then again, maybe these serial killers and murderers are really no different than anyone else.