Blood Tangent | Sarai Nissan
Do you ever get so flustered in social interactions that you bring up the only conversation topic that you are remotely knowledgeable and confident in speaking about and it’s usually serial killers? No? That’s just me?
“I grew up in Boulder. JonBenét Ramsey was murdered there. I drive past her house all the time,” I say to the unwitting soul that ha
s chosen to have a conversation with me. Needless to say, this isn’t exactly an appropriate conversation topic.
My current conversation tactics result in a) completely horrifying anyone within hearing distance or b) engaging in a very enticing conversation on other murderers and/or serial killers. On the plus side, blood and gore is generally a pretty good go-to if you’re trying to avoid human conversation.
I have always been infatuated with the macabre. I have a wealth of knowledge on the esoteric; magic, occultism, serial killers, UFOs, you name it, I probably know something about it. But that is not to say that I find any behavior and crimes committed by these people to be in anyway praiseworthy or glorifiable. I just think they are really, really, really fascinating scum of the earth who deserve nothing but to rot in their jail cells, but you know, interesting.
Charles Manson died on Nov. 19, and sifting through social media posts there were a handful of people actually mourning his death. Manson was a character, he was eccentric, charming, and intriguing—I’m sure the amount of drugs he had on him at all times also aided his popularity—which is also why he was so very good at manipulating his cult of followers.
During the time that “the Family” began to form, Manson was an unemployed ex-convict who spent the majority of his life in correctional facilities for innumerable offenses. Obsessed with forming his own (and failing) music career he lurked with the likes of Dennis Wilson of the Beach Boys and began preaching about an impending apocalyptic race war.
Manson was a piss-poor “struggling” musician who orchestrated one of the worst crimes in American history and subsequently ended “The Summer of Love.” Though he did not actually murder anyone on that 1969 eve, he is more than responsible for all of the lives he ruined. But hey, I’m also the one attempting to free up space on my iPhone so I can start my own cult in Animal Crossing: Pocket Camp. See you in hell, Chuck.
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