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The Rambling Thoughts of the Disturbed


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Dexter Gein

To Know Me

It may not make sense to you, but it does to me. How does it look from your end? I hope this doesnít confuse or further complicate your already clouded opinion of me; this mysterious soldier?

The ideas and thoughts that frequently preoccupy and intrude my already troubled mind are but an idiosyncratic belief or even an impression that is firmly preserved within me despite being denied by what is generally accepted as reality or even lucid thoughts. Could this be a symptom of a mental disorder? Have all these years in this place finally taking its toll? My inter enemies surely love this delusion. My mind is slowly becoming engulfed with these evil thoughts like an addiction which consumes that which I know to be right; or should I say, to be wrong. These damn voices are injurious to my well-being. Iíve grown to love and hate them. The deeds I do for them, the innocent people Iíve killed in their name. Itís shameful.

Do you believe me? Believe? What is it to believe when all you ever lived for has been stripped away from you? He took them, now my nightmare continues, and I canít wake myself up from it. Itís a constant loop of endless days and sleepless nights. I want to believe but there is a hole in my soul that I long to fill, but with what? She was taken from me. I was a fugitive, so I ran. I was hurt and confused because it didnít make sense.
January 01, 2020 08:39 pm

Dexter Gein

The Riverside

Here comes the shame. I made it all the way to Arkansas before I realized that I was broke, hungry, and very tired. I was able to obtain work on a small farm tending to the livestock and doing small odd jobs around the main house and barn. The farm belonged to Herald Mann and his wife Edna. Over a period, they both looked at me as a son. For the first time in a long time I felt right. I felt strong, I felt like I learned perspective. I was happy. But somewhere between the sane and insane thoughts I started suffering from excruciating migraines. Then came the voices. Before I even could comprehend it, it overtook me. It had come to pass that I would look upon that nostalgic riverside. That Arkansas summer breeze did very little to cool a hot body. The Red River steadily flowed with its rustic hues from the submerged pebbles and natural underlay. The banks had been alive and teeming with life. Wild geese nested under the tall reeds which provided shade from the blistering sun above.

This day, this unfaithful day, it all happened. The rage of losing everything I breathed for came to surface. The voices took control of my every thought. Iíll spare you the in-between details, just know I had no control. I pushed the pitchfork I was using to mix manure for fertilizer deep into Heroldís neck. With the handle in my hands, I pushed him towards the barn until the spokes of the pitchfork penetrated though his neck and onto the wall behind. I stood back in horror. Herald hands fell to his side and he gasped his last as he stood limped pinned to the wall. The day was blur after that. I awoke naked by the riverside. Was it a dream? Laying there I envisioned myself hitting a rewind button to make it all go away. It was already too late. I did what I did, and the voices seized refuge in my mind. Both Herald and Edna were dead. I unpinned Herald from the barn wall and tried my best to find the pieces of Edna. I buried them both by the rivers edge.

Please donít think of me any different. I just couldnít take control of myself. The person I was died within me that day. I was unable to breathe and struggled to embrace those empathetic aimless feelings. From that day on I lived under a cloak that I havenít been able to simply let fall. These feeling of pensive sadness were short lived because the voices wouldnít let me deal with it.
January 02, 2020 06:35 am

Dexter Gein

The Sanctuary

By the main entry was a woven doormat, fashioned from rustic strings, enriched with the muck of a thousand boots, a testimony to the lives that have resided in his house. The door mat could have been replaced years ago, its edges were frayed and curled, but it was still here. It will be there even after he returns from his enslaved mind. I may have killed frequently but he taught me how to do it without being seen. At the time, he who was greater than I took me into his house. Many rooms filled with occupants of past and even present brothers and sisters. The walls within those walls never closed in on me. I trained and grew stronger by the day. I was welcomed and accepted into the fold. I was home; however, I kept my voices to myself. Beating, torturing, killing was who I was, yet I never really tasting the breath of truth.

Then, entered the thing of beauty; a forced passion, a sentimental longing and wistful affection for the past. She was mine and I was hers. But it never came to pass. She was an art piece for my own eyes and no one elseís. I stared out the sanctuary window and I struggle to adjust my eyes to see my own reflection. I couldnít see me. I didnít know who I was, and I still donít. It was just dark, and the night was cold. Then, I caught a whiff of her sweet and subtle scent. The voices were drowned out yet this fragmented dissolution of what once was, was no longer and only the pain and putrefied memories remain. The beauty aimlessly roamed the halls in a drunken state. A bit comical at times but other times it was worrisome. After a short time, I took her life. It was what she wanted. A righteous kill it was. I took my time dismembering her, oh the smell of her blood was sweet and thick with alcohol. To this day, I feel that inner ache.
January 02, 2020 09:53 pm

Dexter Gein


Oh, the desire to inflict retribution and utter harm. Oh, the saccharine smell of lifeless blood. Have you ever felt the complete satisfaction of revenge? Do you remember how obsessed you were with carefully planning it out? Her head laid before him. His children on a slow roast just feet from his decapitated and torn mate. They were all an unkempt bunch. I smelt it the minute I entered their dim. The ordeal ended just as fast as it started, although it seemed to last forever. His whole life and reason for living was stripped away just like he stripped it from me. An eye for an eye, a death for a death, and I took his life as well. How sweet it was to see his expression. His reaction was priceless. His morphing did little to impress me, in fact, it was rather humorous to me. He felt my fury and tasted my wrath. My inner demons enjoyed each moment. I know they did. They just sat back and didnít have to say anything. It was as if they were proud of what they created. Hate, pride, the need for more. Thatís who they are; I know that now. Perhaps I knew it all along as I continued to live my life in anger and rage. They made me who I am and he who was greater than I knew it and encouraged it. I do miss his wisdom and council. Confined within his mind is his state now or at least until he finds himself again.
January 06, 2020 07:43 pm

Dexter Gein

A New Beginning

There are two paths to every new beginning. You can choose to end the drifting loop you are currently traveling and take a new route off the beaten path into the unknown. Would this scare you? You canít choose both. As for me, I believe Mr. Frost would have been proud of the path I chose. Iím a mere human after all and I do not possess that which these beast and forged humans claim to have. I trust in my gut and Iím honest to my word. To some thatís enough but to others itís a weakness. Iíd like to think things will remain the same, but every nearing storm has its moment of silence and sometimes excrement seems to appear out of nowhere and from the most unlikely of folk. Even on a day of spiritual silence this new world seems odd. It tends to keep me from a higher ground and these lows become a hindrance. Although my path is just and authentic, the tendencies to allow the vehemence of hate within me rage on. The new master of the house helps balance these tendencies as I continue my path of righteousness. My master is the cure when my thoughts are not true. When the progression of losing cohesion or strength starts to overcome my thoughts, she is there to calm the raging storm within my mind. Simply thinking for myself becomes a painful process. Yet they are there and constantly scratching, burning, screaming, gnawing, and beating my brain until unnatural thoughts of self-mutilation take over. Even then, they encourage the thought. I wonder if my path will get any easier. Will our paths cross at some point? Will the encounter be peaceful and pleasant?
January 07, 2020 10:28 am

Dexter Gein

Hope and Truth

Anger - I want to slap the taste out of your mouth. You disgust me with your arrogance and behavior. That much crap over a push of a button. A thirteen ringed noose is too good for you. You deserve to die and die slowly. I hope you choke on the liquids within your dying body. They will confuse your hate for me as a death rattle. Your last recollected sight will be of me looking over you as I drink the lifeblood of your people. I hope you die of an aggressive cancer. I hope it eats away at your bones and spreads to every inch of your pathetic life. I; like it, will consume who you are and who you hoped to be. I hope Iím still here when you take your last breath you piece of shit. Youíre worthless!

The future rest solely on those who welcome positive change and not the authority of the empowered. It is within our hearts to embrace the change and use it for the good of man or beast. It is within our hearts to wield this power and not fall into darkness but to offer healing and salvation to those in need. A side is just a place to find comfort in those who are like you. This like-minded thinking can be dangerous in a place like this. People tend to get the notion that they can wield that power and expect others to accept that which does not benefit anyone other than the person doing the wielding. Do you know of whom I speak? Do you feel convicted in these words? It might not make sense to you, but it does to me. If it rings clear, then know you are part of the problem. Youíve allowed it to run rampant and now itís too damn big for you and others like you to do anything about it. YOU are part of the problem. I am part of the problem. Far too long has this like-mindedness bled deeply. It flows through each city like a cancer; consuming the old and the new of folk, until only now the wielder wields the wielded. Have you found your refuge from this cancer weíve created? Is there hope or have you lost all aspect of it?
January 08, 2020 10:23 pm

Dexter Gein


My mind is filled with thoughts contrary to the ordinary course of nature. My abnormal state exists only to amuse those within me. I heard whispers behind my back and watched mothers draw their children closer as I pass by. Psychopathic? Schizophrenic? To me, theyíre just made up words to say when you fear what you do not understand. Most folk donít even know the difference between them both and they used them interchangeably. Given the situation, after what I endured in my life it shouldnít be of any surprise why I am the way I am. This change is an abomination to who I once was. I hope you understand what Iím saying. Do you understand? Truly understand? This isnít a cry for help. This isnít just a rambling thought as you may already know. This isnít a contrived state of mind. As genuine as my love for you, you must understand the seriousness of this thought. I do what I do for me and me alone, meanwhile, the ill-disposed continue to seize this inner refuge in my mind. They give sight of things to come and things that have passed. This unwelcomed calling to my mind is my burden.

In my visions I see a rocky shoreline and the death of an innocent man, who like me, is but a complicated soul. I am haunted by the sight of a womanís transmutation into something horrible. I can almost feel the agonizing pain wracked though her body. She scratches at her blouse, pulling it completely off as if it had a burning effect. Bare breasted, she stands alone in a white room gasping for air. Falling to her knees she cries for help. Her voice is distorted and garbled, and I canít seem to make out what it is she is trying to say. She leans forward on to her hands. She finally gives herself over to the excruciating pain and slowly begins the transformation. Her bones start to snap as they painfully fall into unnatural positions in her now mangled body. Her muscles bend and reform themselves as her body suffers lacerating pain. She opens her mouth to let out one last yelp. Her mouth thick with blood from the new protruding fangs which emerged during the change. Her entire face is distorted as her lower jaw extends outward while her skull slowly changes shape. Her gnarled hands and malformed fingers clutch the floor as claws erupt forward. Her once agonizing moans are now low throaty growls. In the days to follow, she will consume and terminate everything in her path. She will lie, cheat, and destroy.
January 09, 2020 10:12 pm

Dexter Gein

On A Positive Note

Visions tend to be fuzzy at times. Having the ability to think about or even plan with an imaginative insight is rather difficult especially when one lacks the awareness of self to begin with. Having or displaying a sensible and practical idea of what can or cannot be achieved has never been one of my strongest suits. I am, however, humbled as to not to allow my ego to gain the upper hand especially when I seek the approval of hearts and minds. Iíd be a fool to think that no one has walked where I now wander. This winding road of mine is filled with holes and scars. These scars have marked my body for some time, and they appear strange to me. Have you ever really looked at all your scars and wonder how the hell you really got them? Are they deep? Iím not just talking about the external kind. The internal ones seem to hurt the most. Do you agree? Pft, like I really care if you agree or not. Youíre just as fvcked in the head as I am. There is no need to hide it or hide from it. The abuse we have suffered at our own hands and those of others brought forth more anger and hate throughout of pathetic lives. Even now youíre denying your self-worth arenít you. The reality is, there is no one left alive who can handle our inner demons and truths. Personally, I keep myself at a distance even from those who love me. Iíd be an absolute fool to claim that I have the answers; hell, my devils party with demons and yet the violent, cruel, and savage melodies are far from over. Is there any hope? Iíd like to think there is. I believe the hope lives within us and all we need to do is but unleash its brilliance. Life is so fleeting, so delicate, with every breath lies the potential for it to be our last. But oddly enough, I somehow think Iím closer to finding myself or at least I try to cling to that thought. After all; thatís life, an endless cycle of remembering and forgetting.
January 15, 2020 11:33 am
Actives (10) Fresh Blood (5) View All The Fallen (4) Graveyard
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