Common Sense …

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It has been a long time since I’ve posted anything here. Good news is that I made my deadline and now have to play the waiting game … I hate waiting. The bad news is that when one deadline ends, another begins. I guess it’s better than having nothing to do or deadlines to meet.

As some of you may have noticed, several posts are no longer a part of this blog. That is due to the fact that I will be publishing under this name and have no interest in letting those readers know about the stupid situations I found myself in. Keeping the personal stuff out of it now. Sorry to all of the readers who salivated over those posts. Looks like you’ll have to find your drama elsewhere.

But I digress … Moving on.

Tonight, I’m writing about a little something called common sense. It has been said, and written, that common sense does not exist. If it did, then one would not have to be constantly reminded to use it. To a point, I agree with that statement. I don’t believe common sense is as common as it is made out to be. On the other hand, I also believe that the world is filled with fucking morons who don’t have any common sense.

The reason I say that I only agree to a point is that oft-times I don’t believe that people are using the correct terminology when they instruct someone to use their common sense. Other times, I think that people are just fucking wrong. What they said isn’t common sense at all. At least, not to the individual who is being chastised.

For example, one could very honestly say that it is not a very good idea to date a psychopath. However, that is only true if the individual knows beforehand that the other individual is a psychopath. If they do not have this very important bit of information, then it doesn’t fall under the label of common sense. It does fall under the label of common sense that said individual should not go back to  said psychopath, however. See the difference? Common sense requires previously learned information.

Another example … A mother/father tells their son/daughter to turn on the stove. Said child does so. Then the parent becomes angry that the child did not go into the freezer, read the instructions on some meal, and put it in the oven. The parent cries out “Why would I tell you to turn on the stove if i didn’t want you to put the food in? It’s common sense!” Alas, it is not. This is a case of an individual doing exactly what they were told to do while another individual is upset that the first individual could not read their fucking mind.

I can go on with examples like this forever. “Use your common sense” is one of the most incorrectly used phrases in the english language … followed in a close second by “I love you.”

Now, having gone over a few examples of the misuse of the phrase “common sense,” let’s go over a few things that are common sense.

First off, doing something stupid (like the individual in example one) even though you have prior knowledge to the level of stupidity you are achieving … That is a lack of common fucking sense. Don’t stick your hand in the fire, not only a natural instinct that many people lack, is also common sense. Don’t make a decision or act on an impulse until you have all of the necessary facts … That’s a big one. That instance of common sense is probably the most prevalent among the human species. More lives have been screwed up, more hearts have been broken over this lack of common sense than can be calculated.

And that pretty much wraps it up. Common sense is learned, not magically received upon birth. Then again, of all the creatures on the planet, humans are probably the only ones who go against their instincts and/or common sense. It’s what makes us human. We can send people to the fucking moon, but we can’t make a rational common sense decision to save our lives. Go figure.

Whatever …

Until next time … fuck off

 

Perception and Fate

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Alas, I am back, having taken my second annual January hiatus. It’s a new year, and as far as I’m concerned, 2013 can go fuck itself. Although about midway through 2013 I did manage to correct a mistake that actually began in 2012, there is really only one thing I learned in the entire 365 wasted days of the year. And that one thing is that if everyone is telling you that the fire is hot, you don’t have to stick your hand in the flames and get burned just so you can experience it for yourself. If everyone is saying it, there is probably a really good fucking reason.

And that, coincidentally, transitions us to today’s subject. In 2013, I was hoodwinked rather thoroughly because I believed in my perception rather than other’s advice based on documented history. Not a very intelligent move on my part, I will admit.

You see, perception is an interesting phenomenon. If seeing is believing, then it stands to reason that what one sees, and therefore believes, would fall into place with all of the beliefs of those who have seen the aforementioned. This, of course, could not be further from the truth. The truth is that what individuals see, they believe to their own ends. Reality is what one perceives it to be rather than what it actually is. So in the end, everything that we witness is actually just our own perception, and therefore, our reality is nothing more than our own individual fantasies played out in a world that may or may not even exist.

Take the phenomenon of fate. People oft-times associate random events that seem to have a loose connection to each other as having a cosmic predestination to exist. It is a primitively moronic thought process, but has a widespread following. A simple example of this involves the days of the week. More specifically, it involves Mondays.

Throughout most of Europe, parts of Asia, and South America, Monday is considered the first day of the week. Just to prove that all beliefs are not universal, in the Judeo-Christian calendar, Monday falls on the second day of the week. Global and religious differences aside, most of the modern cultures, in the very least, view Monday as the beginning of the workweek. This is the area of life where Monday consistently has its most influence.

Traditionally, Monday has a dreary undertone. The weekend is over and a new workweek has begun. It will be several days until you can do whatever it is that you shouldn’t be doing when you have to be at work early the next morning. And for those that believe that Sunday is actually still a day for partaking is said activities, Mondays are all the worse.

There are those that actually look forward to Mondays with the wide-eyed wonderment of a prepubescent teenager who has just found his father’s secret stash of adult orientated artistic literature. In time, and given the chance, mankind will discover that this is actually a serious mental disorder that can be remedied with a stiff regiment of medication and therapy.

So, having looked at the general perception of Mondays, we can now have a look its actual significance throughout history and destiny.

The term Black Monday is used to describe Monday, October 19, 1987, when the Dow Jones Industrial Average fell with an enormous severity that coincided with similar drops across the world.

Along with Black Monday, there are several other named days—alphabetically listed for your convenience—including Big Monday, Blue Monday, Bright Monday, Clean Monday, Cyber Monday, First Monday, Handsel Monday, Jupiter Monday, Mad Monday, Miracle Monday, Plough Monday, Shrove Monday, Weather Market Monday, and Whit Monday.

The first Monday in October is when each Supreme Court term ends.

Rosa Parks, a seamstress in a department store in Montgomery, Alabama who refused to give up her seat on a bus to a white man, was arrested on a Monday. This triggered the Montgomery bus boycott, a major catalyst in the civil rights movement.

Along those same lines, Dr. Martin Luther King, another key figure in the civil rights movement, although born on Sunday, has his birthday universally recognized as the third Monday in January. Incidentally, his widow, Coretta Scott King, was reunited with the good Dr. on Monday, January 30, 2006.

In the Netherlands, Monday is the most popular day to engage in activities such as calling in sick at work, surfing the Internet, and committing suicide. Isn’t that fucking lovely?

In the end, there is no fate. Life is what you make of it, perception is just your point of view, and for the love of every fucking sacred thing in the entire universe, listen to others advice if they have more info than you do.

For the record, this post is pretty close to the Prelude in my upcoming book, and essentially outlines what the book is going to be about … more or less.

Whatever …

Until next time … fuck off

*Fuck this World! and other such thoughts by Mickey Brennan – Volume I available here

‘Twas the Night before Christmas … At the Place

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‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the world

Fucking morons were lurking like a banner unfurled;

They sauntered about like a child without care,

Their mind-numbing madness almost too much to bear.

 

The Crazies at the Place were all out of their beds,

With various narcotics to fuzzy their heads;

While I did my rounds, the peace for to keep,

For drunken and high, no way they would sleep.

 

After all was clear, I put on my hoodie,

Ready to leave and enjoy some fine Christmas goodies;

When back near the gym, I heard such a clatter,

And I thought to myself, Now what’s the matter?

 

I’d dealt with hatchets and hookers in these halls as I’ve roamed,

I’ve handled druggies and drunkards, it was time to go home.

But I ran to the source, for that was my duty,

Even though I had a headache that had become quite a beauty.

 

So I carried on, my head rather sore,

Double checking the hallways, rooms, and locked doors;

When I saw such a sight most would think was insane,

A fat man in a suit and eight wild game.

 

“Ho, ho, ho!” said the man in the plumpy red clad.

I’m hallucinating, I thought. This headache is bad.

I stared at old Santa, cookies still in his jowls;

Spilling crumbs on the floor, as his reindeer chewed on our towels.

 

“Hey now Dasher and Dancer and Prancer and Vixen,

Comet and Cupid and Donner and Blitzen;

I don’t know why you’re here, but if you’re going to stay

Then stop eating our towels! They’re a dollar a day!”

 

Santa apologized for the mess, and said “Never fear!

I’m delivering presents to the residents, mostly liquors and beer.”

That makes sense, I thought, for I knew the residents well;

Gifts of alcoholic beverages would suit them quite well.

 

“But sadly,” he went on, “I’m a little bit stressed,

For a resident has moved, and left no forwarding address.

So now I am left with a six pack of beer,

With no one to share in its holiday cheer.”

 

That was certainly a problem, and although it wasn’t my taste,

It seemed almost a sin to let the drinks go to waste.

So I offered my services, as the reindeer hooves clicked;

And I tipped back a few with jolly old Saint Nick.

 

As I drank I thought back of the previous years,

Of the Crazies, the morons, the pain and the tears.

In the moment they seemed simpler, and far so less trite.

The world seemed more perfect, if only for the night.

 

Which was odd, for I’m a bitter and broken old soul,

Long before my encounter with the man from North Pole.

Was it Christmas, I thought, that had given me pause?

A simple visit from wildlife and ole Santa Claus?

 

When the last beer was gone, Santa said with a wink,

“It was a pleasure to share in this Christmas Eve drink.”

“The pleasure was mine,” I assured, most sincere,

As that damn Donner trotted over and nipped at my ear.

 

“Bad Donner!” said Santa, pushing his reindeer away.

Then he walked out the door and climbed into his sleigh.

A moment later he was gone, through the air, out of sight;

His jolly voice fading, “Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night!”

***

So there you have it again. Second year running. I believe it is now possibly  bordering on the list of Christmas traditions, like “It’s a Wonderful Life,” Christmas stockings, candy canes, and that fruit cake that gets re-gifted every year.

Whatever …

Until next time … Fuck off … And Merry Christmas, I guess

*Fuck this World! and other such thoughts by Mickey Brennan – Volume I available here

Jack the Ripper & H. H. Holmes – Similar Evils or One in the Same?

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OK, so this post is kind of cheating. I discovered it a while back on the internet, completely by accident. You see, when I was in college I had a writing assignment in which the theme was supposed to be involving crime, past or present. It could be anything from bank robberies, kidnappings, serial killers, etc … This may or may not explain a lot about me, but I’m sure you’ve already figured out which fucking category I wrote about. Hell, the title of this post more or less gives it away.

That’s not really the interesting part. As I mentioned, this paper was written when I was in college, circa 1999-2000 maybe. A while back I was watching a program about H. H. Holmes and I remembered my old research paper. Mind you, when I wrote the paper, there were no theories that I could find either on the Internet or at the library that even vaguely resembled what I was writing. Yes, we still used fucking libraries for research some of the time. Damn spoiled kids. I bet you don’t even know what the Dewey Decimal System is.

But I digress …

Moving on …

I wrote this paper based on something that I had read in a book about the history of crime in Chicago that, even when I read it, I didn’t believe was actually true. But it was interesting enough to look into. As such, I found that even without the, most likely fictional, partial confession at the gallows, there actually was a lot of evidence that I had a pretty good theory, after all. Again, I want to mention that I could not find a single article, paper, book, online blog, etc … that ever made mention of the theory that I wrote about in said paper.

While I was watching this program, which also did not mention the theory that I posed in my paper, I looked up my theory online. I was just interested whether anyone had come up with the same theories that I had when I was still a student all those years ago. I was surprised to see that there actually were several blogs, books, and articles written on the same theories. I was even further surprised to see that my paper was posted online, under the penname Anthony Devon—a name I use for various things I have written and few people knew about, especially back then. More surprisingly than that was the fact that there was a black and white photo of me accompanying the “article.”

So I did receive credit for writing the article, sort of. But it went online in 2009. Which begs the question, who the fuck put it up there, how did they know my penname, and how did they get their hands on that picture which was actually taken of me when I was still in college? Truthfully, it could have been so many people. Almost every one of my classmates asked for a copy of the paper and my own professor “commended me” for my interesting thoughts and insights. The penname … I’m not sure. Some of my classmates knew about it, I couldn’t tell you how many. Pretty sure that it that my professor did not know it though.

So maybe one of my classmates found it while they were going through their old junk, decided to post it online, and used my penname and picture just in case I found it. That way, I would know whomever it was, it was someone I knew well enough for them to have a pic of me and know my penname.

But it doesn’t stop there. As I said, when I wrote the paper, no one had written anything regarding this theory other than the, again more than likely fictitious, admission at the gallows. As I mentioned, I wrote the paper in 1999 or 2000, depending on what semester it was. Everything that I saw others had written about in their blogs, online articles, and even a few books, were all written after I wrote my article. People made money on a theory that I came up with. What kind of fucking bullshit is that? I looked up and read so much information about H. H. Holmes and Jack the Ripper, connecting the dots on my own. And nothing that was written was anything new or different from what I wrote. I must have seriously pissed off God at an early age. I mean, I know He’s pissed at me now, but back then too? Fuck.

Anyway, here is said article that I wrote. Judge for yourself. I find the evidence compelling, but I’m a bit biased. And again, ignore the confession at the gallows. I’m very doubtful it ever happened, especially since several other murderers during that period were reported to have saids the exact same phrase. But since it did start the process, I had to put it in the paper. And FYI, the references are posted as well, so you can look up the info yourself if you like.

And off we go …

* * *

There are many theories surrounding Jack the Ripper. To this day, his identity eludes us. Perhaps the answer is closer than imaginable. There is a legend that as Dr. H. H. Holmes stood at the gallows, several spectators in the crowd heard him cry out “I am Jack the …” before the gallows silenced him forever. Although unable to finish his thought, Holmes’ statement leaves little to the imagination.

Due to the similarities in the nature of the crimes and background – both documented and theoretical – it is not hard to imagine that both world’s first serial killer and the Devil in the White City were, in fact, one in the same. After all, there is little doubt that Holmes was deranged enough to have slaughtered prostitutes as Saucy Jack.

The horrors began in the early morning hours of August 31, 1888. The mad butcher of Whitechapel had claimed his first victim. The nightmare, however, had just begun. The murders that followed were described by many as being absolutely inhuman to the last degree. Each victim was more appallingly mutilated than the previous. The Victorians had never seen such atrocities. They could not comprehend such acts as these postmortem mutilations. Scotland Yard was dealing with a killer who was the incarnate of mindless brutality, of nameless, motiveless evil. There was no precedence for such acts, surely creating numerous obstacles for the London police to overcome in their pursuit to apprehend this abomination. Jack the Ripper had given birth to the previously unimaginable age of the serial sex-murder.

There were five murders attributed to Jack between September and November of 1888. Then, seemingly as quickly as they started, the Whitechapel horrors came to an end. The Ripper had vanished forever.

Coinciding with Whitechapel’s horrific offenses against humanity, Jack the Ripper had an American contemporary who went by the name Dr. Henry H. Holmes. Holmes has the macabre distinction of being the first identified serial killer in the United States. Described as being without peer as a bloodthirsty demon. Holmes was suspected of butchering an unimaginable number of victims, almost exclusively women, in his appropriately described Murder Castle.

In 1886, Dr. H. H. Holmes, properly known as Herman Webster Mudgett, stepped into the Englewood community. Much about is life and atrocities remain a mystery to this day. He graduated from the University of Michigan’s Medical School in 1884, after which, he made his way to Chicago to pursue a practice in pharmaceuticals.

In college, Holmes developed an insurance scheme by which he would steal cadavers from the school laboratory, disfigure them, and then plant them in places where it would look as if they were the victims of an accident. Prior to these actions, Holmes would insure the “family members,” allowing him to collect on the policies as soon as the body was discovered.

In 1886, Holmes began working for Mrs. Holden, whose husband, and rightful owner of a storefront drug store was ill. Not long after, Mr. Holden died. The unfortunate circumstances were exactly what Holmes was waiting for. He immediately set his sights on ownership of the store. A deal was consummated and the deed was signed. However, soon Mrs. Holden was taking legal action against Holmes for nonpayment. Shortly after she filed suit, Mrs. Holden mysteriously disappeared without word, leaving the store ownership exclusively to Holmes.

In the fall of 1888, construction began on Holmes’ castle on a vacant lot he had purchased across the street from the Holden’s drug store. Holmes acted as his own architect for his castle personally supervising various construction crews – each of which were quickly hired and fired. The building contained over 60 rooms and 51 doors that were oddly cut into various walls. The design contained concealed staircases, false walls and ceilings, as well as airtight and sound proof rooms. There were also chutes that were used as victim cargo routes to a vast basement that housed windowless torture rooms equipped with trays of surgical instruments. These are just the kind of toys that Jack would have loved to play with.

When the police finally entered the death house, they discovered, along with the aforementioned horrors, two sheet-iron tanks containing human bones aside a large furnace believed to be a crematory. It became apparent that many Holmes’ victims had been held captive within the house for many months before their deaths.

It was later discovered that Holmes would often lure women to his house of horrors by placing fake classified ads and/or ads for marriage. Shortly after the ads were answered, Holmes would sell an exceptionally high quality human skeleton to a local medical school in desperate need of an anatomical specimen.

Connecting Jack with Holmes seems like a daunting task. However there are several key clues that, when analyzed, appear quite interesting. For instance, the Whitechapel horrors began in the fall of 1888. At that same time, they were breaking ground on Holmes’ castle in Englewood. This was a period in time when Holmes had supposedly taken a vacation and was unaccounted for.

The most convincing way, perhaps, to approach this theory is to put it on a timeline. As stated previously, in the fall of 1888, Holmes was unaccounted for. On, August 31, 1888, the body of Mary Ann Nichols was found butchered on the streets of Whitechapel. Her body had been cut to pieces, with one gash reaching from the pelvis to the breastbone. Just over a week later, Annie Chapman became the second victim of Saucy Jack. Her head was almost completely severed, save the spine. Her body had been ripped apart, with her viscera being scattered about in gruesome display.

Three weeks later, Jack upped the ante by striking twice in the same evening. The first of the victims was Elizabeth Stride. Her murder was the least brutal, her throat merely slit before she was left to die. This, it has been theorized, was most likely because the killer was interrupted.

Surely, Jack was not satisfied by this unfortunate turn of events. Within three hours, Catherine Eddows had fallen, giving birth to the now infamous Double Event. Her body had been disemboweled, her throat cut, and her nose completely severed. Furthermore, her heart and lungs were thrown aside, with her entrails twisted into the gaping wound around the neck.

Jack’s final victim was Mary Jane Kelly on November 9, 1888. Her body was found in the confines of her own bedroom. The New York Times described the scene as: “The most terrible wholesale mutilation it is possible to imagine. Her head was severed and placed between one of her arms. Her ears and nose had been cut off. The body had been disemboweled and the flesh was torn from the thighs. Several organs were missing. The skin had been torn off of the forehead and cheeks. The victim’s breast and viscera were removed and lying on a table. One of the victim’s hands had been pushed into the stomach.”

It appeared that Jack had realized the benefits of time and security when the crime takes place indoors. This would be key as Holmes’ Castle was currently under construction and being stockpiled with devices with which he could indulge his ghoulish desires for hours on end within the privacy of his own home.

It is believed that Holmes’ first official victim was Mrs. Holden, who disappeared after filing charges against Holmes in 1889. Shortly after in 1890, Holmes began regularly supplying local medical schools with fresh cadavers for the price of twenty-five to fifty dollars each. In 1891, Holmes murdered his lover, Julia Conner, and her daughter after he realized that Julia had become pregnant with his child. He subsequently stripped Julia’s body of all flesh and sold the skeleton to a local medical school. Then, in 1893, the World’s Fair came to Chicago, bringing with hundreds of tourists that would rent rooms from Holmes, never again see the light of day.

In 1894, Holmes took out a ten thousand dollar life insurance policy on his business partner, Benjamin Pitezel. As would be expected, Mr. Pitezel disappeared shortly after. When Mrs. Pitezel inquired about her husband’s whereabouts, she and her children became Holmes’ next victims.

Shortly after, Holmes was on the run, wanted for insurance fraud. He essentially vanished until his eventual capture by the authorities in the port city of Philadelphia. On October 25, 1895 Holmes plead not guilty before a jury of his peers. The jury, however, did not find Holmes convincing and on November 4, 1895 he was found guilty of the murder of Benjamin Pitezel and sentenced to death. The violent rampage of Herman Webster Mudgett had come to an end.

Former FBI profiler and best-selling author, John Douglas, described Jack the Ripper as “someone who both hates woman and has some bizarre and perverse curiosity about the human body that I can only describe as demented.” Holmes has been described a prolific and depraved killer who was curious about the amount of punishment the human body could withstand.

Dr. George Baxter Phillips, who oversaw parts of the investigation, observed the wounds on Annie Chapman’s body to be “made by a sharp knife with a narrow blade and that the evisceration indicated some medical knowledge.” This fact that only someone familiar to the post-mortem room could have accomplished these rudimentary dissections has been reiterated many times since. As already stated earlier, Holmes graduated from The University of Michigan’s Medical School. Another interesting note is that due to the wounds on the bodies, it has been theorized that Jack the Ripper may have been left-handed. Holmes also possessed this biological anomaly.

Dr. Bond, who conducted the Post Mortem on Mary Kelly, did a profile while Jack the Ripper was still on the prowl. He described Jack as being an inoffensive man, middle-aged, neat and respectfully dressed. Holmes was often described as a handsome man and a favorite with the ladies. This is probably why the victims felt so comfortable being alone with their killer(s).

Also of note are what have come to be known as the Ripper Letters. Jack sent his first letter on September 25, 1888. The letter began with “Dear Boss” and ended with “Yours Truly …” Both phrases were Americanisms and not commonly used in Europe. While some have claimed that the letters were not, in fact, sent by the real killer, the second letter received by the police, ironically, seemed to prove that this first missive was legitimate. The writing of these two letters matched exactly and the second predicted the double murder that took place on September 30, 1888.

A letter sent to George Lusk, the head of the Whitechapel Committee, could also be viewed as a possible connection to Holmes. Not because of the content of the letter – it bragged about the killing of Catherine Eddows – but rather because of the heading. Across the top, it read: “From Hell.” Holmes also seemed to have a certain bond with Hell and its residents. Holmes states in his own confession, “I was born with the Devil in me. I could not help the fact that I was a murderer, no more than the poet can help the inspiration to sing … I was born with the Evil One standing as my sponsor beside the bed where I was ushered into this world, and he has been with me since.”

As Holmes sat in prison waiting for his end he became more and more convinced with his connection to the underworld. In one of his many prison writings, Holmes claims that “before my death I have commenced to assume the form of the evil one himself … my features are assuming a pronounced Satanical cast … I believe that I am growing to resemble the Devil – that the simulate is almost complete.”

When looking at Jack and Holmes, one would be prone to beg the question of why. Why women? Why such passion? Jack seemed drawn to women, street-walkers specifically. While not seeming to corner himself within a specific class or lifestyle, Holmes also seemed to find victims in the fairer sex.

From early childhood, Holmes was brutally abused by his father who was described as being a fierce disciplinarian who wielded a rod with an unsparing hand. Holmes mother was a pious, submissive woman, incapable of shielding him from his father’s cruelties. Perhaps these factors led towards Holmes’ animosities toward women. Perhaps his mother’s lack of maternal instinct was what raised the devil in Holmes. Furthermore, when Jack was butchering his victims and cutting out their uteruses, perhaps he was not making a statement against women. Perhaps this was a statement against mothers. Was Jack stripping his victims of their motherhood?

In the case of Holmes, some might believe that the motive was strictly for financial gain. After all, his first recorded crimes did involve insurance fraud when he was in college. Surely, he made financial gains from the many “guests” of the Murder Castle who never were heard from again after having met Holmes. However, many experts believe that serial killers murder for psychological reasons, not material gain. Their victims have a symbolic value to them, the method of killing often revealing the meaning behind it.

To understand the motives behind Dr. H. H. Holmes and Jack the Ripper, one must look beyond the superficial observation. Serial killing has been described as a disease. This disease consists of seven phases: the Aura Phase, Trolling Phase, Wooing Phase, Capture Phase, Murder Phase, Totem Phase, and finally, the Depression Phase. The Depression Phase is the most important phase to explore in the case of Holmes and Jack. The Depression Phase takes place after the crime, when the killer has come down his emotional/sexual high. There is a feeling of hopelessness and lack of fulfillment, thus causing a succession of increasingly violent acts as the cycle of phases repeats itself.

It has been documented that each victim of Jack the Ripper was butchered worse than the previous leading up to the almost complete dissection of Mary Jane Kelly within the confines of her lodgings. Is it merely coincidence then, that just after Jack vanishes from the streets of London, Dr. Holmes begins dissecting his victims is his personally designed Murder Castle? According to the Depression Phase theory, Holmes’ first victims would be the natural step up from Jack’s last.

What creates these creatures? There is, as of yet, no officially documented explanation. Some psychologists believe that early childhood trauma (i.e. sexual or physical abuse, abandonment) can build up inside an individual and cause later deviant behavior. In some cases, the mental anguish of this severity can manifest itself into the textbook serial killer. There are other theories that suggest that a severe head injury or a biological/chemical abnormality could be to blame.

One thing that almost all experts agree on is that a serial killer will continue through his cycle of destruction until one of the two possible situations occur – imprisonment or death. Many times the killings will stop suddenly, only to start up again just as suddenly, maybe years later. In such cases, the killer has been incarcerated for an unrelated offense, thus taking him off the streets and forcing the cycle to end. The only other reason that a serial killer would break the hellish cycle would be because the individual died. It is common knowledge that Jack was never apprehended, yet his crimes came to a sudden halt. Was he imprisoned or killed in an unrelated event, or had he simply picked up where he left off in the Chicago suburb of Englewood? Holmes met his fate at the gallows in May of 1896, after which neither he nor Jack was ever heard from again.

Holmes may have continued his joyride of human mutilation had he not reverted back to his old college scam. Holmes’ downfall began in August of 1894, when he and his partner, Benjamin Pitezel, conjured up one final insurance scheme. It was Holmes’ familiar scam of stealing a corpse, disfiguring it, and passing it off as the insured individual. This time, however, the policy would be taken out on Benjamin Pitezel. Pitezel was to take out a ten thousand dollar life insurance policy and disappear to Philadelphia, while Holmes acquired a cadaver. Holmes would then have one of Pitezel’s children identify the body and collect the ten thousand dollar insurance claim.

The police began to look into Holmes’, suspecting fraud. Holmes fled with the Pitezel children. He murdered Benjamin’s son, Howard, in a secluded farmhouse in Indiana. After crossing the Canadian border, Holmes murdered the Pitezel girls by running a gas pipe into a large trunk he had locked them in under the pretense of playing hide and seek. Shortly after, Holmes was apprehended in Philadelphia and sent back to Chicago to answer to the original charge of insurance fraud that was later amended to murder.

After his trial, while awaiting execution, Holmes spent a great deal of time writing. He wrote his prison diary, his life story, and his personal confession. Originally Holmes denied any involvement in the murder of Benjamin Pitezel or his family members. After a short period, however, Holmes admitted, in writing, to the murder of no less than twenty-seven individuals. Although the excavation of Holmes dungeon led investigators to believe the number of Holmes’ victims to be far greater, the number twenty-seven could be extremely significant in connecting Holmes with Jack. In a letter that Jack had allegedly written to the London police, he bragged that he would “kill twenty.”

At the time the letter was received, the press had accredited seven murders to Saucy Jack. If the phrase “kill twenty” is interpreted to indicate that he would kill twenty more, than Holmes’ seemingly random confession of twenty-seven murders could be perceived as a mere preview to his admission at the gallows.

There have been many myths, legends, and theories put forth over the last century about the identity of the world’s most notorious serial killer. Dozens of suspects have been brought forth, each with their own story. H. H. Holmes was an individual who fit the profile. Holmes disappeared just when Jack was getting started and reappeared as Jack vanished from streets of London, entering into the realm of myth and legend. More importantly, Holmes had the means and the opportunity to commit these atrocities in sequence. The similarities of their crimes are haunting. Their profiles mirror each other. The connections surrounding these two pioneers in the history of the serial killer are too coincidental to be dismissed.

One last bit of evidence to close off this argument is a letter that was sent to the London police seven years after the Ripper killings ceased. In July of 1895, a new letter from Jack arrived. He claimed that he would “go on again when he got the chance.” In the same letter, Jack cryptically answers the self-posed question “Where have I been Dear Boss? … Abroad if you would like to know.” This haunting proclamation arrived just a few months before Holmes was apprehended. It was during a period of time when Holmes was on the run and, coincidentally, unaccounted for. Not surprisingly, Jack never did start up again.

An interesting sidenote, on August 19th of 1895, the macabre Murder Castle mysteriously burned to the ground. Was it an angry civilian? Perhaps an, as of yet, unknown partner covering his tracks? No one had been able to explain who started the fire, only that there were gas cans found at the site. Just another mystery to add to the quagmire.

In the end, the world may never know with certainty the identity of history’s most notorious serial killer. All we are left with is the archives of written reports and witness accounts from individuals who have long since passed from this world. Amongst these aging bits of information, people will continue to form new and revolutionary theories. From these theories, perhaps we may unknowingly stumble across the truth. For now, we are merely left with suspects, inconclusive facts, and coincidences. Some coincidences, however, can be difficult to simply dismiss away.

References used:

“American Connections to Jack the Ripper” by Dave Yost and Chris George

“Depraved” by Harold Schechter

“Haunted” by Troy Taylor

“Mr. Herman Mudget, aka H.H. Holmes” by Cara J. Spindler

“Serial Killers” by Joel Norris

“Step-By-Step Pattern of a Serial Killer” by Leanne Perry

“The A-Z Encyclopedia of Serial Killers” by David Everitt and Harold Schechter

“The Cases that Haunt Us” by John Douglas

“The Complete History of Jack the Ripper” by Philip Sudgen

“The Torture Doctor” by David Franke

“The Ultimate Jack the Ripper Companion” by Stewart P. Evans

various period articles from the New York Post, Chicago Tribune, and London Times

* * *

So there you have it. Were Saucy Jack and the Devil in the White City actually the same individual? Partners? None of the above? Who the fuck knows? It all happened so long ago, I doubt anyone will ever be able to conclusively answer that question. Still, it quite a riveting theory.

Whatever …

Until next time … fuck off

*Fuck this World! and other such thoughts by Mickey Brennan – Volume I available here

Finding Bigfoot? … Part II

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As Thanksgiving is upon us, or Thangivanukkah, as people are referring to it this year due to its correspondence with Hanukkah (first time since 1888, and won’t happen again for roughly 79,000 years … so enjoy it, you’ll never see it again) it is a time to reflect. I would say that over the last year or so, outside of the obvious “friends and family” generic answer that everyone gives, I don’t have much to be thankful for.

Alas, I would be wrong.

I am thankful for a single solitary day … November 3rd. Well, I’m actually thankful for September 19th … or maybe it goes all the way back to being thankful for September 14th. That’s when the “Why are you here?” incident occurred, leading September 19th’s attempt at … I don’t know … vengeance? Fake plastic show of concern for someone? General screwing around with other’s lives?

Whatever it was that was trying to be attempted, November 3rd was just the day that I found out why, on September 21st, my life began its very swift 180 degree turn from chaos and divorce to vindication, better pastures, brighter future, and all of the wonderful fucking experiences of a relatively normal and happy life. Nothing like a nice attempted revenge email backfiring, and thus proving to a skeptic of things that I had said about someone that said someone is exactly the person I said they were. I do so much enjoy karma.

No worries though. I still have the same “fuck you” personality that I had before. But being vindicated … Well, that would put a nice warm fuzzy feeling in anyone. And now that I’ve finally closed that chapter of my life (and by closed, I mean slammed shut, bound, gagged, sealed in a crate, weighted it down, and dropped it into the deepest abyss of the Atlantic Ocean) I can finally get back to things of much more importance … Like Bigfoot.

For those who have been reading for a awhile, you may remember a post entitled “Finding Bigfoot?” It was pretty much just a thorough explanation of the show, the people on the show, and how absolutely fucking stupid the show was … and continues to be apparently, as I see it is still on the air. And it’s still called “Finding Bigfoot,” so clearly they haven’t actually found one yet. Surprise of the fucking century there.

For all those of you out there who are wondering why, after one, maybe two entire seasons, the motley crew of Bigfoot “experts” have not found a single Bigfoot as of yet, I have discovered the answer.

Sorry Matt Moneymaker, it has nothing to do with tree knocks. No, Cliff Barackman, it has nothing to do with an inability to track down the source of the “Bigfoot calls” you hear after you send your own Bigfoot shout-outs into the dark forests. Ranae Holland, you are still the only brain amongst the group. And James “Bobo” Fay … well … you’re still a fucking moron.

You see, it has nothing to do with the “fact” that a Bigfoot hides amongst packs of wolves, that they bury their dead, or (my favorite) porcupines eat their bones, thus leaving no authentic physical evidence. The reason they have yet to find a single Bigfoot is because … of aliens.

Yes, you read that correct. Aliens.

There is a show on H2 called Ancient Aliens. Unlike Finding Bigfoot, I actually enjoy watching this program. Well, most of the time.

I am not one of those narrow-minded individuals who believes that we are alone in the universe, nor will I dismiss the idea that we may have been visited by aliens in the past. I don’t necessarily believe or agree with everything they mention on the program after the almost redundantly repetitive phrase, “If, as Ancient Astronaut Theorists believe …” But I do find some of the “evidence” and theories to be compelling. Hell, even the Vatican now acknowledges that there is most likely alien life elsewhere in the universe. They don’t acknowledge anything outside of biblical teachings, so who am I to disagree?

This, of course, doesn’t mean I believe that anything on the program is 100% true. I merely said that some of the programs are compelling and I’m not narrow-minded.

One program, in particular, actually put aliens and Bigfoot together. I kid you not, “if as Ancient Astronaut Theorists believe” is actually true, then the Bigfoot is basically the grunt for an alien race. The aliens beam them down so that they can do a little mining, a little gathering of supplies, and other menial tasks before they get beamed right back up to the mothership.

I will say that I think this theory is as ridiculous as the “porcupines eat Bigfoot bones” theory … or fact, if you believe Matt Moneymaker, who seems to know everything about how these elusive creatures live, eat, breath, and act without having ever found a single one. But when I saw this particular episode, I literally laughed out loud.

I mean, I get it. There are only so many episodes where you can talk about the aliens helping with the pyramids, genetic engineering of the human race, strange cave drawings, the Nazca lines, the similarity of the description of “gods” from areas of the globe that had no contact with each other, and all the other theories that are actually fucking plausible. But the idea that the Bigfoot species is essentially the worker/bouncer/enforcer for some alien race? Come on, guys … You’re stretching it pretty fucking thin there.

I do, however, love how two different shows have theories about Bigfoot that could not be possibly be any more different from each other. Both are fucking ridiculous, mind you, but just the fact that two shows can come up with two theories that are completely nonsensical … How often do you see that?

That being said, Finding Bigfoot is still one of the dumbest programs on television. Especially since I had such high hopes for it when it was first advertised. Ancient Aliens, for the most part, is still a pretty good show. Intriguing most of the time, but every show has a fucking bomb of an episode every now and then. I guess I will forgive and forget on this one.

So there it is. A follow-up to one of the most popular posts I’ve written … outside of the ones that have been based on personal experiences. I don’t agree with this new Bigfoot theory, but couldn’t pass on the chance to revisit the quartet of … no, I’m sorry, I mean the trio of morons, as I still believe that Ranae is rather intelligent with her skepticism. Especially since “if what Ancient Astronaut Theorists believe” is actually true (it’s not) then that really blows holes through the theories on Finding Bigfoot.

And this is why television can be so comically entertaining, even when it’s not meant to be.

Whatever …

Until next time … Happy Thanksgiving … and fuck off

*Fuck this World! and other such thoughts by Mickey Brennan – Volume I available here

The Nostradamus Effect

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Finally, I’m off the fucking psycho crazy shit and back to another topic. In truth, I just needed a break from it for a little while. I know you love to read about it, but there is other fucking shit wrong with this world besides crazy chicks.

So this one isn’t really a long post, but I wanted to get it out just the same. I was watching television and this show about Nostradamus was on. As always with this fucking guy, people were saying how he predicted all of these things that were going to happen in the future.

My fucking God, I get so annoyed when I hear people give him any credit for being a psychic, soothsayer, magical wizard who could predict the future. At best, the only credit you can possibly give him is that he was a cryptic reverse soothsayer.

To date, there has not been one single quatrain that he ever wrote that predicted the future. What happens is something occurs in the world and everyone goes to his quatrains and finds something that doesn’t even describe the event. It is just a cryptic quatrain that they believe predicted the future. But based entirely on how this process works, he didn’t predict a fucking thing. All it is something happening and then going BACK to the quatrains to find something that could possibly be interpreted as a prediction of something that has already happened.

Predictions are saying that something specific is going to happen, and then it does. It’s not having an event take place, reading a quatrain after the fact, and then “Oh, that’s what he meant by that bizarre ramble. He was predicting this.” That is completely upside down.

They even stretch it so far as to say that he predicted the rise of Hitler when he referred to the Hister …

In the place very near not far from Venus,
The two greatest ones of Asia and of Africa,
From the Rhine and Hister they will be said to have come,
Cries, tears at Malta and the Ligurian side.

Wow, they say. He was only off by one letter when he predicted Hitler. Ummmm, first of all he was off by two letters because you have to replace the s with an l, and then would have to invert the l and the t to make the name Hitler out of Hister.

Second, and most importantly, in the times of Nostradamus, the Danube river was called the Hister. So he is saying that from the Rhine river and the Hister river they will be said to have come. He didn’t predict Hitler. He was just referencing a fucking river. People are looking to interpret things they way they want to see them (much like a few women I know) … All Nostradamus wrote was a bunch of cryptic bullshit and was high as fuck when he did it. I’m serious. Read up on his process. He basically gets high, looks into a bowl of water, and writes quatrains about what he sees. Today, we call those people crackheads.

Edgar Cayce, and mind you I’m not saying he was a soothsayer either, was far closer to predicting the future than Nostradamus ever was. In 1938, he went into one of his crazy fucking trances and predicted that: “A portion of the temples may yet be discovered under the slime of ages and sea water near Bimini…Expect it in ’68 or ’69 — not so far away.”

He supposedly was making a prediction about the discovery of Atlantis. Well, the Bimini Road was discovered in 1968. There are people out there that believe they may be potions of Atlantian temples or roadways or canals or docks or whatever. Whether it’s actually Atlantis, who the fuck knows? Point is, he made a prediction. The discovery would be made near Bimini and would happen in either 1968 or 1969. Again, the Bimini road was discovered in 1968. He made this prediction in 1938.

That is predicting the future. That is giving dates, times, and locations well in advance and (if it’s a part of Atlantis) being correct. Nostradamus never did anything even remotely close to that.

Anyone can do what Nostradamus did. I’ll prove it to you. Write a quatrain that make absolutely no sense. Seal it in an envelope and mail it to yourself so that it will date stamped. Do not open the envelope for 365 days … Give it a whole year. Then, open the envelope and I guarantee you will be able to interpret what you wrote to be a prediction of something that happened somewhere in the world during the past year when your envelope was sealed away. You’ll have to go back and look for what happened and then make it fit your cryptic quatrain, but I guarantee you will be able to do it.

Here’s mine …

 

The rivers awash the sister city,

She folds and splinters among the twigs.

With the axe of the woodsman,

The eagle will see its blood.

 

In 365 days, I will find something that occurred over the course of the year that I can interpret to be exactly what I predicted in that quatrain of bullshit that I literally just made up.

Fucking Nostradamus … What a joke. You would think after the whole Mayan Doomsday thing came and went, people would stop believing in all of this “interpreting” messages. But we do live in a world of fucking morons, so …

Alas, that is all for this post. I had to get off the whole psychotic women subject for a bit. But don’t worry. I am actually creating a new category called “Diaries of a Bipolar Psycho.” Okay, so the name is a work in progress, but the tag is essentially, “Hey guys, pay attention here. I took the hit so you won’t have to.” Kinda catchy …

Seriously though, how many people need to be told that it is really fucking stupid to fuck over and piss off a writer who had a blog called “Fuck this World” …? I mean, how fucking stupid. The blog is pretty much about things that happen in my life, my work, and the world in general. So, if you personally fuck me over and/or personally piss me off, you’re going be in here.

Well, like I said, we live in a world of fucking morons.

Whatever …

Until next time … Fuck off

*Fuck this World! and other such thoughts by Mickey Brennan – Volume I available here

Symbolic Verity

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A while back I had a reader email me and ask why the banner for this blog is designed as such. He didn’t believe it really fit the theme of the blog. Although he did say the cover of the book, an X-ray of a hand giving the proverbial “fuck you” middle finger was right on point. But the banner … That didn’t make any sense to him.

In truth, I had never really thought about anyone questioning it. It actually fits the theme of the blog perfectly if you know what everything represents. Obviously, this guy didn’t.

Well, we’re not all philosophical or students of symbology. I, on the other hand, am. And since there is really nothing I particularly feel like writing about in regards to the news; Bruce Willis will not be in “The Expendables 3″ because he’s too greedy, some NFL cheerleader with a military background beat up her boyfriend, the politicians in Washington are … well they’re doing what they always do etc … I figured I may as well cover the question that was brought up a few weeks ago.

The blog is called “Fuck this World.” It is essentially about how fucking morons do stupid ass fucking things to create a fucking disaster for those other than themselves. So, in simple terms, it’s about truth and inevitabilities.

So let’s start with the skull. Simple fucking truth there. Death. We all will meet it in one way or the other. Prince or pauper, homeless bums to the wealthiest person on the planet, we all end up the same in the end. Some young, some old, some rich, some poor, some remembered, some forgotten … but dead nonetheless. Death is reality, death is inevitable, death is a truth that no one will escape.

Moving all the way to the other end of the banner is a portrait of a young woman. This now contradicts the previous symbol of demise. This symbolizes our desire to capture moments, capture youth, capture beauty. Because like all things, moments, youth, and beauty fade. The woman in the portrait is going to age. Maybe she will age well, maybe not. But one thing is for certain, she will not look like this forever. In the painting, however, she will … metaphorically, of course. As with everything else, the painting will someday be gone as well. But barring incident, the painting will far outlast the beauty and life of the woman portrayed. I suppose this could be an example of vanity in a sort.

Those are the easy ones. Death and our desire to cast a mold to hold onto our lives, youth, and moments so that we will be remembered. On to the next symbol.

The yin yang. In Chinese philosophy, and I’m way oversimplifying it for brevity, is that opposites depend on each other, give rise to each other. Day gives way to night, which gives way to day, which gives way to night. Then there is the whole opposites attract to create a whole, or complete the circle theory, commonly referred to in regards to relationships between men and woman … or men and men … or women and women. Fuck it. It’s the 21st century, they all have a right to suffer through that bullshit theory.

Personally, having found that I really don’t do well with others, especially now that we live in the “sharing your feelings” environment. I don’t use the yin yang for either of those reasons. I grew up in a family of Chicago police officers. We don’t go whining and crying about every little thing in our lives. We internalize, which could be considered good or bad, and we figure out ways to deal with it. The way I grew up, sharing every single thought and feeling was for pussies. You want to do that, go join a support group.

Of course, that way of life may also explain why when a Chicago cop eats his gun, more often than not, no one close to him even knew he had issues … (btw statistically one of the careers with the highest rates of suicide in Chicago is CPD, both on the force and retired.) So as I said, the whole internalizing thing … maybe good, maybe bad. Frankly, I just don’t ever want to be that person who runs off to their “support group” of friends every time the sun isn’t shining just right. Then again, maybe I should rethink that. After all, writers are 2.6 times more likely to commit suicide than the average citizen. But what the fuck does “average citizen” even mean? Is anyone average anymore?

I digress …

Moving on …

The yin yang in the banner, as I use it, represents the self. Yep. Not man and woman, not night and day, not up and down. Just one person and their ability to be complete.

Every person has two halves. Think about it. Happiness and sadness, peacefulness and anxiety, good and bad. And although we all have both of these halves, it is the one that comes out during times of duress that defines us.

Anyone can be calm when the world is in order. But those who panic when things get chaotic are defined by their panic. Anyone can be loving and caring in a relationship when everything is going right. But if they flip out and start acting crazy when things become difficult, that is who they are. We all have good and we all have bad. But we are defined by who we are and how we act when things are difficult, when things are chaotic, when things are bad. Everyone can handle easy. Easy is effortless. But as a wise man once said, “Nothing worth having is easy.”

Thus, the yin yang. And why? Because this fucked up world is filled with people who can only handle things when they are going well. As soon as there is the slightest hiccup, they lose control. And God forbid anything serious occurs. If that ever happens … Game. Fucking. Over.

So what have we left now? How about the Celtic Triangle? This one is simple. It can represent a number of things. In pagan times it referred to the elements earth, air, and fire amongst other sets of trios. Christianity uses it to represent the Holy Trinity; Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. I, as with the other symbols have a slightly different take on it. I use it to represent family. The father, the mother, the children. I purposefully blackened the corners to show that in today’s world, the triangle no longer connects. Today, it’s everyone for themselves. Egocentricity on speed. Fading fast are the family dinners and weekend outings. They are being replaced by “You’re father’s working. I’m going out have some drinks with my friends. You’re the oldest, so you make sure everyone gets fed and to bed on time.” And thus the children have become the adults and the adults have regressed to the “me first” stages that are more commonly found the average toddler.

Finally, we have the Eternal Knot. Also Celtic. Fuck off, I’m Irish. This means exactly what it is supposed to mean. You start in one place. You twist and turn, making decisions in your life until you pass on. And when all is said and done, the cycle starts again with some other person going through the same maze of decisions and directions like rat in a lab. But it never really changes. The cycle is always the same. For the record, the blackened out areas in the eternal knot, unlike the triangle, are for artistic purposes. Where it’s blackened out, that is simply where the knot goes behind another portion of the knot. It just looked better that way.

Again, I digress …

People are always the same. Populations change, countries change, technologies change … But people … We’re no different now than we were when we were chewing raw meat off carcasses in caves. We take what we want and we don’t care how it affects others. There were periods in human history where areas here and there evolved past such primitive impulses. There are people today who still do. But as whole, as a society, as a species … Me first. That’s all that counts.

Now do you see? Each image represents something. Combined, they are a compilation of symbolic references to truth, inevitabilities, and just how fucked up this world is. There you have it … Fuck this world.

Oh yeah, there is one more part I forgot. “Mick” and the definition of the term as derogatory. I just never understood that. What’s so derogatory about Mick?

Whatever …

Until next time … Fuck off

*Fuck this World! and other such thoughts by Mickey Brennan – Volume Iavailable here

The Good, the Bad, and the Present …

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So, I’m on a bit of what you would call a “medical leave.” Finally trying to rehab from that neck surgery I had last June. Doc recommends a few weeks of rest and relaxation to give my neck/nerve damage time to heal … Very boring.

During this “leave,” I recently read an article about George Zimmerman. And no, it was not about his acquittal of the murder charges against him regarding the shooting of Treyvon Martin. In truth, I’m not even going to go into that. I wrote about it before the trial even started. That was never a murder case to begin with. It was nothing more than an overzealous neighborhood watch person who made a questionable decision crossing paths with a kid who was just as guilty of making an equally questionable decision. And as I said before, when two egos like that come crashing together, a fight ensues, and a gun is involved, someone is going to get shot. That doesn’t make it murder. It makes it stupidity. And I have no doubt that if Treyvon was the one carrying the gun, he would be the one who was acquitted of the “murder” of George Zimmerman.

And let’s not forget that this is the story that cost several reporters their jobs and forced several other news stations to issue an apology for “not communicating information properly” and for purposefully splicing the audio from the 911 call to make it appear that Zimmerman was merely going after Treyvon because he was black. After all, if they were to report the entire story, with all of the information, it wouldn’t be as big a story … and it’s all about getting the biggest story that you can get. What a load bullshit.

But let’s not let reality get in the way of all the hate mail being sent to the Zimmerman family, the fucking moronic signs being put up by “men of God” stating that it’s ok to kill black people in “Amerikkka” … Way to put some serious work into healing the wounds and bringing the communities together … Fucking jags. People like that do nothing more than increase the racial divide in this country and throw gasoline into the fires of hate every time they cool down to mere crackling embers.

But I digress …

Moving on …

The article I read was about how Zimmerman and another man saved a family by helping them out of their overturned SUV. The lives of a mother, father, and their two children were saved that night by a man who has become a social pariah. And what does the family do in return? They refuse to be interviewed by the media. They refuse to give Zimmerman any credit for saving their lives.

And why? Because they are worried about the backlash they might receive if they say anything nice about a man who is the centerpiece of a controversial acquittal.

What fucking cowards. No one was asking for them to come out and say that Zimmerman was innocent of murder. No one was asking them to say that Zimmerman was unjustly accused or was being unfairly treated. All they were being asked was to report what had happened. And their answer could have been so simple.

“In regards to the trial, his acquittal, and all of the fallout that has transpired since then … we really don’t have anything to say about that. All we can say is that we are alive today because we were trapped in our overturned vehicle and George Zimmerman was there, George Zimmerman pulled both us and our children to safety. Regardless of what he did or did not do in the past, we are alive because of what he did that night.”

Done and done.

But instead, they say nothing. Fucking. Cowards.

That’s pretty much the focus of this post. This is what is wrong with this country, this world. We focus on the bad. And if there isn’t enough bad out there, we manifest bad to create a story.

And it’s not just the media that I’m talking about. We, as a culture, as a species, do the same thing all the time. We focus on the bad. And I’m as guilty of it as anyone else.

Case in point … and granted, this is on a far less scale than the Zimmerman trial, but it still follows the same principle. I play in a 12 inch softball league. We’re no powerhouse by any standard. We make the playoffs on occasion, but are pretty much in the league just to blow off some steam and have a little fun once a week.

I play first base. My enormous ego aside, I’m arguable one of the best first basemen in the entire league. I’ve always been. The last game we played, I made a diving catch on a line drive that came off the bat like a fucking lightning bolt. On another play, I fielded a ball that was literally shot out of a cannon. This one was a grounder, and there was  a man on first. Normally, one would simply go to first on the play, since I fielded the ball about two feet from first base. Instead, I threw a frozen rope to second base for the force out and it was turned into a double play. I batted 4 for 5 and drove in 4 runs, so I was pretty effective at the plate as well.

However, there was one play, a simple play, that I missed. There was a grounder to third. It was fielded cleanly and the throw was right on target. For some reason I closed my glove a half second too soon and the ball tipped off the end of my glove, thus the runner was safe. It didn’t end up costing us a run, and didn’t affect the game at all. But I fucked up. I made two outstanding plays in the field, had a great night at the plate, but the only thing I could think about was the play that I fucked up. A play that had no effect on the outcome of the game, but I fucked up. 7 innings of play and I felt like a failure because I fucked up one insignificant play.

It’s a perfect example of ignoring all of the good things and focusing on the bad. We do it every day. It’s a decision we make. We don’t have to, we decide to. This was just a softball game. The above mentioned family decided to focus on the bad vs the good regarding something far more important. And again, this is something that I’ve been guilty of as well.

In relationships with people, we focus on the bad, we dwell on the bad, we remember the bad. You see it everyday. Friendships that are decades old break apart because of one bad event. All the good that happened over the years is forgotten over one bad thing, when in reality we should be living our lives in the exact opposite manner.

Personally, I have recently decided to change my way of thinking in that regard. And believe me, I have plenty of “bad” I could dwell on. Anyone who has read any of my posts can attest to that. But focusing on the bad doesn’t do anything but increase the bad and create even worse situations where there isn’t anything bad to begin with.

I wrote about a mistake I made several months ago a few times now. I made that mistake because all I did was focus on the bad. I now know how fucking stupid that mistake was, but sadly, that doesn’t change the fact that I wake up every single morning with the same feelings, the same pain, the same question of “how am I going to make it through this day, and what’s the point?”

Not long after I, luckily, fucked up my mistake (as odd as they sounds) I found my reason. I picked up my son from kindergarten. He was so excited on the ride back to my place because he had a surprise for me. The surprise was a simple necklace he made for me out of painted penne pasta strung together with yarn to make a necklace. He knew I liked wearing necklaces and couldn’t wait to give it to me. Had I succeeded with said mistake, I would have missed that day, I would never have gotten that surprise. To this day, I have that necklace hanging on the light next to my bed so when I wake up every morning, I remember why it is that I continue to deal with my pain and my demons. Such a simple reason, but more than enough for me to realize that it’s worth it.

Let’s face it, I’m not exactly a “happy” person. Recently I had to make a decision that I really did not want to make. It was, as best as I can describe it, the best of my worst options. The reason I was faced with the decision was because I was unable to find another job that would allow for me to continue to live on my own, and having a roommate wasn’t something that I felt comfortable with. Because of my failure to find better paying job (not that working at the Place doesn’t give me plenty of material to write about) I lost something … well, more like someone, that I didn’t want to lose.

But without a better job and a place to stay, I couldn’t be the person she needed me to be. And since I had left someone because she refused to even try to be the person I needed her to be, how could a ask someone to just deal with the fact that I couldn’t be the person she needed me to be?

Sometimes things just aren’t meant to be, not matter how much you want them. I could easily look back on that situation and see nothing but the bad in it all. It wouldn’t be difficult to do. I’ve never in my life had to end a relationship with someone whom I still wanted to be with and cared deeply for. But I was hurting her, and I knew it. It would be selfish of me to continue to do that just to make myself happy. What kind of fucking jag would that make me?

So I made my decision and have to live with the consequences. From what I hear, she has found someone else who makes her happy, someone who makes her smile, someone who even appears to be more compatible with her than I was. And as bittersweet as it sounds, I’m happy for her. She deserves that. After all, she put a smile on my face for several months, and I am not an easy person to make smile. She accomplished that. For a while, I put a smile one her face too. But now that I’m no longer that person for her, I’m happy that she has someone who can be the person that  I could not be for her.

It’s a conscious decision. Seeing the woman who still has my heart happy in the arms of another man should be something that tears me to pieces (and, honestly, when I hear about it, it does) but I’m happy for her.

No matter what the world tells you, not everyone gets a soul mate, not everyone gets a parter, a companion. Sometimes you just have to take what you have and realize that this is what your place is in life, the reason that you are here. That is what is called finding the good in a bad situation vs dwelling on the bad in what was almost an entirely good situation … until the end, at least.

Here’s the fucking point. You can’t change what happened in the past. It’s over. You can’t control tomorrow. All you can do is work towards it. The only thing you can do is take advantage of today, this very moment. Tomorrow is coming no matter what you do, and yesterday is gone forever. But what you do today is going to create your tomorrow … all of your tomorrows.

I didn’t find a better job and it affected my future … severely. But when the door closed for us, she found happiness with someone else. And while I was ready to just “deal with what I had” I was contacted, out of the blue, by a publisher that may want to sign me to a contract for a book series. From the darkest of night comes a glimmer of hope. Again, looking for the good in a world flooded with bad. Everything happens for a reason. It has to. If you don’t believe that, then there is no point in trying. I, for one, am not of that belief anymore.

So here we are … full circle. It started with the family that George Zimmerman saved, went to a bad play I made in the field, merged into the loss of someone who was very important to me, and we come right back to the family that Zimmerman saved.

It’s a choice. I’ve lost a lot. I had to make a very difficult decision, one that I didn’t want to make, but knew was the right thing. Had I found a better job, maybe we would still be together, but it just didn’t happen.

Regardless, I’ve chosen to focus on the good that came from being with her and the good that she did for me (and the good that I hope I did for her) vs the bad that hovers around in my head every time I think about it. And as it turned out, the decision that I didn’t want to make led to her finding happiness, which, as I said before, she deserves. That family that Zimmerman saved, however, decided to focus on the bad and distance themselves from the good that Zimmerman did even though they owe him their lives. Focusing on the bad vs the good. Fucking cowards.

Whatever …

Until next time … Fuck off

*Fuck this World! and other such thoughts by Mickey Brennan – Volume I available here

The truth is …

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Everyone lies. That’s it. It’s as simple as that. Life is a bitch, don’t trust anyone, and everyone lies. Hell, the world in and of itself, as well as most things that people take for granted within said world, are nothing more than fabricated stories that evolve and change over time to please the masses. Ergo, since said stories evolve and change, any current version of the story is, by definition, a lie.

I’m in a really fucking pissed off mood today. And it’s all because of the Place. On Sunday, my car broke down on the way to work at 5:45am. I had to run back home, grab the keys to my motorcycle (which I should have just taken in the fucking first place, but it was a bit chilly and I didn’t feel like bundling up) and race back to get to work.

Problem was, I left my phone and bag in the car when I ran back to get the bike. So I wasn’t able to call the Place and let them know what had happened nor that I was on my way until around 6:15am, when I retrieved said items.

Not a big deal really, at face value. I arrived at work at around 6:30am and a member of the hotel area was watching over the customer service desk. No harm, no foul. Just a bit of bad luck is all. And then the bomb dropped.

By ten after 7am, I discovered that 19 lockers in the men’s locker room had been tampered with, 9 of which were successfully broken into, 7 of which had nothing of value to take, and 2 of which had cash, credit cards, and a watch stolen from within. 19 fucking lockers in the first hour on a Sunday morning! Unfucking believable.

I, being the person in charge of the building at the time, felt horribly responsible. Especially since I was late that morning. Sunday mornings are always the same people. I would have recognized a new face. I assumed that the hotel staff member simply didn’t know any better.

Upon investigating the situation via the security videos, however, I discovered that although the Customer Service/Gym area opens at 6am, the hotel staff now starts at 5am. The staff member unlocked the doors leading from the hotel to the Customer Service/Gym area at 5am to punch in and never locked them up again when she went back to the hotel area. Since the doors were unlocked, a member went back there, to an area that had no staff, and unlocked the other door that led to the parking lot. This allowed everyone, including the man I suspect of breaking into the lockers, access to the  locker rooms, gym areas, etc … with no staff member to check them in. THAT is why the lockers were broken into.

Has those doors been locked, per protocol, the worst case scenario would have been that about a dozen members would have been a bit annoyed that they had to wait 30 minutes to get inside. But in that case, I would have been there, recognized that the suspect was not a regular member, probably not even a member at all, and he would not have gotten access to the facility. The entire situation would have been avoided.

But the powers that be were looking for a scapegoat and decided that leaving the doors unlocked had nothing to do with it. Allowing people access to the building an hour before anyone was scheduled to work there had nothing to do with it. It was completely due to the fact that I was late.

What a fucking load of bullshit.

Essentially it turned into a scenario of everyone trying to cover their own asses and me being stuck in the middle. I was guilty of being late, but was accused of “Gross Negligence of my Duties.” I’m not the one who left the doors open, thus leaving the entire area compromised. Fuck that, and fuck every single one of those managers who allowed for that to be entered in as the explanation.

But I digress. The whole lying thing just kind of tied into this situation because this scenario was wrought with lies told by people trying to pass the blame onto someone else.

Moving on … and back to topic.

As I said in the beginning. Everyone lies. Every single fucking person on this planet lies. And that leads to the question. Does telling a lie make you dishonest? Anyone who believes that is a complete fucking moron. If that were true, then every parent who told their children that Santa Claus brought them (insert present here) was being dishonest. Obviously, that’s not true.

Lies, like most things in this world, need to be qualified. What’s a simple “white lie” and what is “being dishonest?”

It’s really rather simple when you think about it. Dishonest lies are lies that are being told for one’s benefit. Someone lies to their boss to get out of trouble, or to get another employee into trouble. Someone lies to their spouse or significant other to hide an affair. Someone lies to a person for personal or financial gain. These, and lies such as these, are examples of someone being dishonest.

But there are thousands of other types of lies that are told. When a man tells  woman she looks beautiful even when she looks absolutely hideous … that’s not being dishonest. That’s being kind to save one’s feeling. Because trust me, many a man has said “You look great,” even when those pants did make her ass look fat.

Another example would be telling a young child that their dog has moved out to a farm somewhere where he can run and play vs having the child endure the pain involved in coming to the realization that their dog had died. Again, it’s a lie, but it’s a lie told to protect a child from having to deal with a pain that they don’t necessarily have to deal with at such a young age. Hell, if they believe the “dog went off to live on a farm” lie, then they are of the same age of those who still believe in Santa. Why destroy that innocence when you can protect them from it?

Still other lies are told to protect oneself. Outwardly, it would seem as though that would be the definition of dishonestly. But that is not always the case. Sometimes, lies are told to protect something that someone wishes to keep to themselves, something private. And when are asked about it, even it the person who asks them is someone whom they love with all of their heart, they will lie about it because it is a personal demon that they are not ready to share.

Does that make them dishonest? Depending on what they are hiding, I don’t think it does. If it directly involves the person who is asking, then yes, there an argument for dishonestly. If not, then I believe a person is allowed to have their privacy. And if someone crossing that boundary of privacy and is lied to because of it, it becomes a grey area of a sort. Not quite dishonest, but definitely a lie.

I know this particular situation well. I went through it. I was trying to deal with something personal and had asked to be allowed to deal with it on my own. A person I cared very deeply for dug for answers and found them. When she confronted me with them, I lied to her. It was something I was ashamed of, was trying to deal with on my own, and didn’t want her or anyone else to know about. But I lied. No doubt, I lied. That being said, I don’t consider myself dishonest for it.

I oft-times look back at that moment and wish I had just told her the truth from the beginning. But I didn’t. I had the situation under control. For my own reasons, I NEEDED to handle it one my own. And telling her the truth could have caused her to worry … and rightly so. It was a huge fuck up that I was trying to fix. She knew of the fuck up and was very concerned. I simply told her everything was fine and that I had it under control … which was true. Then she asked me something else regarding exactly how I had it under control and I lied. I lied because the reason I had it under control was, oddly, connected to the original fuck up in the first place. I was concerned that if she knew how I was “fixing” it, it would only cause her to worry more. I regret the lie. But again, I don’t consider it dishonesty.

I know that the person I am referring to may very well read this post. All I can say is that I am sorry that I was not honest with you from the start. I wish I could go back and change it, but I can’t. I still wish that I would have been able to handle the situation on my own, but unfortunately you found out about it. It was not my intent for you to know to find out, but you did. And since you did, perhaps I should have told you everything, crossed my fingers, and hoped that it all worked out well. Hindsight, as they say, is always 20/20.

Again I digress …

Moving on …

If you want to see dishonestly, look to your politicians, look to you management teams for whatever company you work for, you can even look to your religion of choice. All of the aforementioned are riddled with lies and deceit used to either control the people or further their own agendas. THOSE, my friends, are individuals who are dishonest. Those are people who will do and say anything to get what is best for THEM with no concern for how it affect those around them. In my very humble opinion, that, in its simplest form, is the definition of dishonesty … and the world is full of it.

Whatever …

Until next time … Fuck off

*Fuck this World! and other such thoughts by Mickey Brennan – Volume I available here

After the hiatus …

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So I haven’t written in a little while. There are a lot reasons why, but that would be a post in and of itself and I simply don’t feel like going into it tonight.

I certainly have had a plethora of things to write about. Between events at the Place, personal situations, random bullshit going on in the world of politics, and your everyday fucked up stories about the world we live in and life in general.

I will say that not everything leading to my little hiatus has been negative. In truth, for a brief moment in time, I actually thought I may have actually been incorrect in one of my most consistent beliefs that there is no such thing as fidelity, love, and happily ever after. For a time, I actually experienced true bliss.

In the end, said bliss was an illusion, a reiteration of the old adage that “ignorance is bliss.” When the truth finally came out, I ended up right back where I started. Even with the best intentions in mind and the greatest efforts put forth, there is no happily ever after … except for the ignorant. And for them, it’s only happiness due to the fact that they are so moronically stupid that they cannot see, or will not see, what is actually occurring, feeling safer not knowing the truth and simply being happy in their fanciful fucking shell of false bliss.

I often wish, odd as it may seem, that I could be that person. I wish that I was not rational or logical. I wish that I was not capable of noticing when a story or explanation simply does not make sense or when someone is flat out lying to me to cover something they do not wish for me to know.

But I digress.

We are who we are. We can change the way we live to a point, but we cannot change the person we are. I will never enjoy the bliss of ignorance, whether I wish to or not.

Moving on …

I was recently looking through some old college papers I had written. I actually once wrote a compelling thesis on the theory that H.H Holmes, infamous owner of the Murder Castle and main focus of the book The Devil in the White City, and Jack the Ripper were one in the same. I did extensive research and came across a massive amount of evidence that connected the two. I received an A on the paper along with a note from my professor stating that it was quite an excellent theory and worthy of investigation.

In truth, it’s doubtful that they were the same person. However, the paper was quite compelling, as was the evidence and connections that I compiled. So who knows.

Along with this paper, I also came across a poem I wrote in college. Yes, I wrote poetry from time to time. Fuck off.

At any rate, I thought it fitting to post it here since it, more or less, defines my state of mind over the last few months.

For those who follow this blog, you will recall that I wrote about an absolutely stupid fucking decision I had made a while back and how I had, by nothing more than an odd and unlikely series of events, dodged the proverbial bullet. Second chances are hard to come by, but it appeared I had received one. Now, however, it appears that said bullet may have grazed me after all. Not entirely certain yet. Still awaiting the results of a few tests. Just another notch in my belt of poor decisions with lasting effects, I suppose.

Alas, back to topic. The following is a poem I wrote as an assignment when I was around 17 or 18 years old. It’s not about song birds and butterflies. I was, as most teenagers, full of angst, anger, and depression. Still, looking back, I think it rather fits.

And off we go …

Beneath the Willow Tree

I sat beneath a willow tree,

and No One sat aside of me.

Her presence kept me company

amidst the vines a weeping.

***

This beauty sang of everything;

ambitions and failures and lives spiraling.

Her words resounded with a familiar sting.

No secrets was she keeping.

***

I listened as she spoke her truths

like and adult well beyond her youth.

Although harsh, abrasive, ill-mannered, uncouth;

her ideologies were sweeping.

***

And though oft we differed, we did agree

that in a world so lacking fidelity

I simply wanted somebody,

and No One wanted only me.

No One wanted only me …

- Mickey Daniel Brennan

***

And there you have it. A younger me, not yet tarnished by a world populated by egocentric, self-endulging fucking liars with no cares beyond what will benefit themselves. But, as you can see, I was well upon my way. Even back then, I was well upon my way.

Whatever …

Until next time … Fuck off

*Fuck this World! and other such thoughts by Mickey Brennan – Volume I available here

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