You'd think strange events and stranger people would freak a person out, but what if I tell you that I absolutely love such people and such events?
I've been by the grace of Almighty blessed with world class psychos that have taken over all my senses and my life. You hear about obsessive psychopaths with extreme, obsessive behaviors who would do anything for love in a fit of rage or dead calm of their emotions but you seldom get to see them. I didn't of late realize that I was surrounded by them and frankly speaking it shakes me to my core.
I have a psycho in me too, however it's under layers and layers of self control. Good thing it is, because the people I'm surrounded with are pretty out of control, extremists (with reference to their emotions, feelings, actions and decisions pertaining to them and their subject) and when two lose control it's well … not very nice.
In a moment these individuals can lose and screw themselves and their subjects. They screw themselves more with their misplaced sense of reasoning, love and destroy everything in a moment. All in the name of love.
It's eerie, cold, uncanny, disturbing and very soul-numbing. The more I realize the intensity of their psychosis, the more they unravel it by their actions the more they jolt me and I get a creepy, a very sending-shivers-down-the-spine kind of feeling of being loved immensely. Completely. Totally. Obsessively.
They are my catharsis and I am there's. I can't do without their psychosis and they can't do without my complete submission to their psychosis. I am not ashamed to accept that I love psychopaths. The obsessive ones who have nothing and everything to lose who put everything on stake so nonchalantly as if it's nothing but a walk in the park. The ones who in their moment of utter, complete trance think of nothing and reach a point of no return with an ease that would baffle any sane mind.
It's a transition from Psycho A to Psycho B. In between I've had the privilege (sic) of meeting pseudo-psychos too who well did what they were capable of yet failed miserably because they weren't psychotic enough.
There is a pleasure sure
In being mad, which none but madmen know
-Dryden, 'The Spanish Friar'
In being mad, which none but madmen know
-Dryden, 'The Spanish Friar'
