I didn’t feel like writing these past days, that’s why I didn’t. Writing this journal is a challenge: with it I defy the law and anyone who wants to find me. Even though I have been successful with my murders and staying away from jail.
But with my routine available to everyone I never know how far my readers have got, so sometimes I feel like I’m being observed and I have to stay low profile. It can always be the police, that secret organization, or just a reader after me.

But staying low profile for me doesn’t mean to stop killing. I never stop.
And the easiest ways don’t work for me.
I have already heard some people talking about killing bums, homeless people or hookers to get away easily. For me it doesn’t work. A murder for me is not just a life taken: what satisfies me is the planning process, the challenge, the reaction of the victim, and yes, the murder itself. But with time I realized that it all together is what really fulfills me. People already dead for society or not fully conscious don’t really matter to me. I would do them a favor.

Well, all that is just to say that I had some real fun these days, even though I felt I was being observed.
I would like to register one special torture method I used that I enjoyed.

I captured someone and tied him to a chair at my torture room, in front of a mirror.
This time I used a chainsaw. Surprisingly, I’d never used it before.
I started with his legs, cutting both of them off. But not in just one piece.
First, I’ve cut just the feet, then half of the shank, then at the knee level, and finally half of the thigh. I did it with both legs.
After the legs, I went to the arms. Same thing: I’ve cut it off in four steps.
Every time he passed out, I used a substance to wake him up, and just continued after he was fully awake. He watched every single step of his dismembering. You should see his horror face.
And before he died, I divided his head in half, using the chainsaw as well, cutting from the chin to the brain, very slowly.

The problem was to clean all the blood after that. But I was prepared.

I like to share my past experiences with others. If I die someday, the things I’ve learned with time won’t be lost. And this way I can inspire others to share as well, and maybe I’ll learn something I didn’t know.

Well, something I’ve learned about weapons, is to don’t use guns/firearms. It may be good for protection, but it’s not for me. Guns are for thieves, not killers. First, the prey dies to fast. Where’s the fun on that? I mean, I like to take lives, but not just to do it, but to enjoy every single moment. I like to watch their despair, I like to see their begging for their lives or begging to take it away fast. All the pain they feel while they are in my torture room, every single pain, is translated into pleasure to me. So why I would take someone’s life so fast? If I’m already killing someone, at least I’ll make it worthy. Other way, why take the risk? Even if it’s for survival. If someone is after me, and I have to get rid of him/she, why not enjoy it?

But that’s not the only reason. Guns and firearms are traceable. Of course you can buy it illegally, but anyway there is a way to the cops get to you. Maybe during the transaction, if they were already after that specific gang. And there are millions of other ways. Knives and other white weapons are not registered and hardly someone keeps control of it. It’s a lot more difficult to get caught because of it.

Another reason: guns denounces you. While knives (and white weapons) can be easily disguised among other home utilities, if you have a gun, and you are catch with it, even at home, they know you are ready for, or you have already thought about killing.

So, from my point of view, if someone is not thinking about killing but needs protection or to threaten someone, it needs a firearm. Killers like me should stick to the white weapons. If someone wants to live this life for a long time, must do it right.

Many people ask me how do I choose my victims. I know they ask me that because they are afraid to be chosen (they should be). The thing is that there are no rules.

It’s the same as to decide between a blue or green t-shirt. I would pick the blue one but there is no explanation, it’s just because I like it better, for no logical reason.

As I said on one of my posts, sometimes I choose the person, sometimes I choose a place. When I find a street, an alley, anywhere very easy to strike and get away, and my hunger is already affecting me, I can’t hold myself. I wait on that place, and then I choose someone in there. But who I’m going to choose, there is no explanation how. I just choose one.
But what I like the most is to choose someone first, and having to plan everything, get to know their routine, choose a place to strike, how to get away. All the planning process is very fulfilling. On this stage, I can picture the murder a lot of times before I do it for real. And I choose this person the same why I pick a T-shirt color. I just pick one.

And a third method is when there is someone bothering me, like those detectives of that “secret organization”. I really enjoy getting rid of them, killing one by one. But I have to be very careful. If the person can be directly linked to you, it’s a lot easier to get caught. If they can’t, it’s nearly impossible if it’s done right.

So, don’t worry. There is no way to prevent from being chosen by me or someone like me. There is no way to escape as well. Just live your life knowing that it can possibly happen. And if it happens, enjoy, because I will.

It has been so boring these last days.
I think I’m missing my hunt, the detectives that were after me looks to be completely lost. I can’t blame them. As I always say: I’m very good on what I do. And, of course, they are afraid. They should be. I’ll get one by one sooner or later, it doesn’t matter if they are still working on this or not. I still have some names and addresses that I’m keeping for later.

Well, changing subjects, it’s not because I have this desire to kill that any killing completely satisfies me. I had some fun this week, but I don’t know what happened but it was kind of boring… At least to me.
I was driving back home from my job late at night when I saw a girl walking alone. I wanted some emotion, to take some risk. Kill randomly, without any plans. Just to answer to my primary instincts.

I offered her a ride and of course she declined. At this moment she saw what was coming, I could see the despair in her eyes. The funny thing is that she didn’t take any attitude at all. She just stood there, completely froze. I got out my car with a baseball bat I had in there and just hit her head with it. She fell. I got her into my car, drove to my torture room. I’m pretty sure nobody saw it. Well, if somebody did I would already know. It happened on Wednesday.
I tortured her for a couple of days and got rid of the body as usual.

What I’ve noticed with time is that things are a lot easier than it seems. We complicate things, and the government uses the media to give the impression that it is impossible to commit a crime and get away with is. But the thing is that it is easy like that. How many murders don’t I have in my back? I guess that’s why I’m getting kind of bored.

This weekend I spent locked in my apartment. I am what I am, but that’s not all that I am. Although I have other necessities, maybe different from you, have you ever thought that I don’t spend every minute just killing or hunting? (unfortunately though, because I think about it all the time)

Well, what I do with my “free time” is very unusual, I noticed. I don’t have a very active social life, I don’t like it, but I have to keep the appearance to the society. I have a regular job, I’m not gonna tell you what I do right now to don’t make things easy to the so called “detectives”, but I do work. Anyone in there never suspected a thing. I don’t like people so much, it’s probably something about how I was raised, but I know if I didn’t get out with some colleagues every now and then it could call the attention. So I do it.

But what I like the most is to spend my “free time” locked alone, when I’m not looking for any entertainment. I just like the sensation of not having any contact at all with the outside world. Just me and my thoughts inside four walls.

For some reason everything that I do have a bitter taste to me, if it doesn’t involve blood. But I do like the bitter taste of reading, of thinking, but above everything, of planning my next strike, of remembering the past deaths. Every killing I have in my back, the memories of it seems to give me power, energy. I remember every detail of each one. In a way, my preys live forever with me.

I live in an apartment, not in the house that I keep my torture room. It would be too obvious, too easy to be incriminated. I don’t even live near by it. There is nothing in my apartment that’s not “normal”. It took some time for me to learn what normal is to the world, but I did learn. Maybe you are one of my “friends”. Maybe you have visited my apartment. I can assure you that you would never notice the monster inside me.

The way I have survived all this time without being caught is that I avoid the most to take the life of people that could be linked to me. Just killing random people makes it almost impossible to get caught. It’s not like I never did it, but I avoid it the best I can. All that “CSI” stuff we watch on TV makes people think that the police can solve any crime, and that’s what they want you to believe. But the truth is that they can’t. The cops may have all that technology, but they won’t use it for every crime, it would be too expensive. And without having a body, there is no way that they could get to you investigating the disappearance of someone that you are not linked with.

I am what I am because I can afford it, it’s not for everyone. Many end up in jail, I never did, never will. As I like to say, my best is my worst.

As time passes by and I have no news about my detective “friends”, I’m relaxing and going back to my everyday routine. I have enough information of many of them, which I’ll use for my hunt in the near future. But this last week I found a great place to hunt randomly.

Sometimes I feel like going after a chosen person, sometimes I get excited with a new place for capture. Whenever I find a perfect street, an alley, anywhere that I think it is great to get new preys, I have to use it!

This week I found a street with no lights at all, located in a very rich neighborhood. At one side, it has a small descent park. At the other side, a very high wall, of an enormous mansion. And people use the sidewalk of this street to walk, exercise. And I never saw a cop in there, at least during this time I was watching it.

So I got a motorcycle, drove to the park in the dusk, hid it in one of the bushes. I waited hidden in there too. I left my car some blocks from there, in a desert place, but this one in bad neighborhood.

I waited about half an hour, and there it came, my perfect prey. A beautiful young girl jogging, caught by the dark. I didn’t find any camera around, but to prevent I kept my helmet on. As soon as she passed by me, I knocked her down with a piece of wood, and to guarantee I injected a substance to keep her sleeping.

I got her on the motorcycle with an extra helmet on I brought. And drove to my car. Anybody that saw me passing by with her in the bike could never tell she was passed out. I got her then into my car and left the bike in there. I bet it didn’t take much to disappear, as it was in a very bad neighborhood.

From there I went to my beautiful torture room, where I introduced to the girl my real self. She met my monster inside, as many of you will. But not by her.

Even with all my life experiences, after I was thrown to the outside world, I managed to become someone normal to many people. Or invisible at least, later on.

This world, the one you live in, I don’t know how can someone call it a free world. All these rules, and judgment, and punishment, persecution, financial slavery, institutions. How can someone really be what really is? Everyone becomes, sooner or later, what it is expected to become. And play a role to everyone else, so can be accepted by the others, don’t matter who the other is. That’s something I learned with time.

At first, I was really disappointed with this world I’d dreamed so much. Escaping from the prison where I lived for 12 years didn’t bring me liberty. Actually, it seemed the opposite to me. I was freer where I used to be: there are no rules and judgment among four walls. And I could notice then that I was not like the others. I had a monster inside of me that most didn’t seem to have. My thirst for blood was not “normal”, and I knew that anytime I would succumb for it, it was inevitable. For a moment I wanted to go back where I was and live where I used to live, locked in a basement. The liberty I was searching for seemed to be the isolation.

Later I noticed there was not such a thing as normal. Everyone is interpreting a character, like in a theater play, which is not necessarily what they really are. And I learned perfectly how to play my role, how to fake to fit into society. I got a real job, money, learned how to mix with the others, and most important, how to satiate my hunger without been caught.

And since then I am who I am for me, and just me, free as I wanted to be (and for a lucky few, for a moment or two). At the same time I am what you want me to be, until I introduce you to my real self anytime soon.

This last week made me remember some other occasions that happened to me in the past so I decided to write it down. As I said before, I was locked into a stranger’s basement for 12 years. 12 really long years. That’s how I spent my childhood.

I was caught when I was only 5. I don’t remember much, all I know is that it was like if my father gave me, or sold me, or something like it. I was left by him at a public park, and 10 minutes after he left, this guy appeared and took me.
I never knew my mother. I don’t even know if I have one. And I don’t care. I don’t remember much before that.

This guy, I don’t even know his name. And I don’t know why he kept me. I was locked in there, in his basement, without any contact with the outside world. The “real” world for many.  It was just me, and four walls, and him somewhere, and some screams, and death, some occasional victims locked together.

He was a killer like me. I guess since I was a little kid he knew what I would become. Maybe he saw him in me. I will never understand it.

He introduced me to death, and that’s something I’m thankful. Sometimes he used to let me watch while he tortured and killed some random victim. I’ve met some of these victims, or almost met: when he used to lock them with me, there wasn’t much to meet.  They usually were not in one piece anymore, and they were always tied and gagged.

The funny thing is that I had never been afraid or disgusted, nothing like it, and I got to know it was different just after I escaped. I used to see all the killings and dismembering with a big naturalness. I guess that what mostly differs me from many.

But I always wanted to get out. I thought I would be free if I escaped, that I would be able to do whatever and everything I always wanted. Later I realized it wasn’t what I imagined.

I was alone for all this time, thinking on how to get out.
So one day he proved of his own medicine. Maybe that’s what he always wanted, and that’s the reason why he kept me. He was my first toy. First of many.

I dream with death. I mean, I have dreams, not nightmares.
I dream with killing, with blood, corpses, human parts.
That’s what I see when I’m sleeping. That’s what I feel even when I’m in bed, with my eyes closed.
And this is a good feeling. I know that’s the hardest part for you to understand, but it really is a good, natural sensation. There is nothing bizarre on it, at least for me. It’s a fulfilling pleasure, so good that I even dream with!

How can that be bad? If it’s, than I was meant to be bad. I’ve born like this.
And I know many are born like me.

I’ve not only been born like this, but I was made who I am.
I didn’t have a normal past. It’s not that I believe anybody does because there isn’t such a thing as normal, but I had a pretty hard childhood (at least that’s what I used to think at the time).

I spent 12 years locked into a stranger’s basement, been treated like an animal. I didn’t know the outside world, the world didn’t know me. All I got to see was pain, and suffering, and blood, and death. And for 12 years I thought if I figured a way to escape, I would change, I would be free.

I did escape. I did find and met the real world. But in the end what I realized is that I was free where I was and the outside world is a lot more punishing, weird and authoritarian than the world we live among four walls. In there, I could be who I really was, something the society couldn’t accept.
But with the years I learned to be who I am even without anybody’s acceptance.
A killer.
A monster to many. But just me.

The following songs are from this chapter of my life:
Not Free Enough
Inapt World

The detective from the last post turned into ashes.
Saying like that doesn’t sound like a very painful process, but I can assure that it was. I kept him alive for 5 days, at least in parts.

It’s fun to observe how these detectives behave before they get to know me and after. It’s easy to be brave sitting in front of a computer, virtually chasing someone, but they never keep it up sitting in my chair.

This last guy was very productive to me. First, and most important, it was very fun and pleasant to slowly take his life, and watch him pray every of his last 432,000 seconds to die fast. And second because in his suffering he gave as much information about his fellow detectives and this Intelligence and Surveillance Agency as he could. Unfortunately (or fortunately) they don’t communicate much among them, so he didn’t know everything.

Now I know more about my preys who think that are hunters. I will let them keep thinking that by now: they won’t see me coming. I guess they have no idea of what they are playing with. When they usually realize, there is no turn back.

To get rid of this body I decided to do something different. I didn’t want anybody to find even a small piece of him, so he would be given as missing for as long as possible. So I made a big barbecue from his corpse. I didn’t eat it though. I left his body floating in alcohol for a whole day, so it could absorb the flammable substance like a sponge. The next day I used my barbecue grill to toast it to the bones, just leaving the ashes. It worked beautifully.

For anyone who finds and reads my journal: if you don’t have the balls to face me, don’t go after me. Maybe sometime you will find what you are looking for. What are you most afraid of? Death? Most of my victims think I’m way worst than death. Give it up and maybe, just maybe, you won’t have the pleasure to meet me.