Latent Insanity: Or Where Insanity Goes to Hide.
Once upon a time. A serial killer, now made infamous by his wide-spread exploits in the insanity of his murders of innocent people, runs amok. That is, everyone knew what he looked like, who he was, and what he did to his victims. Since he remained wild, yet untamed before the law of the people, everyone became aware of how he ensnared and killed his victims. When a victim was found, almost always, this serial killer was identified as the murderer without mistake.
Yet, no matter how much his victims may have read in the newspapers; no matter what rumors made it to them through the gong, and no matter how much information was gleaned over the talking drums about the serial killer’s ways, including information on how one might escape the iron jaws of this killer, no one had managed the feat—no one had escaped the iniquitous claws of this insane, murderous, monster.
Whatever this serial killer touched, it turned cold. And so the kids around the town, terrified by their grandmothers’ tales of the monster, named him the Grim Reaper.
As time passed, and as the hunt for this mishap in the genetic order of human things—the serial killer—waned, from one generation to the next, stuff begun to change a little. Just a little bit. Some of his victims begun to escape the snare of this fowler. Either the serial killer had become too old and weak to ensure the kill ratio of his insanity, or that the people had become knowledgeable enough about him that some of the prescribed strategies by great men to beat the serial killer had begun to work. Just a little bit.
Those who escaped the monster became obvious celebrities. They had come face to face with the devil and they had beat him. People, towns of people, villages of people, cities of people, would gather to listen to the tales of these victims, who were lucky enough to have escaped the serial killer, or special enough to have been spared by their Vodun.
As time passed, these special victims, spoke about, and they wrote about and debated about the serial killer and his monstrous iniquitous occupation. These special victims informed those who invited them to talk shows and news shows, about the monster and about the character, nature and proclivities of the monster they had encountered. These victims suffered numerous levels of trauma as a result of their ordeal before the monster.
As time passed, several great men and women begun to prescribe solutions for the trauma of these special victims of the monster. As time passed, all that people talked about, and wrote about were no longer how to survive the monster should one become ensnared in his traps, but rather, tomes were written about how the special victims who had managed to escape the iniquitous grips of the monster could be helped through their trauma.
Soon, the trauma, visited upon these special victims, became the most important issue in just a few generations. Even the monster’s own children, the serial killers own children—children who had forgotten where their murderous father now lived and who had forgotten all about the cottage of their father’s murderous wives, with whom their murderous father engaged in the procreation of killer aids)—piped up and joined those who had been called upon by their Vodun to fix the traumatized.
Soon, all that existed within the cities, the towns and the villages, was the trail of the serial killers traumatized special victims.
A mental disease had been created. The victims of the serial killer became so numerous, and the trauma so pervasive that a mental disease had been born. Solutions to fix these special victims of the serial killer became widespread. Even the children of the serial killer proposed solutions to fix the mental patients of the serial killer’s botched murders.
The towns, the villages, the cities became preoccupied with fixing the minds of the special victims. The towns, the villages, the cities, became besotted with discussing solutions, debating solutions and arguing over what solutions needed to be implemented to straighten the minds of the victims of the serial killer’s insanity and inhumanity towards fellow humans.
All the while, as all this time passed, the towns, the villages, and the cities had all forgotten the more important thing: that the first mental disease, the real one, originated with the human misfit, the serial killer himself. That is, serial killing is what needs fixing more than anything in the world, not only the trauma of the special victims of serial killers. The disease of the serial killer, the mental case of the murderous, iniquitous insanity of the serial killer is what needs to be eradicated and removed from all society, if the trauma of its victims ought to be permanently fixed.
As time passed, the town, the villages and the cities had all forgotten about the insanity of the serial killer himself, and his ever increasing number of children—killer aids—who roamed the towns, the villages and the cities feigning a desire to cure trauma.
As time passed, the people had forgotten all about the fact that the presence of the serial killer is the abnormality, and not the trauma that resulted from his atrocities necessarily. The insanity of the serial killer went unnamed, un-discussed, and no one argued about how to eradicate the serial killer.
The towns, the villages of people and the cities full of people who were not victims of the serial killer, had become infested with a new great insanity: the insanity of not talking about the insanity. Two great insanities now existed: The insanity of the serial killer, and the insanity of forgetfulness about insanity, i.e. the insanity of talking about fixing trauma, without naming the insanity of the serial killer. The later—the insanity of not being able to recall what insanity entails—is called Latent Insanity, or where insanity goes to hide away from the public view.
If you certainly are not a serial killer, or any of his killer aids, resist becoming insane. Resist latent insanity!