It’s been God-knows-how-long since I last wrote. People have asked me why I haven’t... and come to think of it... I don’t have an answer to it! I even came to myself ask myself as to why I haven’t written ‘bout anything in the longest time... almost a year, to be precise.
Well, I’ve noticed that in my writing, I am always influenced by outside factors – i.e. (I never knew what that meant) something I read, saw, or felt. Well, I’ve seen, read, and felt a lot of things in the past eight or so months, but that’s not what I’m here to write about – not today, anyway.
Jus’ the other week, I was readin’ up on an old issue of a magazine... and an article that caught my eye was of Jack The Ripper. We all know or of heard of the name, and we immediately assume the stereotype of a mass-murderer – a tall, average built man, brooding, with heavy eyes with a look of a desire to kill. Y’know... like the ones we see in horror gut-slicing and spilling movies of late. Walter Snickert wasn’t exactly the stereotype of a criminal. As stated, he was actually quite handsome with sharp hawk-like features, and he was even involved in theatre in his time.
Which leads to what puzzles me... what turned a theatre actor into one of the world’s most notorious criminals - the criminal mastermind that was Jack The Ripper? Also, one of the things ‘Jack’ was notorious for was that he only killed women. Prostitutes. It wasn’t even like he’d screw them; he jus’ kills them straight up. The article described, in impressive detail, how Walter had lived his life, up to the point to his first murder. Speaking of which, the thing that disturbed me the most about Mr. Snickert, is that he was a respected artist in his time. It was said that it wasn’t until recently that Ripper’s true identity was known. Walter Snickert’s most famous piece of art was called The Camden Town Murder... in which it shows a nude woman (presumably dead), and a man, fully dressed, sitting at the end of the bed with his head dropped and fingers pressed together. We would assume it was Walter who was that man, painting himself in the picture. What was going through his mind after he killed that woman? Was he contemplating the fact of what he did... or relishing the fact that he killed someone? The painting is part abstract, almost surreal, that we can’t see the man’s facial expression clearly. The police report even stated that the woman’s evening gown wasn’t found in the room – they suspected that the killer might’ve brought it with him as a ‘trophy.’
What really goes through a psychopath’s mind? Walter Snickert is the, dare I say, perfect example for that question. A respected and talented young man, who would’ve had a great life ahead of him, decides to turn into a sick life of crime. I mean, come now, did he wake up one morning, get a scalpel, and decide to start slitting women’s throats? Was he a crazed-up chaotic self-proclaimed avenger, ridding the world of criminal women?
Even in recent times, what goes on in the mind of rapists, killers, and terrorists? Well, we can assume that rapists are just ugly, horny people... that some terrorists believe in a reward through self-sacrifice, and some killers here in the Philippines had some beef to settle with their victim, anyway. But how about serial killers, who Jack The Ripper was one of the most famous. What really went through his mind every time he went out and killed someone? Can taking a person’s life turn into an addiction, and if such is the case, what made them kill their first victim? Serial killers, for that matter - what makes them decide to throw their lives away? What can they possibly gain from killing numerous people? Is it a twisted sense of satisfaction for them?
My own personal theory is that killing someone is a way to prove one’s superiority over another. It’s like showing them that because one can kill another, one proves that he can do what they want, when they want. In The Ripper’s case, he killed women to show that he was superior to them.
It’s a pity, really. People admired Walter Snickert’s artistic work... not Jack The Ripper’s.
Holla.
