Reading about Jack the Ripper, and one of the favorite suspects is Walter Sickert because he’s a painter who became associated with JTR. A painter-serial killer is a pretty grim combo, but I believe the theory was introduced in the late 70s and discredited.
But it got me thinking how you could live a seemingly normal life, maybe even be a random witness to a crime. But then some hack 100 years later will comb through the files and see if your name was ever the main subject, and if not, suddenly they got 500 pages dedicated to your life and shady behavior. Then it reaches the NYT Best Seller.
Investigators and researchers may dismiss it or even acquit you if the author is convincing enough. But still. Imagine your only legacy is showing up in the search results of murder or terrorist suspects.
That’s an after thought.
The worst thing about true crime is that it’s a disgusting cultural phenomena of libidinal obsession with serial killers that should not be socially acceptable but is for some reason. Being this “into” hearing about gruesome deaths and torture and SA isn’t healthy or normal or a cute hobby, it’s obscene and demonic. It’s a massive disease in society that reflects a diseased people.
It’s not about “self defense” or “learning about how killers work to protect yourself” that is pure true crime gooning cope. It’s a libidinal fixation and there are a million other more effective things to learn or practice if your own well-being was truly the concern and not getting off to drilling holes in skulls and pouring acid in or whatever the fuck. Hearing breathy, dramatized re-tellings of violent crime doesn’t help one learn from it in any way, that’s clearly not the purpose.
This is not the same as having some violence present in media, I’m not saying that we should pretend violence never happens. taking actually true stories, with real murderers and victims, and turning them into these public farces where millions of people are getting a libidinal hit is disgusting. At least with dramatized fictional violence there’s no actual underlying event that is being glamorized and immortalized and centered.
I don’t care, I’ll be dead. Accuse me of whatever you want, it literally cannot affect me.
“What if I’m posthumously accused of being Jack The Ripper?” is objectively a funny anxiety you gotta admit
For any future historians looking for clues, I’m making my confession here: I did it. I ate all the expensive pints of ice cream that were in the freezer. And by the time you find this, it will be far too late to do anything about it.
True crime is a fantasy that if somethijg bad happens to you people will remember and care. In that way it is kinda like telling old stories around a campire. Nah, the worst thing about true crime is it never points out that it is the fault of structural inequality and police malfeasance. Like, 100% chance the cops knew what was up with Gacy and they approved of his work. That would be interesting ground to tread. I bet some of the good old boys placed bets of which of their frequent fliers he would handle for them.
