‘Kiddistic’ Sadism.

I have to say that my brain works in a weird way.

Sadista, as my barkada would brand me. I enjoy the view of my nephews crying, and really, I love the sight of it. I throw pillows on them, I watch them cry, I spoil their cakes, I eat their favorite foods, they cry. At the back of my brain, I am very pleased to do these things.

Just please, don’t sue me for child abuse.

Everynow and then, I would tease my nephews and nieces with their inability to do something, or their obnoxious smell (though it’s natural to toddlers to wear that stinking smell of soil). They would cry, and I would laugh at them. I would get their toys, and they would cry louder. Trip ko lang. It’s such a job for weird guys, you know.

I’m a one weird guy when my sadistic features strike.

According to my childhood, I have no background of violence or whatsoever. My father once used a belt to whip my ass since I let a stranger borrow my bicycle (see, I’m such a goody boy way back 90’s). But that’s the first and last. No other memories of explicit slapping or harsh words. So, where does this sadism came from? I don’t know.

I just love to see tears flowing from the eyes of a kid. I love to piss off my classmates since they look like shits or craps of hell. I want to tell everyone that they look like decaying matter. But then, I sometimes tell myself, that I myself look like one piece of shit.

Nobody’s perfect anyway.

Sadism is an addictive scent to me. Wait, I’d like to clarify that my sadism goes with the kids, and only with the kids. Not with the impoverished people. Not with people who have nothing to eat. No way. My heart still has its feelings.

But everyday, my heart gets number. I am still hoping for my softer side to arise when excessive violence had been implemented.

~ by utakgago on December 7, 2006.