I have killed many people over the years; too many to put a number on, I’ve lost count. The first, I remember like it was yesterday, I was eight-years-old, he was in high school, I don’t know why he picked on me, but on the fifth day of him stopping me on my way home from school, when I was sure nobody was watching, I plunged a linoleum knife into the soft spot between his rib cage, I pulled the hooked blade down to his groin and my hand was warmed with what once was inside of him—it was no longer his, it was mine. As he fell to his knees, I stepped around his back, reached around his neck and cut his throat. Since that day, I’ve killed to protect myself, I’ve killed for financial gain and I’ve killed for pleasure. And under these categories I have killed every type of person, while I prefer the bully, the big shot, the alpha male most of all, I have equally destroyed the young, the old, the female, because I am a killer, I kill. Every moment, of every day, I desire nothing more than to unchain my true self and pulverize into lifelessness, that which stands before me and breathes. Continue reading TRICK OR TREAT OR MURDER
Tag Archives: murder
THE NIGHT
The night is cold, dark and bleak, and there are hours to go before I sleep.
Gone, gone away is freedom’s light, empowering the perverse to their own delight.
But the time has come for them to die a terrible death, the time has come for their last breath.
Who first? I think about this as I pace, who first is to lose their face.
I ponder the landlord, the lawyer, the banker, the politician, who first to my knife’s fruition…
The night is cold, dark and bleak, and there are hours to go before I sleep.
The Landlord, mostly an inherited man, a man who gains wealth by another’s hand.
But the worst of this type, actually believes he is Lord and it is this man we can no longer afford.
So over his gate I climbed and into his house I did walk, and smiled at the splendor meant to make others gawk.
Soon it would be covered with red, soon this temple of doom would be a place of dread. The wife, the son, the daughter, the Man, I cut and peeled off their face according to plan.
The night is cold, dark and bleak, and there are hours to go before I sleep.
The Lawyer, is there one that won’t burn in Hell? Maybe one, the scriptures tell.
With so many of these to cogitate on, I decide who would not see the dawn.
A despicable little man, who lies as he breathes, and at the point of my blade he knelt on his knees.
“This is mad, I was just doing my job,” these were the words that he sobbed.
And he did sob, as the sharp steel cut his throat, no more would this creature gloat.
The night is cold, dark, and bleak and there are hours to go before I sleep.
The Banker, the man who takes from the poor and gives to the rich, then laughs in our face and says, “Ain’t that a bitch.”
Yes, Master Of The Universe, Man of Wall Street, it is my blade the you will soon meet.
And there he was taking a walk in the night, and on 5th Avenue he discovered his plight.
First I ran the bodyguard through in the middle, why him you ask, because the hired gun of the evil is part of the task.
The banker shrunk into the gutter, part of the trash, part of the clutter.
“I have money, a lot of money, I’ll pay for my life.” I stared at this pathetic being down in the street. “You exist for a number in an account and for this you must account. You are an abortion, you were born dead.” And then I put the blade, into his head.
The night is cold, dark, and bleak, and there are hours to go before I sleep.
Oh Politician, you are the ultimate betrayer, it is time for you to meet your anarchist slayer.
So many reasons for you to die, perhaps even more than the stars in the sky.
But really it is the promises that you break, it is for this most of all, your life we must take.
Who first? The man that calls himself the lawmaker, who is known by all to be the lawbreaker.
This loathsome whore gorges his belly full of ill gotten gain, while delighting at heart, of the hard workingman’s pain.
I found this devil asleep in a luxury hotel, so I raised my knife to send him to Hell.
Wait! No! This is too good for such feces, he must be an example for the rest of his species.
I returned that very night with knife, rope and gas can, everything necessary to put an end to this man.
I stabbed him, and he awoke screaming, “You can’t do this to me!” “I can, and soon you will burn, and swing from a tree”
Swinging, he kicked and hoped to detach, but there was no escaping my match.
The night is cold, dark, and bleak and there are hours to go before I sleep.
I pace back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, contemplating how many more of these evil oppressors must I purge, how many to put an end to this scourge?
All of them! Their blood must run like a river through the land…And until then, the knife is in hand.
THE LONDON BOOK FESTIVAL
A few weeks ago the London Book Festival announced the names of its winners. “Stan Lerner’s Criminal”, the novel, which is probably my most recognized work, received the First Honorable Mention.
As I stared at the screen of my computer my heart sank—I had in my mind contemplated nothing less than being named the Grand Prize Winner. A year earlier “Stan Lerner’s Criminal” had won the Grand Prize at the Hollywood Book Festival and set the standard for my expectations. To complicate matters, as a blogger I felt compelled to announce the results even though they were not to my liking and I knew in doing so it would also be incumbent on me to congratulate the winner (Stan Goldberg for “Lessons For The Living”), which didn’t bother me at all—I’m happy for Stan Goldberg, it’s an incredible feeling to win. So I began by posting the results to my status on facebook and to my surprise friends from all over the world began to congratulate me for my honorable mention. This gave me pause…I decided to delay writing a blog…I realized the matter required more thought than I had been able to give to it.
Now that time has passed, and with some help from my friends, I feel good about being honored with an honorable mention. My nature, of course, demands that my future work be so extraordinary that to be anything other than a Grand Prize Winner—impossible! And yes, I say this somewhat in jest. But also during these few weeks of reflection the whole journey, that is “Stan Lerner’s Criminal”, meandered through my mind. Although the story of “Criminal” could be a literary work unto itself I’d like to take a few moments to share some of my thoughts with you about this road less traveled.
I should start by saying that the act of writing a novel is a sure sign of insanity. And there were plenty of people, including friends and family, who believed that I had indeed lost what little touch I did have with reality.
I gave “Stan Lerner’s Criminal” my own name as part of its title because I have been dismayed over the years by people who claim to have done work attributed to others. I put my name and face on all of my work, and document the creative process, not as a matter of ego, but out of necessity to insure that there is not doubt as to the integrity of my work.
“Stan Lerner’s Criminal” was an intensely personal endeavor that took four years to write. A not so well known fact is that I originally wrote “Criminal” in the voice of the first person. This version of “Criminal” took two years to write, at the conclusion of which I had written a book that was too disturbing for anyone to read. It took two more years to rewrite “Criminal” into the book that was published—utilizing the traditional voice of a novel.
Lerner Wordsmith Press (my company) published “Stan Lerner’s Criminal” not because I wanted to be the publisher, but rather I was reasonably sure that no other publisher would publish a book like “Criminal”. And by “a book like ‘Criminal’” I mean a serious literary work that did not pander to either social and or political correctness.
Subsequent to “Stan Lerner’s Criminal” receiving superlative reviews and winning the Grand Prize at the Hollywood Book Festival both Barnes & Noble and Borders refused to put it in their respective stores. And because of this, no studios or production companies have tried to acquire the rights…Yet “Criminal” goes on, selling almost every book ever printed. Garnering international acclaim. And providing to me a seemingly infinite number of people who say that it is the best book they have ever read. A conundrum I suppose… Continue reading THE LONDON BOOK FESTIVAL