The Lives of the Dead

Some of the most interesting people I meet are dead…

The Art of Control

First published January  19, 2016




I always understood that I was going to have to fight for every advantage, every precious moment of peace, every scrap of comfort. This much was obvious to me, even as a child. Neither my family nor the world was going to give me anything, and so I decided that whatever rules the rest of the world lived by did not apply to me. I never had any fear of or respect for authority. Why should I?   The world only took away; it never gave back.

And so, early on, I learned the art of manipulation. I learned to pit one against the other; while they were arguing, I would move in to steal what was no longer being guarded. I knew how to set others off balance – maybe with a half-truth or perhaps a few well-crafted words to sow the seeds of doubt. Like a hawk, I learned to play with and tire my prey until they lost focus and became confused. And then I would swoop in for the kill.

I was no evil genius. More precisely, I was a feral animal who could sniff out fear and uncertainty, and magnify it,  until I had my opening.

I was very good and very successful at what I did. I gained valuable knowledge about the human heart but at great cost to others. To learn these lessons well, I had to push my hypotheses to the limits. If I hadn’t used my talents to cause a happy couple to divorce or a mother to abandon her child or old friends to turn on each other, how could I examine the edges of human nature? How could I know the breadth of my power?

I held myself apart from other humans, feeling simultaneously superior and inferior. Any relationships I had were superficial, struck only for advantage.   These choices were not a sacrifice.  These lessons greatly advanced my understanding of the world.


Note from me:  It seems as if the world is being taken over by these types!


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One thought on “The Art of Control

  1. Janet Pipes on said:

    There is a new book out called (I think) – A Generation of Sociopaths. (The ME generation). Frightening.

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