"Better to write for yourself and have no public, than write for the public and have no self." - Cyril Connolly
One of Harry's most basic rules was never to make a scrapbook of the newspaper articles about those few parts of my hobby that are discovered. It makes sense, like all of the rules. Don't give them the rope they use to hang yourself, dear Dexter, which they will all too gladly if they catch you. I'm sure Harry would have something to say about my trophies in their little rosewood box in that very special shelf. But a man, even an imitation man, simply must have his little pleasures if he is to make it through the dry spells. Besides those little glass slides with drops of, dried, blood aren't that out of place for someone in my line of work. But I've wandered off topic. Don't collect the articles about your own work, daring Dexter, let it be enough on its own.
The truth is that it would never be a problem for me. I simply do not give a hummingbird's fart about what the greater world has to say about what I do. The world in general simply does not posses the education and sense of taste to understand the truth of the work I do. Dexter disenchanted. They look at the men and women that I kill and only see the romanticized echos of the humanity they believe the deceased once possessed. Those uneducated eyes fail to see the art in how carefully the bodies are disposed of, how clean the work is, how neat. At best, a profiler would guess that I wrap the lovely packages in an attempt to delay being caught. After all what self respecting serial killer has such serious issues with blood? Perhaps a psychiatrist from the state will be able to explain in greater detail to me some day when I'm old and a well established monster.
Though I am less inclined to allow myself get caught for the attention it might draw to Cody. Daddy Dexter must protect his offspring, even when genetics don't come into play. On the other hand, with the certain lack of sense most profilers have, they might reduce the pressure on my dear brother Brian. We do have such similar compulsions. Imagine that given our shared incident. And doesn't Dexter sound ever so delightfully domestic? Watching over my step-son to be and until recently found brother just like a real human. Well, even an artificial human such as myself has to get in the habit after enough time pretending. But, be still and calm loyal listeners, dashing Dexter forgot what it might bring to Deborah and how it would destroy her hard won new life. Perhaps I will have to accept that I cannot allow myself to be caught.
Until then, I will continue to ignore the critics in the newspapers. It has less to do with the ever important rules left behind by my ever wise foster father and more to do with a simple truth about my broken self. My performances are never for an audience, well, maybe for Brian but that's another issue. Ideally no one will ever know of the art I produce. It's for me and whatever mockery of a soul I might possess as a fake person. They are my creations and revelations for the need of the Dark Passenger and I. Always by Harry's rules, but always for us.