How many people have nights where their body is suffused with, flooded by, dominated by a certain primal urge?

You pace restlessly sometimes, other times maintain complete stillness. Always, you're in a full-body muscle lock, twisted but primed. You're sweating, your muscles ache from the tension. You feel like a spring wound taught, ready to burst into action in any direction, any manner, and all you need is a reason.

And there's more to it, in a way, too... all you can think of is slipping out into the darkness, running through and with it, becoming one with it. The mist and wetness and ozone scent, or the dry dustiness, call to you. You wish to run barefoot, nostrils flared.

All you want to do is hunt. But for one reason or another, you cannot allow yourself to do so. You aren't aware of any proper prey in the area you might hunt, you don't know where any of your previously chosen prey is and can't find them, or you don't have any chosen prey at all, but you're afraid to just choose someone at random for any number of reasons.

So you force yourself to stay put. Even if it takes tying yourself to furniture. Even if you grind your teeth to dust, even if you're scaring yourself as thin whimpers of pure desire thread themselves from your teeth. You stay put. You be good. No going outside.

No going outside.

At least once every couple of weeks, this is my life. Other times, the urge is much less overt, but always present on some level or another. As time goes on, I become more and more generally ruthless and survivalist in my other ways, withdrawing socially as my need for personal interaction diminishes (though the feelings I have for specific people are still strong and always will be, I just don't have much patience even for wonderful people these days.)

The problem is not that I hate people. I love people. Or, rather, I love the idea of people. I love the potential of people. I love watching people fulfill their potential.

It fills me with incredible, indescribable rage to watch such huge percentages of humanity not merely squander their potential, but piss on it. And it's one thing to do that with your own life; I'm not a man of much potential myself, and I don't always do my best with what I have. But I keep my bull to myself. Even my killing rages, I stay in the stupid house. That won't always be true, but I'll never take it out on anyone who hasn't *seriously* asked for it. No matter what kind of vicious fantasies I indulge, I know where they belong and where they don't. I put myself through a lot of torment to keep my stuff where it belongs. So I'm idescribably infuriated by people who can't, and even moreso at people who just don't.

Those are Prey. They're mock predators, full of themselves but incapable of keeping their crap together. The priests who rape kids because they can't do it with adults, people who rape others for whatever sick reasons they invent to justify their behaviour, the ganglords and businessmen who destroy people's lives for the benefit of their ego and their wallet. Militant racists. Ubercapitalists. Dictators masquerading as Marxists.

I can't bring myself to hunt the poor bastards left over, so I intend to kill all of them instead. Every single one I can get my hands on.

My intentions aren't entirely altruistic. Part of it is genuine rage, but an equal part, again, is just unwillingness to hurt some random unoffensive person for the sake of fulfilling my lesser, non-survival-related needs. That's a direct violation of the Ways.

Well, sort of.

The longer I go without acting, the more I go in restraint... I feel compressed, supercharged, like without an outlet I'll either detonate or collapse into a singularity and cease to be. It used to be a want, but ever-so-slowly it grows, and by this point, it's unquestionably a need, if a relatively minor one that I can mostly sate via fantasy, sedation via drugs, et cetera. But if I don't vent it somehow useful in the next few years... that might change.

I would go into a career that requires or allows occasional violence, except that it's not just raw violence I'm after. I wish to *hunt*. I long for the pack, to move in silence, to choose one to hunt, to bring them down and watch their death in all levels possible. It is a sacred act which human ancestors engaged in for far longer than we've had no direct need to do so. In me, the drive is still strong.

I often wonder how many of the people I hate are what they are for exactly the same reason I am what I am, except with inferior understanding and control.

I know all sociopaths see themselves as superior, but it's unavoidable in that respect.

Now I'm just musing. That is what this about.