A Little Evil Everywhere


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To the editors of The San Pasadeas Inquirer 

June 5th 1979 


Dear Sirs,


 I am writing, because I am sick and tired of the way your newspaper has portrayed me, in the months since my arrest. You would have people believe I am a monster, pure and simple, but there is much more to me than what your paper has printed. You can't scoop a handful of water from the ocean and say, "Well, now I know all about this." But that's what people do. People are dumb. 


For example, how many people, all those former friends and acquaintances, have come forward in my defence? So so many. They are all shocked and confused by my arrest, and the horror of the crimes with which I am charged. They all swear, it couldn't possibly be me. I just wasn't that kind of fellow. Well, let me tell you, the true monsters of this world are not hiding under your bed. They don't come out at night, with their teeth barred, and saliva dripping down their chins... True monsters, the truest monsters, hide in plain sight. They are the most ordinary of people. 


In the months, since I have been incarcerated, I have been paraded before plenty of "experts", who come with the intention of "finding an answer". They examine my history, looking for a clue, or some childhood event that set me off on this path of destruction. They say things like, "He has all the hallmarks of psychopath..." Society wants you to believe we can put people in boxes, because, it just makes things easier. It helps you sleep at night, if you know exactly what the bad guy looks like. Then you know who to keep at a distance. We don't want to believe it's our mothers and fathers - those very people tucking us in, who are the evil ones. We don't want to believe what our precious sons and daughters are capable of, but, I promise you, we've all got the power to kill. 


There is evil in everyone. Every single one of your readers is a monster in their own right, and should the circumstances be so, they can do more evil in this world than I ever could. A little evil here, a little evil there. There are little evils happening everywhere, all the time, and they all add up. All this evil gets stockpiled in this world until it produces a man like me. For I am merely a product of our times. Yet, I am held up, and proclaimed as a monster, when really, I am your son. You have all made me what I am, and then you draw back in horror at your creation. 


Yes, I have killed people. I killed a lot of people. But this earth is so crowded already, what is one or two, or hell, even forty, less? What difference does it make? The way I see it, I am performing a service. We all die eventually. People die every day, and for the most part, it is accepted. But you have a handful of people who exit this life in what is considered, an "unnatural" way, and suddenly there's quite the hoo-ha. Natural, unnatural - in those last moments, it is all the same. As Nietzsche says: "You have your way. I have my way. As for the right way, the correct way, and the only way, it does not exist." 


Now if I am going to start quoting, I will offer up some Jung, who said, "Thinking is difficult, that's why most people judge." And of that crime, that very great crime, at the very least, I hereby accuse your readers. You'll sit back, behind the safety of your newspapers, and your evening news bulletins, and you judge my crimes as heinous? 


The only difference between you and me is that when you glimpse that evil in your heart, your reaction is to panic. You feel sick to your stomachs. You are ashamed. A beast lies within you, who must be concealed. You feel alone. You feel defective. You question... so you go to church, or you drink; you do whatever you can to help push the beast way down, until you can pretend it isn't there. And then you sit there, with your newspapers, your scoop of water, your iota of information, and you judge me? You all need to start judging yourselves, and the lies that you live. 


Because when I saw that beast inside me, when I looked into his eyes, I did not feel shame. I opened my arms, and I embraced him. The only difference between us is that I am not ashamed to be who I truly am. You live in denial, whereas I am the me I was always meant to be. You all live in fear of yourselves, while I am living my best life. 


You judge me as a depraved killer, and a monster, but the line between us is gossamer thin. I am merely a man who grasps opportunities when they are presented to me. I am a man who does not hesitate. I am a man who follows my dreams, and that is all I have done, pure and simple. Who are you to say, that I cannot do, what I was born to do? We raise our children to pursue their dreams, but when someone like me, finally does exactly that, I am condemned. You think you are so much better than me, when in reality, you cower in fear of your own shadows. 


Your article on the 16th of April, described my crimes as "random" and "frenzied", two words, to which, I take much objection. I assume, Sirs, that you have no idea of the amount of work that goes into taking someone's life. There is much in the way of planning and preparation to be done. I am meticulous in my work. It is my gift to my victim. It is all for them, after all. It is an act of purest love. 


And yes, I have killed people, it is undeniable, but I am not guilty. No, Sirs. How could I possibly be guilty? To be guilty, one must be remorseful, and that I am not. I have done nothing but follow my passions. My passion is providing a service. Dying is a lonely business, and as I see it, I am merely helping people. I am with them, in their moment of death, which is the greatest service one can offer a fellow human being. It is a deeply intimate thing, what I do. And I promise that I will be with them, until the end. I will not let them go. 


So, in conclusion, Sirs, you are wrong to portray me as a monster. I am a dreamer, as we all are. Imagine if you will, a little girl who sits before a dolls house - who is she in this game she plays, but god? Imagine the writer who sits before the wad of paper and amuses himself with the fate of his characters - who is he when he takes up his pen, but god? Chess players play at war, like gods... I could go on, but, you can plainly see, that all these people are just like me. All these people have the same dream as me, except that my dream is much bigger. My dream could not be contained. I exist on a higher level, because I have reached out and grasped that power, over life and death that others can only wish for! I am the god of gods. 


I am no monster, Sirs, but I don't expect you to understand me, for I am beyond your scope. I am above you. I chose the path of enlightenment. I have seen what others cannot begin to comprehend. I embraced my evil; I fear it not, and neither should you. 


If there is one thing this world has taught me, Sirs, it is that William Shakespeare was right. "To thine own self be true.


Yours Sincerely 

Dennis Anthony Dunne

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