Let's talk about the psychology of crime. Hurray - and everyone thought that I would now post the old secrets of making crushed glass on the Internet. They can feed a jealous husband or a noisy neighbor until they pass away. And everyone will wonder what happened to them. No, no, no. I'm talking about something else entirely.
The fact that everyone has two wolves inside from birth to death, a white and a black one. One is good, the other is not very good. Whatever we do, we feed one of them. Whoever eats more, he steers. But not one dies: you can always change the accent and start feeding the abandoned and hungry, ceasing to feed the big and well-fed.
So that's it. Each of us is a criminal. Remember? I didn't do my homework at school - why? They took my grandfather to the hospital, the electricity-gas-water-telephone and the air at home were turned off, and another fire, half the city burned down. And at home, how was the deuce explained? Everyone was put on by a crazy teacher who has an eternal PE-EM-ES, even if it's a man. It was? It was. A stolen poppy seed bun? Come on, do not hesitate, there is nothing tastier in the world. And the deuce in the magazine corrected? We somehow stole the entire magazine, class. Well.
Every criminal, who was the breadwinner of the white wolf yesterday, fights with his own demons all his life. And he goes on a crime, just to feed the wolf, to amuse himself, to indulge in endorphins, to dad-mom-wife-husband-children or someone else to prove something. In general, the crime itself is not an end, but only a means, and this must be understood. And rapists (both adults and children) do it because the feeling of power gives them such a euphoric rise that even cocaine recedes, in the sense of losing. And bank robbers, not only (more precisely, not so much) go for money, although money is the second ingredient of eternal buzz in addition to power, how much by the very fact of the willingness to take risks and participation in the robbery procedure they delight themselves, amuse, groom, love, cherish and excite. They thus stand out from the crowd of gray, ordinary, cowardly people who live unremarkable lives and try to enjoy all sorts of stupid things like food, family, work, vacation travel, a new car, etc. etc.
So. A criminal is any person who is not satisfied with life, or rather, his own role in it, and is looking for ways to tickle the nerves in order to fill this empty, useless life with something worthwhile. Survive an adventure, cross the line, run blood around a large perimeter and rise above yourself and the crowd. All. Here is an explanation of why and why we all (okay, okay, not all - just a few) do this. And this set includes not only murders, robberies and violence, but also a chair pulled out from under a sitting student-student-employee. At the same time he falls to the floor, everyone laughs, and you are a hero. A simple set of ingredients for a drop of happiness. Then you can accidentally push the girl you like (but you get zero attention, a pound of contempt) in the back. She will fall down the stairs, break her leg or arm. If you're lucky, both. Now she is hurt and bad, but you, on the contrary, feel good (she will know how to ignore the necessary attention to you). But you also feel bad, a little bit, because you know that you have done nasty and nasty things. And the wolf, which is black, fed, rages inside and grows by leaps and bounds.
All crimes are based on this. There are no other motives. True, forensic scientists will probably bring up a whole train of different ones. But if we, like cabbage, “undress” them and remove all unnecessary, - in the area of the stump, at the origins, that is, the same motives that we are talking about here will be found. And naturally, questions like “what to do?” Arise that haunt many scientists, politicians and Comrade Chernyshevsky personally.
What is there to do? And do nothing. We do not have a meal in humans. We will not make him an angel, no matter how hard you try. And we won’t kill the black wolf, even if it’s not fed. He’s there, bastard, sitting and patiently waiting for his time, which is sure to come. You, my dears, have no doubt. No, of course, you can put a rubber statue of a boss in the lobby of the company and give out a baseball bat to everyone who wants to. Let the bastard be beaten until the pulse is lost. Deserved it. Maybe they feel better. Feel better. But this relief does not go to any comparison with the picture of a pile of bloodied meat, which just recently was a living boss and scoffed at everyone as it wanted. And the baseball bat, also red, lies nearby, recalling what happened.
No, it's me, of course, joking about meat and especially about the bat. But the idea is clear. We very often (okay, some of us - very rarely) want to be on the warpath with someone and do something like that, for which then the cockroaches in their heads will applaud for a long time and standing. But more often than not, you manage to restrain yourself and direct this energy to something creative. For example, bake a cake or decorate a Christmas tree, tie socks or plant flowers in the garden.
It works, but not always. And now we understand why. Although, it is quite possible that you knew about this before. In the end, there is nothing special here. There was a boss - and suddenly bam, and no. Fell out the window. Himself. By chance. And there is no dropout bystanders. There are only witnesses to the landing. Who helped him, who pushed him, and why everything is a secret hidden in darkness.
That's enough for today, I think, friends. See you. Hello to the wolves.
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