Do not touch the crocodiles

There is a photo that embarrasses me.

A perfect document of the unfathomable human stupidity.

In it I pose with a goofy smile while petting a crocodile in front of a “Do not touch crocodiles

sign .

I have remembered her when watching the HBO Max documentary

in which Evan Rachel Wood, the divine Dolores Abernathy of the tedious

, recounts the abuse she was subjected to by Marilyn Manson.

Knowing the trajectory of the musician, it is tempting to fall into blaming his victims.

There are some.

How they would have blamed me for ending up in the crocodile's intestine.

Wondering what brought them into the arms of a guy whose stage name honors a psychopath.

An apologist for violence whom the documentary shows 20 years ago boasting on television of having tortured an admirer without anyone on the set changing their rictus.

That data hides the answer.

For more than 20 years, Manson has been treated like a god by too many, and God is not rejected, Wood emphasizes.

Although in many moments of the documentary, more than a deity, he seems like a wanking teenager who has seen

too many times .

One wonders why we are so permissive with the violent.

On Monday we went from being dismayed at an attack, to hearing applause for the aggressor.

Move on, nothing has happened.

Like when Kanye West, drunk and furious, crashed Taylor Swift's party without consequences.

There are none in any field.

There are the aggressive outbursts from jerks like Kyrgios or Djokovic.

"Bad boys" they call them,

.

Attractive labels to cover up dangerous behaviors that we justify blinded by the presumed genius of those who perpetrate them.

Instead of pushing them away, we hugged them with goofy grins.

Another sample of the unfathomable human stupidity.

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