Envelopes of old memories

I found back some old photos. For some reason or none they were inside the envelope of a letter by Richard Ramirez with whom I corresponded for a while a few years ago. Since the mail, both incoming and outgoing, was heavily screened by San Quentin Prison we could never really talk much about interesting topics though. I learned about his death in the online news last year - hoping he's in a much better place now.

Since I have no means of scanning I took photos of the photos.
Most of the people in the first one are also dead, except for the little girl with the very ugly haircut.
It's me with my grandparents. I liked my grandpa. But not my tyrannic grandma, who was responsible for the horrible haircut. I hated both her and the haircut, and also the clothes I was made to wear. I wished to have long hair, long black hair, and to wear black clothes and to be evil and feared. But instead I lived in fear and tyranny myself. So, no happy memories.

 My grandpa was a very quiet man, by himself nice to get along with. His only mistake was to have picked a really nasty wife. Still kind of sad that he was the first who died.

No idea about my age in the first two pics, I guess about 8 years?
In the next one I'm about 14. With a double mohawk and trying to be badass, but sadly no muscles. But at least you can tell the age of rebellion had definitely dawned.

 And the next is me at about 17, and yes, the hair was violet.

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Those were the days. I'm glad the better ones have dawned by now, and there are no more "blood relatives" left to bother me; those who are still alive (if they are?) I have no contact with.
I've always been on the evil track... and still going stronger than ever. I can't seem to find this extremely dark kind of spirituality anywhere else but have to find my very own. The quest for power continues...