Luka vs Eric
I made a previous post insisting we call you Luka. You chose the name, not only as an online persona, but legally as well. I personally love the way the name Luka sounds; it has a nice ring to it, it flows so nicely off the tongue. It’s also fairly uncommon and the androgynous nature of the name Luka suits your image so well.
But that’s just it, isn’t it? It really is just an image, the way you wanted the world to see you. The way you wanted to see yourself even. It is this image that so many of us became attracted to and fascinated by in the first place, just like you always wanted.
Only there’s more to the story than Luka the jet-setting model and porn star. The more digging we do into your vast online presence, the more we discover about your past. A picture emerges of a damaged little boy who got lost along the way to what could have been great things. That boy is Eric, not Luka. Eric Clinton Newman, the eldest child, born to teen parents, bounced around, never really belonging. Eric who became troubled, displaying signs of mental illness at a young age and who was medicated as a result. Eric who was bullied in school. Eric who was kicked out on his own at 16. This is the boy we have all come to sympathize with, Eric, not Luka.
While I still don’t like when people call you Eric out of spite, I’m beginning to understand those who do it because they want to know the real you.
Strange… Are you in my thoughts or what? I’ve been thinking the same. I loathe the haters who call him Eric out of spite but the more I dig around to, the more I think of him as Eric, the damaged little boy who got so lost along the way. I hope society will allow him to find his way back.
I suppose Luka Magnotta was what he picked as a stage name really. Luca is quite a popular name at the moment for babies where I live, I think it’s Italian, never really seen it with a K before. Luka never was a jet-setting model or a ‘porn star’, he was a male escort and internet stripper according to his own post about winning the lottery. A lot of Luka’s online history is so contradictory I wonder is he had a split personality or maybe he is schizophrenic or something. It confuses me that someone who murders kittens spent time quoting disney and tweeted quotes about love etc…
Eric is his name. Legally, and according to record. Eric is a fine name.
If you think about it, all of you who feel love, empathy, and compassion for Luka are hurting him by not acknowledging Eric. Luka buried Eric because he was taught to hate Eric/himself. If you truly love Luka, you need to love and respect Eric, and help him love and respect Eric. Afterall, if he had done that sooner he may not be where he is today. Luka needs to love and embrace Eric to truly love himself.
I went to Montreal this weekend past. It was fun. Strip Club <3 for Bachelorette Party.
This just makes me want to cry for Luka even more. Some people are so hateful, they ARE what they hate the most! I want to hug him so much ♥
I totally understand what you’re saying about his background and youth. I, however was abused for most of my childhood years, as were all of my siblings. I don’t care to go into detail but suffice it to say that my oldest sibling has not been in contact with our family for some 40 years now. I’ve heard that she stated 30 years ago(to my little sister) that all the nightmares and fear stopped when she cut off the entire family. I don’t blame her–it’s her way of surviving and coping. And I won’t describe the abuse and humilation and at times, true torture….but I did not grow up to be a murder of innocent animals nor a murder of an innocent young man.
I was beaten on a regular basis while growing up and then one day I was kicked out of my house and disowned at the age of 15.. The reason I got kicked out was that my mother(on one of her usual search missions of all of our personal items) discovered a love letter from another female I had hidden. I was ordered to ‘change or leave’. I was called horrible names(deviant, ‘lezzie’, ungrateful bitch and child molester) and was then threatened/reminded of my worst fear when my mother said, “You just wait til your father gets home you dirty lezzie.” I don’t wish to describe what happened when dad got home. But I was basically beaten, disowned, beaten again, called a foul ‘lezzie’, a deviant, and evil. When it came time that my parents grew tired of their torments I was told by my mother to leave. When I picked up a garbage bag to leave I was told, “Oh no. You’re not putting your filthy on MY garbage bag. You can take THREE things and leave you whore!”
I’ll never forget it. I was 15, but so immature[because we were often punished by isolation] in some ways that the three things I picked to take with me were: a stupid handheld PacMan game, my prized photo album with older pictures of my deceased precious grandparents and me & my siblings as small children. I remember how I loved that photo album because we really looked like a happy family. We faked our smiles so well because if we didn’t-we were beaten, humiliated or worse. Anyway, I remember I used to pretend the smiles were real. The third item I took was a big stuffed gorilla I slept with for comfort. There was no way I was leaving without him.
So…suffice it to say I lived in the woods for a few weeks because I had nowhere else to turn to, as my older brother was in the Navy and my oldest sister refused contact with any of her family. All during this time while living in the woods or ‘the cornfield’ as we called it, I continued to go to high school-determined to be the first one who graduated from high school. I thought ‘maybe if I graduate they will love me’. But I was mistaken. One day when I went into work(I could work 4 hours per evening/4 nights per week with working papers due to my young age) my kitchen manager told me something akin to ‘you look like a bum. what’s going on?’ I broke down and told her. And she showed me sympathy. She allowed me to sleep in her garage…this was in november, so I remember how I would freeze there every night laying on a cold cement floor with no light(this was not a ‘finished’ garage and if FELT like sleeping in a walk-in refrigerator). So…it was nice to have four walls, a roof, and a floor to sleep on–yet I still felt like an unlovable dog that no one wanted.
I stayed there in that garage for about 2 1/2 weeks until one day my manager stated, “You gotta stop being such a bum and find somewhere to live. You’re not even paying me a cent for sleeping in my garage.” This made me feel even worse. I was making minimum wage($3.25 per hour) and only allowed to work 16 hours per week. And I would stay out in the woods until it was dark so I didn’t infringe on them and their family’s privacy. That night while everyone slept, I got my three items, an acquired pillow/comforter and left the garage and began walking in the middle of the night. I went back to what I knew–’the cornfield’. I remember some 29 year old red haired man kep finding me and talking to me. I felt uneasy but didn’t know why(I was sheltered and didn’t even know what sex was or a ‘molester’ as my mother called me). I remember he grabbed me by the arm and took me up the hill to his mother’s house. He had on these ugly mustard colored shorts and wreaked of chlorine from swimming in his pool. His breath smelled of beer–a smell I’d already grown to despise as my father was a beer drinker. I remember being afraid when he put my hands in those shorts and started to get hard, but I was so shy and afraid I didn’t know how to just RUN! His mother came out and saw me sitting on his lap. She said “Get rid of that bitch.” He whispered to me to go back down the hill and wait until it was dark and showed me which window to knock on and he said ‘You can sleep next to me tonight. You’ll be nice and warm.” I thanked him and told him I would do that. And I didn’t do that. I remember running as fast as I could and the next thing I knew I was in another set of woods two townships away. I remember finding a 2 dimes on the ground while walking through those new woods and used one dime to call my little sister. She’d told me she’d had my sister’s phone number for 2 years but had kept a secret from all of us at the request of my eldest sister. I called my sister, told her I was kicked out(didn’t say why though), and she said she would immediately pick me up.
Long story short–my little sister told her one night(not maliciously, mind you) the reason why I was kicked out. My sister immediately came to my ‘room’–a more comfortable garage and telling me in so many words, “I cannot have a deviant in my house that will molest my daughters while I’m at work. Leave now.” This was where I forgot my PacMan game due to acquiring a few notebooks(to write poetry), some hand-me-downs from my eldest sister, and another blanket. I had no one to call-so I called the girl who had written me the love letter. I was 15. She was 24. She told me on the phone, “I’ll send my boyfriend to come get you.” Boyfriend? I had no idea she had a boyfriend. Long story short, the boyfriend was 45 and I could not leave that apartment for 6 months. I was basically a prisoner.
There is so much more to my story that I could tell, but you get the general idea. Lots of us have had abusive, degrading, tortuous upbringings….yet we have grown into fine individuals. I have even devoted my career to helping the sick. I am not patting myself on the back by saying that–I am only trying to show that people have a choice. I began to feel anger, violence, hatred….but I chose to ignore those feelings and instead began to help others. My experiences made me a good person because i decided the did make me stronger and wiser. One’s past is never an excuse. And I will NEVERE find myself saying even ONCE, “Ohh…I can totally understand how he could murder at least one person and degrade his body and memory by filming these atrocities and being boastful on top of all of it.” Never. Because he had a choice. He chose to be a weakling and drug someone in order to overpower them because he didn’t have the balls to choose what is ‘right’ and moral and decent.
One problem I have too….not trying to put down anyone, mind you. But I have no idea how anyone can form this ‘sympathizing’ feeling towards Mr. Newman without at least witnessing that ‘other side’ of him where he degraded a wonderful human being. How can you ‘understand’ Mr. Newman without witnessing what he does when he is alone in his own disgusting mind?
Peace to all…
Hi all. Just wanted to say that I really appreciate this blog. I am one of Eric’s cousins, and it’s nice to know that there are people out there who are trying to understand him rather than just dismissing him as a human being. This really touched my heart, thank you for posting this!!