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SaneRaskolnikov

		Back		Interests



	-This is the part where I am supposed to put another man's words that I feel can more perfectly describe who I am, or rather what I would like to believe I am, than I can. I will not.- SaneRaskolnikov, 2009 -I'm not really tied down to any particular place. So, under the right circumstances, I may be willing to relocate- I am 24 years old, and I suppose I'm a bit like the good Dr. Jekyll. Throughout my life I have played the classic gentleman with surprising ease. I am handsome, charming, intelligent, articulate, warm, and kindhearted. There's nothing I like more than intelligent conversation, and I can lose myself for hours arguing the importance of completely unimportant matters. I'm arrogant, but I make up for it by being right all the time. (I'll be the first to admit that I've got a bit of a god complex.) But, under it all, I am a beast, a seething, writhing, sadistic devil of an Edward Hyde. Nothing thrills my heart, or stirs my loins like the sight of a woman in pain. Her eyes brimming with tears, mascara streaming down her cheeks, her flesh quivering under my touch, even as her heart thunders and swoons in her chest...I can be a hell of a brute. I am looking for a 24/7 slave/companion with a positive and pleasant demeanor, someone bright and beautiful, with a brilliant mind and a fiery soul. I'm looking for someone in whom shall have a secretary, a maid, a disciple, a dear friend, and an object with which to quiet my sadistic nature. Be aware, I do not consider this a game, and I am not here to troll for ass. If I contact you, I do so only because I wish to learn more about you. I won't send messages demanding that you fall to your knees and worship my assumed greatness before you even know who I am(My ego is just fine and I don't need your verbal ball licking to feel good about myself). Love and respect must earned if they are to have value. I look forward to earning yours, and learning if you are worthy of mine.

April is the cruelest month, breeding Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing Memory and desire, stirring Dull roots with spring rain. These are my favorite lines of poetry. My favorite poet remains Shelley. Eliot is too complicated. It is true that there is great beauty in his work, he often loses it under a mountain of symbolism. A wise man once told me that the difference between bad writing and terrible writing is that one is short. I believe he was hit by bus. He should have looked down the street instead of studying the lines and wrinkles on his feet.

Alright, I'll admit it. I love fantasy and science fiction. Ohhhh, it feels good to write it. And I don't mean to imply that I only read Tolkien or Asimov(forget for a moment that The Hobbit is my favorite book). I like almost all science fiction. My very favorite is, of course, Doctor Who(Sure, it's a bit cheesy, but it's long been a fantasy of mine to travel to distant lands with a sexy, submissive companion. Incidentally, my favorite incarnation is the Third Doctor.)but I'll always have a soft spot in my heart for Star Trek:TOS, TNG, DS9, and Farscape(Oh Farscape, my great, tragic love). There's something magnificent about the escapism offered by scifi and fantasy.

To the submissives and slaves reading this, thank you for your messages, but try to keep the following in mind: I'm sure you're very cute and I'm very impressed that you love fucking and sucking cock and I'm sure you'd be a great little slave and a happy little cumrag, but I'm a very cerebral man, and unless you've opened a book in the past month I'm not sure we'd have much in common. Yes, I'm looking for someone to fuck and abuse, but I'm also looking for someone to spend the majority of my waking life with. I'd prefer that she understand me when I speak. (Of course, if you'd rather spend your evenings kneeling at the foot of my chair and marveling at how clever I am...)

My favorite books? That one's not so easy... A farewell To Arms, The Hobbit, Crime and Punishment, Grendel, Treasure Island, The Count of Monte Cristo, The Hunchback of Notre Dame(I was actually teary-eyed after closing the last page), Where Men Die, The Philosopher's Dream, The Three Musketeers, and Les Miserables, just to name a few. (And if I'm being really honest...Harry Potter and The Prisoner of Azkaban - Nothing fancy or too deep here, just an all around entertaining read.) My favorite authors use language in fascinating, new ways; scoffing at the "rules" of punctuation and painting scenes with their words that shake the soul and startle the senses. I adore the works of Franz Kafka. (A word on Kafka's The Metamorphosis: It is strange, but I actually found Gregor's transformation comforting as the story unfolded.)

I've been gone for a while...too long I think. It is winter now. When I look at the earth, slumbering under the shimmering glory of winter, I am filled with joy and awe. There is little more enjoyable in this life than a simple stroll across slopping hills and dipping valleys, lit by the orange red glow of the dawning sun. Pulling the crisp air into my chest and exhaling; my breath thick, like cold steam. Smiling at the sky, while little puffs of grey pipesmoke swirl about the atmosphere above my head.

Do try and take one these morning walks yourself...they're beautiful.

It is a strange thing to be alive; to move through the atmosphere and feel it around you moving like waves in the sea, and then to pull that very same substance into your lungs, and feel it fill your whole body; to touch such mundane things a desk, a chair, a keyboard, and marvel at the sensations tickling your skin; to hear rain falling on the city outside your window; to see a flash lightning rip the sky and imagine the history of earth in that one violent moment of light, and then be shaken by the thunderclap. I almost died today. It is a strange thing to be alive.