Slave Bruce: Do You engage in public scenes?
Sophia:Not "scenes" as such. The term "scene" implies some level of consensuality, some pre-arranged script which people have constructed and planned to act out. Obviously, that sort of thing doesn't appeal to me.But do I use public places to intensely humiliate individuals? With glee. First and foremost, the person I'm most likely to humiliate in public is a complete stranger. Public places are, after all, by their very definition populated by an ample supply of strangers. A game I have played, more when I was younger than now, is to find someone at their workplace and make overt eye contact with them.
It's possible I've played out this little trick, or some variant of it, fifty times or more, but the instance that has brought me the most smiles was when I was 17 at a restaurant called The Eagle Cafe. It's the sort of place I wouldn't ever voluntarily plan on dining at now that I'm in my culinary heyday, but I was young and naive and besides, my friends at the time really liked to spend weekends in the area and eat there, then go to a nearby club that had a lax policy on letting groups of minors in, provided they were all female and all hot. (Seriously, people used to ask me if they could come out with us, and I would have to tell them (or get to tell them),"No, I sorry. I don't think we can get in to the club if you're with us.
They only let us in because they are trying to fill up the club with really attractive girls." But I digress.) Anyway, the crucial element here of this particular incident is that I was at a restaurant that wasn't one of my favorites. Now, as I always do, I picked the seat with my back to the wall so that I could engage, visually, with any interesting people in the restaurant. It's far better than staring at a blank wall for the entirety of a meal.
Several tables away, there was party of approximately eight guys, all much older than me and my friends. Now a group of eight people, all guys, together at a restaurant is a real rarity. I assumed they were either frat or military. The hair cuts didn't scream military, but nobody in their group had long enough hair to exclude the possibility either. Alternatively, they could have been a gaggle of guys from a small-time college sports team of some sort.
They appeared to be vaguely "touristy", they were very happy, very loud, and seemed unduly impressed by the surroundings. In any case, they were clearly planning on having a good time that night, and they had come to the restaurant to have an early meal before they began their clubbing or bar hopping or whatever it is they did for a good time. Of the guys in this group, one guy in particular caught my eye. He was, honestly, gorgeous. He had a very confident demeanour. The guys around him clearly looked up to him, in that alpha male sort of way. You could tell he thought very highly of himself. He was looking to flirt and was confident that he would be able to succeed in that endeavor. He had a beer in front of him, confirming that my guess of his age, 21-23, was accurate.
He was undeniably attractive, in great shape, his forearms rippling with muscle whenever he reached for his beer, an expensive watch on his wrist. He was hot, and he knew it. And I DESPISE guys like that.So, I did my thing. I'd done it many times before that night and I've done occasionally since that night, but this guy in that restaurant was probably the best it ever happened. And it so simple how it starts. I just look. Just look at my guy. But not staring, as soon as he looks at you, you let your eyes pause, then smile and look away, almost as if you are embarrassed. And then you repeat the process, until you're sure he has noticed.
When that happens, the guy will start "aggressively" looking at you, i.e., spending a disproportionate amount of time looking at you, trying to get your attention. Then you can play coy, looking up at him and seeing him light up, and briefly smiling back, but then looking away and returning to your conversation. When you smile and he immediately lights up and smiles back, you've got him. For the next step, timing is everything. I want to make the move before he does. He's aggressive, he's a wolf, right? He can only take so much eye contact before he'll walk across the room and try to ask your group to go out with his group; or if he lacks balls, he'll just ask for a club recommendation and then "arrange" for his group show up there, all so he can hit on me. And nobody wants that (well, except him).
On the other hand, I wanted to be sure to give him time to tell all his dining companions that a "hottie" was checking him out. Guys aren't particularly swift, they're pathetically transparent. Sure enough, soon the guys at his table began to, one by one, turn around in their chairs, pretending to stretch. Obviously, they were trying to look at the hot girl who was "making eyes" at their friend. And when a "timely stretch" was completed, they would turn back to speak to their alpha dog leader, confirming that I was indeed very hot. He beamed and it. It was obvious they were impressed.
Anyway, there are a million ways to get the timing right, but that night, I did a trite "oldie but a goodie". Having ordered coke with cherries, I delicately fished out one the cherries, dangled it as if I was having trouble handling it, then placed it on my tongue, closed my lips around it, and pulled out the stem, and then consumed the cherry. In doing so, I looked like I was completely oblivious, when actually, I was observing their behavior. Almost everyone at the table, all the way down, looked.
"My" boy seemed to mouth "oh my god, she...' something, to alert his friends that something oral-related was occurring. So stop to appreciate the situation. The "alpha male" at the other table has told his friends about me. They all know he wants me. They all respect him for being able to interest a girl like me. They all look up to him, and they are used to him getting the "best" and the "hottest". But it's lonely at the top, and they all hate him for it too.
That's the nature of envy. They respect him on the one hand, but they envy him his confidence and his success on the other. Guys can pretend to be blind to the relative hotness of other males, but they aren't, they know who's attractive and who's repulsive, and they envy him his male-model looks. If they are a sports team, it's obvious he's the best, the captain or the quarterback or whatever, and they kinda hate him for that too.
Now, the evening hasn't even begun, they're not even at a club yet, and already he has the hottest girl in the room going for him. They respect that, and they despise it. The situation is a powder keg awaiting a spark. And I love playing with matches. So, having set it up, I went in for the kill. I delicately stood up, stared directly at my guy, and confidently walked straight across the restaurant to him. He smiled BIG when he realized I was coming over, but the guy sitting directly across from him (who had his back turned) didn't know what he was smiling about, so he turned to look, and saw me when I was only a few feet away.
He looked shocked that I was walking over, and he quickly jerked his head back. I walked up to the side of the tables, so that I wasn't talking over anyone's head but so all the guys could see me. I paused for just a split second, the whole table got quiet. I turned to my guy and said "Excuse me, but could I ask your name". He grinned "Sure, yeah, My name's Scott" he shot back confidently. I smiled back. "Scott, okay, I'm going to be really embarrassed if I'm wrong about this, but is it just me or have you been kinda looking at me for, like, 15 minutes now?"
He half-laughed and just said "uhh, yeah", nodding. I abruptly wiped the ingratiating smile from my face, and I could see a flicker of confusion dart through his mind. "That's what I thought." I said angrily. "Scott, you need to stop staring at girls who are underage. AND out of your league. It's just creepy and gross. Stop looking at me, freak". I so desperately wanted to see his reaction. I wanted to watch his pain, I wanted to soak it up, to savor it, but I was committed to achieving the maximum effect, so I couldn't wait around. I spun around and confidently strode back to my own table.
As I walked away, the table full of guys were dead silent for a moment, and then there were HOWLS of laughter aimed at Scott. All the guys at the table were just roaring with laughter at him. From the sound of it, they had been waiting forever to see him get shot down, and this was beyond their wildest dreams.When I sat back down, some of my friends were shocked, "What did you SAY to him?!" they demanded to know. They had seen heard the laughter but not the conversation.
Two of my closest friends already knew what I had told him, they had seen my little routine before. We stayed. Scott looked devastated, but of course, he didn't look anywhere NEAR my side of the restaurant. He was trying to play it off like it was a joke, but he looked like he had been punched in the face. His table-mates seemed to be enjoying the situation for some time, and Scott eventually got up and went to the bathroom. I've always wondered if he cried in there. It's sick, but I hope he did.
When he came back, he had regained his composure, and his group left the restaurant soon thereafter. He never once looked ANYWHERE near me. After the bill was split and paid, he and his friends got up, left the restaurant, and I never saw them again. That was my senior year, 2002, so it was quite a while ago, but I've thought about it, thousands of times since. I first started doing that "stop looking at underage girls" trick very young, probably 13. I have done it a lot, when I get bored.
Trains and airport terminals were some of the easiest places, everyone sitting opposite each other and a large selection of people to look at. Employees who were in front of their bosses were some of the most degrading of the victims. But my all time favorite is Scott. Most people who see me in public have a tiny glimmer of hope that maybe I'm interested, but Scott's level of confidence is hard to find. The audience couldn't have been more perfect, guys he was trying to impress but who secretly wanted him to fail. He had had plenty of time to brag to them that I was checking him out. It was the most perfect performance of that particular game.
Yes, I've done far worse to strangers in public. And I've done far, far, far worse to non-strangers in public. But my "stop staring at girls who are out of your league" routine has a special place in my heart because it is PURE 100% me. When I started doing it, I didn't really understand why I liked it so much. I began doing it before I ever even considered the possibility that I was incredibly different than other people. It just felt wonderful, and I just naturally began doing it. My first victims of that routine were unpopular kids in a middle school cafeteria. And by the time I was 15, it was one of my favorite games to play. There was a time when, hanging out with my friends over the weekend, I would do it every single weekend. And although I long ago graduated to far more severe things, more skillful things, more intense things, the truth is I still play the "stop looking at women who are out of your league" game from time to time. It makes me feel so indescribably wonderful.
Slave Bruce: Cool! If someone gave You 1 million dollars what would You do?
Sophia: Well, that's the real question isn't it. You see, most people live their lives by fixating on a goal and equating that goal with happiness. So long as they never achieve that goal, they can perpetually strive towards it, living their lives blindly.
After all, most people receive their "goals" in childhood, parents and society issues "goals" right along with safety scissors and #2 pencils. Most people never, ever have to face the question of constructing their own lives, they can remain in the safe ignorance of pursuing an unattainable goal. In ages past, the goal was simply survival, the goal was to get enough food. In such times, people never had to stop and wonder whether their lives had meaning; they never had to think about what it means to exist in a world where ten thousand years from now everything we know will have been erased and forgotten.
These primitive people never had to face such questions, they were too busy trying to eat. Now, those people who reside in industrialized nations have their survival guaranteed. But they cannot handle the pressures of actually considering the reality of the human condition. So, they frantically look for another goal to fixate on, to focus on, to serve as a token representing happiness.
For many, that goal is wealth. "If only I had a million dollars..." they say. And so they can fixate on that, and in doing so, they never have to take the responsibility of truly creating their own life. In this way, they can sleepwalk through life, forever running from the burden that is the power to create a life of their own.
But for a rare few of us, tangible goals are hard to come by. Without divulging too much, my financial independence was guaranteed before I was born, so for reasons that have nothing to do with who I am or my overall amazingness, "wealth" as a life goal was mostly taken off the table. No matter what you're born into, you can always strive to acquire more assets if that is your bent, but for me at least, the pursuit of greater wealth has always seemed silly.
With greater wealth might come greater affluence, but the essential fact is that my financial needs are going to be met throughout the course of my life. Some people think money buys happiness. It doesn't. It buys power. It buys freedom. What you do with that power and that freedom is the real question. And for most people, nothing terrifies them more than having to live their own lives, having no one in control but themselves, being in the driver's seat of their own life.
People will frantically do anything to avoid such a fate. They will seek out leaders and throw away their money in exchange for a chance to be led. They will invent gods and spirits and throw away their money on charlatans if only they can be cured of the curse of freedom and free will. But a few of us do have the courage, the 'will to power', the strength to run our own lives. And this brings the question: What do you do when you get practically everything you want? What DO you do with your life when you have financial security without even having had to ask for it? What do you do with your life when popularity is yours for the taking? What do you do with your life when picking a beau is as straightforward as ordering from a restaurant menu. What do you do with your life when you can ace standardized tests without ever having picked up a study guide? A century of philosophy has considered this question, but the answer boils down to this. If you despise the freedom, you go mad or you kill yourself. If you revel in the freedom, you make your life a work of art. You make yourself both the artist and audience, and the whole world is your ball of clay. I choose the latter.
Slave Bruce: Are You a Female Supremacist?
Sophia: Before I answer, let's talk for a moment about what being a Female Supremacist actually entails. First and foremost, it means I absolutely do believe in human inequality. This is a very substantial departure from the platitudes espoused by most modern western societies, so I don't want to just gloss over this. It's self-evident that all people are created equal, that's what we're told. But I think we all know, deep down, the truly self-evident fact is that reality is quite the contrary.
Face it, some individuals are inherently better than others. Some people are ugly and repulsive to behold, others are beautiful and addictive to gaze upon. Some people are idiots who can barely tie their own shoes, others are brilliant and able to see the truths most people are blind to. Some people are abrasive and grating, others are charismatic. Some people are cowards, perpetually running from anxieties, others are courageous, whose force of will can give them total control over their own lives. Some people have low self-esteem and will trade self-respect for attention, others know they are rare and priceless and utterly spectacular. Some people are weak, some people are strong.
By any reasonable standard, some people have more value than others. Some people are better than others. And if you're the kind of person who is reading this page, then it's a veritable certainty that I am better than you. Period.This idea completely terrifies most people. It is so scary that they will go to elaborate lengths to invent complex fictions just to avoid it. "Everyone is created equal" is one fiction. Perhaps everyone is created equal, but just three short years after their creation, some will be reading on their own, while others will still be trying to grasp the concept of why they shouldn't just defecate in their own pants.
Another lie that has been concocted is the notion of "uniqueness" and "specialness". This sort of thinking acknowledges the inherent differences between people, but it stubbornly refuses to attach any value to the differences. Everyone is equally "special" and equally valuable. So while some people are good at art and some are good at math and some are blonde and some brunette, ultimately everyone is still just as special. This archetype, of the equally special, sometimes pops up in teen comedies, plots where each character has both strengths and weaknesses and they have to learn to work together to conquer adversity.
A film might feature the beautiful, popular cheerleader who is a ditz at school, and how she agrees to be tutored by the brainy but socially awkward geek girl. Eventually they learn from each other, the ditz starts acing her tests while the geek girl learns to party. I'm sure you know what I mean. The critical point is that neither is "better" than the other, they're just different, oh, and they need each other. It's a soothing fairytale, but it's only a fairytale. Sure, there are socially awkward losers who are good at math. Sure, there are pretty faces who can barely spell their own name. But towering above them all, there are people who are virtually perfect. People who are smart, and popular, and beautiful, and successful, and charismatic, and witty, and ingenious, and deep, etc.
Case in point, the old 80's film The Breakfast Club features a collection of characters who are each "special and unique". A brainy geek whose isolation drives him to the brink of suicide. A star athlete who is actually filled with guilt over hazing weaker kids. A "princess" who is beautiful and admired, but ultimately lonely and torn between her feuding parents. A "basket case" who is artistic and screaming to be different, but who is mentally ill, neglected, and threatening to run away from home. And a "criminal", a roguish figure whose father abuses him. The message is that they all have their strengths and their weaknesses, and none is really "better" than any of the others.
So reassuring. Everyone is different, but everyone is still special and still weak and still puts their pants on one leg at a time. Except, there are people who don't fit that model. There are people who are as smart as the smartest high school "brain", but have the social skills of the most popular "princess". There are people who are as admired as a star "athlete" but who are as unconstrained by the normal rules of society as the hardest of high school "criminals". There are people who possess the artistic genius of the "basket case", but are completely devoid of the emotional weakness that usually accompanies such "individuality". I am such a person. I am better than you. I am better than almost everyone. I always have been. This isn't bragging, this isn't an act, this isn't pretend, this is just the way it's always been. Life is a game, and there ARE winners and there ARE losers. I win. And if you're reading this, chances are, you're a loser. Now, let's return to the initial question?
Slave Bruce: Okay, the original question was, are You a Female Supremacist?
Sophia: Mostly. I believe some people are inherently superior to others, and in general, I believe most women are superior to most males. The situation is roughly analogous to dogs and cats. Males, like dogs, are generally simple creatures. Their emotions are limited, their thoughts are as plain as the nose on their faces, for most males broadcast whatever they are feeling to the whole room. Males are usually completely and utterly transparent. You can sit and watch their little minds work. When they desire you, it's clear just by the way they look at you. When they are envious or jealous or competitive, it's right there, as if each carries a neon sign broadcasting their current state of mind to anyone who knows how to read.
Speaking broadly, males tend to be almost "blind" to emotional subtleties. They're often unable to comprehend women, and this is why so many male often remark the female moods appear completely random. The males are so far from deducing the pattern that underlies more complex thought processes that they simply give up and declare that women are entirely random. This always makes me smile. For while women may seem unpredictable, males are completely predictable in their responses. But these are generalities, let me substantiate them with clear points.
Take the statistic that almost all violent crimes are committed by males. I generally interpret this as males being unable to find ways to successfully satisfy their desires and having to resort to methods that endanger their freedom and their lives. Mind you, I'm not making moral judgments here, I'm making intelligence judgments. Most crime is short-sighted and ultimately stupid. Males often lack the self-control, the foresight, and the overall mental capacity to get what they want without having to resort to crime.
Or consider this, most males would gladly copulate with almost ANY woman. Fat or thin, young or old, tall or short, a male will pursue almost any woman. Certainly, males are aware that some women are far more desirable than others, but the point remains, for most males, any woman will do. But consider the converse, for most women, only sufficiently desirable men will do. Sexual interaction with a male who is only marginally attractive is genuinely repulsive for us, we would rather do nothing than do most men.
Need proof? The concept of a woman raping an adult male is practically unfathomable. We just can't believe a woman would want to, and if she did, we can't fathom that the male wouldn't be overjoyed. In contrast, the idea that a male could be so desperate for sex from someone, anyone, that he would resort to violence to obtain it is all too real.Or consider this little brain teaser. A woman and a male meet and go to hotel room. Sex is had, money changes hands. Who walks out of the room with the money? If males and females were really equal, you shouldn't be able to know. But of course, you do know, the woman has the money. So yes, I'm a female supremacist. You'd have to be blind not to be. But, that said, there is much overlap between sexes. There are unattractive, uninspired, unintelligent, cowardly losers who are women. There are some males who are attractive and intelligent and able to comprehend the subtleties of human interaction. The fact remains, however, in general, if you have a given male and a given woman, and you know nothing else about them, you're safe in betting that the woman is, in fact, superior to the male.
Slave Bruce: I know you have traveled extensively. What are some of Your favorite places?
Sophia: You've done your homework. Yes, I have traveled. I spent a substantial chunk of time, right after high school, living in various spots in Europe, and I have lived in various lovely cities within the U.S., as well. I don't imagine people are as fascinated with geography as they are fascinated by me, but I'll discuss geography all the same. One of my favorite places in the world is Prague. It's the most beautiful city I've ever seen. It is like stepping into a painting. Of all the places I've ever visited, Prague is the place that was truly the most breathtaking. I've tried on several occasions to put into words what Prague is like, and honestly, it escapes even my talents at writing. There is an ineffable quality to the place, almost as its very atmosphere is somehow unique and magical. I also loved Istanbul. It's a delicious place because, honestly, it does have this exotic, "larger than life" quality to it. So many different peoples have lived in Istanbul and each civilization has left its marks, so that a sojourn through the city is a journey through history.
The sheer history of the place is very palpable, and viewing the architecture is like looking at the bones of past empires that are now long dead. That said, Turkey is too alien to call home, it puts you in a very "touristy" mind set, and one of things I hate is being a tourist. When I go somewhere, I want to LIVE in that place, if only for a few days. I don't want to lug around cameras and take in the exotic sights, safe in a tour group bubble where I'm always an American.
As fun as a cruise can be, part of me despises cruises as the coward's way to travel, in a little space-ship of America that moves from place to place, so you can go out for hikes with other Americans and ogle the tourist traps, only to return to your comfy hotel room, of the sea, every night. That's not traveling, that's tourism. The whole point of travel is to escape the American fishbowl and to really exist in a different space. But, for me at least, this just really wasn't possible in Turkey. Istanbul keeps pushing you back into tourist mind-space, and ultimately, it was a place you visit, not a place you live. But for all that, one of the most monumental places I've visited.
Just recently, a friend from my Europe days got married (to a male who doesn't deserve her, of course) and I was a bridesmaid at the wedding, which was held at a beautiful little town in Northumberland, England. I've never been one for ruralness, I like to be at least somewhat close to a big city. I love a place filled with life. In the US, there's a disturbing correlation between ruralness and idiocy. So I wasn't prepared for the natural beauty of Northumberland. It's very peaceful and it is a treat for the senses. I wouldn't want to live there, but it is a gorgeous locale, and a lovely place to spend some time. One of my favorite places in the U.S. is New York.
I've heard that John Lennon once said something to the effect that New York is the center of the creative world, that it was what Rome had been at the height of the Roman empire, or what Florence had been during the Renaissance, or Paris during the early 20th century. Every person of culture in the English speaking world should live in New York, at least once. For some people New York feels like a prison, for others it fits like a glove, but no matter how you feel about it, living in New York is truly being alive. One of the things I loved about New York was that it truly is a 24 hour city. I know that's a trite thing to say about New York, but it's true. You can have anything you want, any time. The place simply does not close. To someone with my distaste for sleep, there's an incredible freedom that comes with it.
When I lived in Manhattan, it was like having pure raw life on Tivo, you can do anything at any time, any day of the week. If you want fine dining, it's right there, and it's yours. If you want a party, it's yours. During the day, New York chokes on its own populace, but at night, when the workaholics and the old people are sleeping, locked away in their tiny, tiny residences, the elegant and elite can roam the city at their leisure.
While the city is home to much scum, there's still more genius and brilliance per square mile in Manhattan than anywhere else in the world. But, you do have to wade through rivers of human filth. Which brings me to the San Francisco Bay area. There's a T.S. Elliot quote that I've always adored, "And the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time." I'm a Bay Area girl by birth, I grew up here, and ultimately, it's still my favorite place to be. The Bay Area is like a rarified, purified, cleansed New York. It's still sufficiently metropolitan that with a little forethought, any experience is at your disposal. But it still has beauty, space, freedom. Unlike NYC, owning a car here is a convenience, not a headache. And the Bay Area is sort of like taking New York, putting it through a filter to weed out all the crud, and winding up with a delicious blend of intellectuals, artists, musicians, iconoclasts, and free-thinkers. Although, San Francisco certainly has its share of hobos and garbage too. Some people have university experiences where they go off to the middle of nowhere, to a quaint "college town" where the university, basically, is the town. I always knew I could never do that. But at the same time, universities in New York City are so overwhelmed by the flood of people that there is pure no university culture to be had. My university, which is in or near the Bay Area (I don't want to divulge too much), is a wonderful middle ground. It features a whole little world of high-achieving college-aged playmates, but it's just a short jaunt away from one of the best metropolitan areas in the world.
Slave Bruce: Do You accept gifts from Your many admirers?
Sophia: This is a very common question on Toxic Treat, so I'm happy you asked. No, as a rule, I do not allow internet admirers to send me gifts, either material or financial. Not going to happen. There is a whole internet full of women who would be happy to receive your gifts, but I am not among them. There is a simple reason for this. It's quite transparent to me that gift-givers act out of purely selfish motives. For a minority of would-be gift-givers, they want to give because they hope to ingratiate themselves, to "purchase" my attention with their gifts. But my time and my attention are not for sale. I cannot be bought, I cannot be rented. There is no exchange rate to transform dollars into any alteration of my behavior. The end. Most would-be gift givers are driven by an even simpler motive, they have eroticized the act of gift-giving. These individuals, realizing that actual physical copulation with female divinity is forever out of reach, have transmuted their sex drive to the point that the mere act of giving gifts to a dominant woman is, in itself, a sexual interaction. Buying from an Amazon wish list is just their idea of a quickie. And that sort of interaction doesn't appeal to me either. As I mentioned before, my website has presented me with some very unique challenges, namely, how do you truly exploit, manipulate, humiliate, and dominate people who consciously pursue exploitation and humiliation? Rest assured, I do routinely extract gifts from my "normal" companions who I know in "real life". I do this gleefully. Finances are such a "boundary issue" for "normal" people, and it seems to be my natural instinct to breach boundaries, to tear down walls, and to reshape the psychological landscape. But these games are infinitely more enjoyable in person, and there is an unending supply of playmates subconsciously eager to engage in the dance with me, why would I ever want to substitute that joy for the disembodied, alien world of the internet, where I'm beseeched by people devoid of boundaries, for whom pain truly is pleasure?
Slave Bruce: Tell me about Your philosophy of life? i know you are an avid reader of Nietzsche.
Sophia: That's quite a can of worms you're attempting to open. I'm a philosophy major after all. I'm not sure you or your readers are going to be prepared for the answer. But I'll take you through it in the order it came to me.
Here goes: 1. Meaninglessness
The journey starts with the biblical book of Ecclesiastes. A book in the bible written by an atheist around 300 BC who talks about the meaninglessness of life. One line in, the author hits you square in the face with that statement: "Meaninglessness of Meaninglessness, EVERYTHING is meaningless!" He goes on about this for the entirety of the work. What does it matter what we do with our lives? We are going to die, and whether it takes a generation or a million years, eventually we will all be forgotten. Human beings have been here for at least 200,000 years, and yet, do we know the name of a single one from more than five thousand years ago? Absent any spiritual dimension to this world, considering only the material world, it is a fact that we are doomed to the dust, and to think otherwise is to hide in the dark with your covers over your head. Build buildings if you want to, but they will crumble. Become a teacher if you enjoy the profession, but all your students shall die. Become president or king or czar if you can, but time WILL steal all your accomplishments until it is as if you had never lived. Some people find this depressing, but it is the key to true freedom.2. Beyond Good and Evil
Okay, next up, consider this. Why is "Good" good? Why is "Evil" evil? Aside from "Society/Laws/Church/Daddy says so", what actually makes something good or evil? Here's a hint: Imagine a single goldfish, alone in a tank of his very own. What would an "evil" goldfish be like, as opposed to a "good" goldfish? What about a "good" rock as opposed to an "evil" rock? The question is nonsense. A rock can't be evil, a goldfish can't be evil, any more than a gust of wind could be evil. The long and the short of it is this, Good and Evil are only conceivable when you consider the existence of pleasure and pain. In a world without pleasure or pain, there is no good or evil, there's just trivia. Pleasure and Pain are the universe. Everything else is minutia. And even then, society's views of "Good" and "Evil" are rarely defensible. Kill someone because they are a rapist who escaped prison due to a technicality and you're a murderer. Or join the army, where you can kill a complete stranger on the "other team" because some complete strangers on "your team" ordered you to, and you are a hero. I remain undecided on whether "Good" and "Evil" actually exist or not. Nietzsche says no, but I remain open to the possibility. It's easy to get swept up into the philosophical argument that since so much of "good" and "evil" is nonsense, maybe the whole concept is meaningless; but for all the philosophical considerations, at the end of the day, when I consider someone who abuses a helpless child, it's hard to abandon the concept of evil entirely.3. A Will to Power
Most, maybe not all, but MOST instances are "Good" and "Evil" are illusions. Fancy words for "I like this" and "I don't like this". I don't know if "Good" and "Evil" exist. When I looked at animals in the wild or when I look at teenagers in high school, it's hard to see "Good" and "Bad", but it's very easy to see something else. "Strong" and "Weak", "Predator" and "Prey", "Powerful" and "Powerless", "Freedom" and "Bondage". Those things are very, very real. The strongest animal in the forest. The fastest athlete in the race. The smartest student in the class. The most popular girl in the school. The sexiest woman at the party. Some people try to pretend that they aren't real, but the truth is, they're the most real things in the social world. As are their opposites, the scared prey. The loser who is always picked last. The idiot who can sit through the same lecture everyone else hears, but can't comprehend the material come test time. The pariah who sits home waiting next to a phone that never rings. The obese freak at the DMV who is disgusting to even look upon. Good and evil may exist or may not. But anyone who's ever seen an attractive woman knows beauty is power. Anyone who's ever competed knows that winners exist and losers exist. Anyone who's ever encountered true genius knows that intelligence is power.4. So Now What?!?
So what is left, in a world without meaning or morality. For me, the answer might be described by the sentence, there is art. Not art on a canvas or art made of clay. Not a performance in a theater or a film on a screen. The world is our canvas. The weak are the cast, the clay, the paint. The powerful are the artists. And what we, the powerful few, choose to do with this world, that is the art. Some will be destroyed, so that the beauty of their tears can be appreciated. Some will be given joy, so that their happiness can inspire us. Some will be changed into forms more beautiful to the artist's eye, while others will be intentionally deformed into monstrosities to inspire revulsion and laughter. Some scenes of the play will be shared with an audience, other aspects of my creation will be private and exist only to give me pleasure. What meaning or morality is there in a child happily playing in a sandbox? The castles have no meaning or permanence, the sand does not know right from wrong. And yet, it is the greatest joy for a child of a certain age to play in the sand, to construct elaborate creations and to destroy them. To throw the sand about, to pick it up and squeeze it tightly, to choose the form you want the universe to take, and watch as it takes the shape you have chosen. Sand is too simple a medium. In time, we understand it completely, we know exactly what we can do with the sand, and so we grow bored with sand castles. But human hearts are a very versatile medium, human minds can take on infinite shapes. They can soar to great heights when nurtured, they make a wonderful crash when their strings are cut and a soaring heart plummets. And that is my philosophy of life, I am one of the lucky few who has the power to do almost anything I want in this universe, and I adore every single moment of it.
Slave Bruce: Do You enjoy using cuckold slaves? i bet You get deluged with requests from losers begging for that!
Sophia: When you stop to think about it, almost everyone is a cuckold. If you're reading this, you very quickly know whether or not you will ever have a chance with a woman of my calibre. an actual chance at a physical act, however small, of sexuality. even something as minor as a sincere, mutually pleasing French kiss. Stop and ask yourself, is there really any chance whatsoever ever that you will ever have that with someone like me? Stop and think about it seriously for just one moment.
When a woman can have anyone she wants, is she going to want you? Be honest. If you're older, or fat, or ugly, or stupid, or "slow" or self-hating. If you have a pot-belly or man-boobs or a tiny dick or smelly feet. If you hate yourself, if you are weak, if you are depressed or anxious. If you have bad teeth or crooked teeth. If you have bad skin or sweaty hands or sweat profusely when nervous. IF you are not the absolute leader of the pack, then be honest, even if a woman like me befriends you. Even if a woman like me uses you. Even if a woman like me teases you. Even if a woman like me hurts you, EVEN if your wildest dreams came true and a woman like me were to agree to spit on you, even if something like that were to happen, you know that there's still no way, whatsoever, that a woman like me would actually French Kiss you. And there's certainly no way that a woman like me would ever let you do anything even MORE intimate.
So, really, when you think about it, everyone who's ever passed me on the street and lusted after me is a cuckold. Everyone who's looked at me in class, watched me play with a pen in my mouth, dreamt of what they wished could be, and then realized their dreams are just delusions, each of those persons is a cuckold. Everyone who's sheepishly asked me out and gotten turned down politely is a cuckold, and the people who get turned down in not-so-nice-ways are certainly cuckolds.
And, if you're read the interview this far, let's be honest, you're reading because you find me attractive, intriguing, desirable. And yet, you will never ever have me. In almost all certainty, you will probably never even get to be in the same room with me. And so that makes you, dear reader, a bit of a cuckold as well. That said, I should be clear, in labelling these anonymous strangers "cuckolds", I'm mostly being fanciful and poetic. The reality is that they don't truly deserve the title. For the hurt that a passerby on the street or a visitor to my website experiences is, of course, miniscule compared to the pain I can bestow on those blessed few individuals I select out of the crowd to become minor characters in the play of my life. While a passerby certainly craves a chance to caress me, he never truly expects to be able to touch me. But for some individuals, the special few that I choose to cast in the play of my life, for them I am able to make their dreams of fulfillment seem possible, even plausible. These lucky few get to experience a genuine roller-coaster ride to the heights of ecstasy and the pits of despair.
When you ARE what people want, honestly, you are sort of god-like. The lord giveth, and the lord taketh. Pleasure or pain, both trivially easy to bestow. I raise their hopes until heaven on earth seems a veritable certainty, only to rip their dreams to shreds before their very eyes. I watch them cycle through denial and fear and pathetic bargaining and depression and desperation; sometimes there are tears and blubbering, other times they just look dead inside. That is beauty. That is art. THAT is sexy.
March 21, 2009