Any man who has ever led an army, an expedition, or a group of Boy Scouts has sadism in his bones.
David set his foot in a gap higher up the barbed wire…When would the searchlight come?They could not be certain of hitting him in the dark…and if they did not hurry, he would be over…Why didn’t they hurry up. Then he stopped. He would run no more.When the beam of light caught him,they should see him walking away quite calmly. Then they would not enjoy it so much; they would feel cheated. The thought filled David with triumph. I am David
I’m offering you my pain. My blood. My pleasure. I’m offering you the right to whip and fuck. To debase and harm. I’m offering to fight your needs with my own. I’m willing to join you in the darkness and find pleasure in excruciating pain. I’m willing to be your monster, Q.
The sadist desires to command and control. The masochist desires to be freed from the burdens of liberty. That is Socialism.
And when he ran the blades over her she felt light as a feather, floating happily into that place where pain and pleasure walked hand in hand, fully clear and conscious and she looked out to the darkness that lay outside of their artificial day. All too soon it was gone, her vision dimming and her breaths evening as she found somewhere darker which centred around the golden light of her Master’s voice as he spoke to her.
Secret ceremonies in which malevolent men and women cloaked in hooded robes, hiding behind painted faces and chanting demonic incantations while inflicting sadistic wounds on innocent children lying on makeshift alters, or tied to inverted crosses, sounds like the stuff of which B-grade horror movies are made. Some think amoral religious cults only populate the world of Rosemary’s Baby, but don’t exist in real life.
Or, do they? Ask Jenny Hill.
To see others suffer does one good, to make others suffer even more: this is a hard saying but an ancient, mighty, human, all-too-human principle [….] Without cruelty there is no festival.
Why weren’t you beautiful? That would’ve solved everything.’
(‘Left from Dhakeshwari’)
My main nurturing instinct toward children is mild sadism–picking them up and threatening to drop them–which is why I am a good uncle but would make a poor father.
Seriousness is too boring to the playful human condition. A heart of stone that has a long face can never express love.