The Cliffs of Insanity

So I keep watching Rob Roy. This time, I had the good sense to actually tape it (I need to break down and buy the DVD when I can) so I can get past all the rubbishy hoo-ha and get right down to business with Tim Roth's undeniably sexy Archibald Cunningham. And I think I have realised something that I had probably known subconsciously, but was never able to put it into exact words.

I am hopelessly attracted to Delicate Death. That is what it is. A dude on Facebook called most of the representations of my animus "girly boys," and perhaps he's right. It's just irresistibly sexy as hell to watch a fine-boned man reveal that he is, in actuality, a killing machine.

Now I'm not a proponent of violence, despite my Sithly attitude. Just because I want everyone dead doesn't mean I will go out and start killing people. But...to have a man you'd least expect to be capable, to do the killing for you? I'm at such a man's mercy. I want to have a taxidermist stuff him so I can set him on my mantle and gaze upon him the endless hours of the night.

So I first saw Rob Roy in 1996 and was immediately taken with Tim Roth. I had never seen him before. He was the reason I backtracked and watched Pulp Fiction. But I've always preferred him as Archibald. He has that certain glint in his eye, even when not in that character, and I immediately pick up on it. For example, my user pic here. Great godalmighty, what a beautiful specimen of Delicate Death.

I believe that, to a certain degree, we all wear masks that reflect our inner selves. I guess that's why I've always liked masks and why I gave Cadmus the Landon Dunlevy mask, baptised in the Blood of a Vampire martyr. Tim Roth could not have played the role of Archibald Cunningham as well as he did without have a seedling somewhere in his soul that allowed him to transform. Even as Ted the Bellhop, you can see it peeking through.

I haven't seen Lie to Me because I always missed it, but it's in my netflix and hulu queues. So I have every intention, and this was before the wild spate of Rob Roy screenings on ION this entire month. I've been overloaded on Archibald, vicious little bastard that he is, and I would molest him if given just a tiddly bit of a chance. It says a lot that I would choose him over any Scotsman. That is fundamentally contrary to my nature, being a well-known Scots ho.

What is so hilarious is that, when I did an image search for Archibald Cunningham, the following people popped up as results:

• Darth Maul, small and graceful and lethal


• Pinhead, another small man, but he can tear your soul apart, and do it in bondage gear. Soooo sexy


• Francis Dollarhyde as seen in freakin' Manhunter. Totally not my cuppa, but the movie holds a particular fascination. Anyone who knows me, knows why.


• Hannibal Lecter. I kid you not. And he's wearing his mask.


• Heath Ledger's Joker, a clown on the outside, masking a deadly force that nearly destroyed an entire city. I wrote so much fanfiction for this character, it's ridiculous. And all of it was, for lack of a better word to allow me to remain remotely civilised, naughty (?)


• Jet Li, small, deadly, and capable of creating poetry with his Wu Shu forms


• Agent Smith, the bane to all humanity, and showing off his mad Kung Fu skillz in a business suit!


• Darth Vader. He was my very first action figure and ohhhh, I loved that wee toy.


• Darkness from Legend. "Mother Night, wrap your daaark aaaarms around me." Need I say more?

And that was in a search for Archibald screencaps. There is obviously a deep connection into which I have tuned. All of these are death dealers with varying levels of delicacy. Or they are involved with masked death dealers of the utmost delicacy.

I find it all so delicious. And relevant. And kind of freaky. But absolutely, undeniably, irresistibly enthralling. They could kill for me in all their grace and then I would shag them silly (except for Francis...no). I admit it. I am attracted to girly-boys, but just as long as they are masking their true murderous nature.

Delicate Death. The mask and the man behind it...the ruse and the truth. It boggles the mind.

On that note, I have some pictures of Archibald and Tim Roth I'll be posting here very soon. I'll post one now because it's probably the most primal and sexual to me, besides my user icon.

My head went asplodey at that one. I'm sure this is just a role or a modeling pic or some such, but I DO know with certainty of two of my animus representations who admit to experimenting in their youth. And it is arousing. Yes, you men out there. You find two women together hot? A lot of we women feel the same about you. Just go to any fanfic site dominated by the fairer sex, and you will find such debauchery in the slash department, you will run the other way.

And let us not get into the devices of Cadmus Pariah, another small and perhaps the most delicate dealer in death, who does not care who he attracts or what he must do to get the blood he needs and exact some of the suffering he desires. His Beautiful Pets are both boys and girls, locked away in iron collars, wasting away as they are periodically milked for their blood. Yeah, everyone should run the other way, not just the men. Hell, I want to run the other way in regard to this one, but there's no escaping your own horrid little character/child.

As Ace Ventura would say ~ "AAAAALRIGHTY THEN!"

**EDIT**
I just found this Tim Roth quote and had to come back to say "I toldja so," if only to myself.

"I've never really played a goody in the traditional sense. Anyway, I don't think that I look the part of a heroic character, especially not in Hollywood, so they never really come up. On a childish level, villains are just more fun."

Oh dear god.

Is it possible that I was wrong all this time? I thought that my soul mate was the only one who could trigger my animus. But he really didn't, despite my faith that it would happen.

The Other One has, though. He has invaded me. No, he invaded me some time ago, and I was just too stupid or naive or unwilling to realise the obvious. Looking back on my poetry, I see it now. Many of the poems are for him. They were all along. My subconscious resonated with his presence.

He has been on my mind all day long.

Every time I close my eyes, his face is tattooed on the blackness of my eyelids. This isn't just love, it's like a possession.

What the hell am I gonna do? What measures can I take to overcome this? I feel like I'm in an emotional meat grinder, being shredded and remade constantly through my waking hours, afraid to sleep for fear of dreaming.

I'm treading a path of damnation, I just know it. It's like I'm a character in a Clive Barker story.

O_O

Help.