This article is a translation of an older Romanian item : Bataia cea rupta din rai. 2010, to think, it's been seven years! It seems but yesterday. At any event -- the original title references an ancient Romanian saying, which in the vein of "spare the rod, spoil the child" pretty much proposes that beating is cosubstantial part of heaven itself.
Last night I beat a miss for the first time in her life, except it wasn't really the first time.
I set her elbows-in-bed and whacked her ass with the belt, I've a nice, wide belt, of ancient leather, with three nails instead of one and metal rings to catch them going in three rows down its whole length. A rifled belt, so to speak, which might if so employed draw blood or leave octopus marks, circular red welts three to the row as if some sort of kraken suckled in anger tender maiden thighs.
I didn't hit her harshly, for any accustomed bottom it'd have rather seemed caressing ; the proceedings amused they in assistence ("what are you doing, is it a new kind of dance ?") and it didn't really hurt her, in any case not to tears.
And she cried, she cried rivers on the bosom of a recently discovered sister and in my arms (simultaneously) and couldn't stop ("still, how do I stop ?!"). Because you see, dear readers, the belt reminded her of the beating broken off heaven in her youth, even if her familiars didn't use the belt but the cane, and even if it wasn't a sexual practice, and even if no one then plumped out the ass to better receive or laughed at the end.
I am, in principle and theoretically, in favour of disciplining children (not practically, because as you perhaps know I've none), and in favour of disciplining generally, as the means to maintaining balance and hygiene in society, you've been reading about and I expect you take my meaning. I remain so, steadfast in my positioning, freedom is generally more expensive than people manage to represent in their free minds. The freedom of taking credit on ID alone carries the price of renouncing not just the practice, but outright the comprehension of the notion of saving, and with it jointly of every possibility of prosperity in this life. The freedom of marrying who you will carries the price of renouncing most of the items that might make a marriage work in the first place, be useful in the second place, and happy in the last, absolutely last place. Items no one knows anymore today, but ask teh elders, they might recount. And they will recount for the asking, and speak the truth, and you'll understand not a word of it. Freedom is expensive, so very expensive that for the majority of humanity freedom is in no practical way different from dealing with the devil. It will eat, in the end, your soul.
The grand catastrophe is that freedom can't be limited by just anyone. Not everyone can handle the whip, not in everyone's bedroom can girls unworriedly set their brow to the sheets in the knowledge and hope that shortly thereafter their ass will catch fire.
Education, to go on a paranthetical, is based very much on the same notions. The student submits to the teacher, entirely, obeys him with his whole, in the most proper sense of slavery. On this substrate learning occurs. Absent this substrate, learning obviously does not occur, not in the sense of classical education in any case. As a result, the collapse of "Romanian school traditions"i come 1990 was plainly obvious, predictable and inevitable. Unfortunately no one (nor I) had the experience required to understand these simple facts back then. Actually, it would appear no one has it even today, but I can assure you (and you can not believe me) that the reason for which Romanian school no longer works as practiced nor will ever again function has naught to do with intellectual incompetence on the part of the students or professional insufficiency of the teachers.
It's a pure and simple case of the educational slavery system of 50 years ago no longer standing. Whatever learning occurs today to the Baccalaureat happens ideally peri-systemically and most commonly anti-systemically. I for an instance learned mostly anti-systemically as a highschooler. I also learned with the system, as a young child, the breakage intervened somewhere between the two. As a remarkable coincidence the transformation of the entire world coincided with my passing from childhood to adolescence, and the convulsions of "the whole universe" reflected as in a mirror my own convulsions. I always felt flattered by this happenstance, to be honest.
The advantage of slavery as such, and of submission as demarche is that it opens you up, and it allows you thereby to touch the intangible. In school it allows you to find that which you don't know (that which you don't know you can't find on your own, for lack of knowing what it is). In the bedroom it allows you to touch for the first time in twenty years wounds so deep you could not dare conceive their existence. And, eventually, heal them. Immense power, and implicitly the resources sufficient to burn you to the bone, and to the marrow, and to ash.
The beating from heaven and the playing with fire.———
- Romania was very good at this, witness not only the gymnasts but just about everyone else. No longer, of course, freedom saw to that. [↩]