Counterfit Romania

Tuesday, 14 May, Year 11 d.Tr. | Author: Mircea Popescu

It's usually spelled "counterfeit", but for our needs here I much prefer the more directly informative, etymologically transparent variant. You see, the problem's not so much that of being "fake", but rather, that it was fit to a pre-existing shape.

This is why counterfeit coins are not genuine (and, if you're curious, the actual legal basis for the "liberty dollar" convictions) : not because they're coins, but because they're trying to be other coins they aren't. All coinage is, in, and of, and by itself fake -- and fake in the exact same ways and for the exact same reasons.

There's no substantial difference between the USG-issued dubaloo and the San-Marino-issued dosidoe, they're both the same exact things : hollow pronouncements of pretend-sovereigns, items "created by fiat" which is to say insubstantial and inconsequential.

There is however a major difference between the plain folly of "here's a bit of paper issued by me" issued by him, that him who is the "me" in context, and the cleverness of "here's a bit of paper issued by me" issued by someone who very much isn't the "me" in context. This is the problem, see, that the first thing's foolish and therefore potentially useful, while the second thing's clever and therefore ruinous.

So much for the title ; now let's see as for the article. Twenty years ago, back when I cared to visit the United States, their government of the period issued me a ten year visa upon request. At the time of issuancei, this was one of maybe a handful such items in the hands of private citizens in Romania (as opposed to various friendly bureaucrats and assorted garbage) -- in any case the receiving officer was unprepared for the item, and had to make some phonecalls. Let's just say they didn't find it expedient to refuse ; and when I was late showing up for the proceedings (because I ended up drinking with all the Bucharestians who lived their whole lives wanting to see me, be there in the magical presence of this fabled unicorn, touch perhaps the very fabric of "pure energy", and knew full well that it's quite likely the last chance), they also didn't find it expedient to not open the embassy after hours for my convenience. Just like the cop stopping us in the mad race through town didn't find it expedient to not escort us to the embassy building. Expedience, you see. It's a thing.

Years later, living for a few years among Romanians (about the time of its dissolution into the European Unionii), this whole story was not particularly interesting. I wasn't one to push itiii -- they weren't about to pull it. Unsurprisingly, after all, too far removed from digestible experience, from the next step their psyche allowed. A ten year old boy might be very excited should a twelve year old girl decide to show him her growing breast ; but at best rather disinterested and most likely quite frightened by the frank display of one of my trained whores, naked and ready to go. The Romanians at the time were excited about going to work in Spain, "everyone's" picture folders chock full of their achieving what a whole fambly line never had managed : to smile in front of the same Barcelona landmarks (in between crushing workdays, yes, but n-arata fata ce duce curu'). The few thousands who had at that point emigrated towards Canada and other Microsoft plantations too far removed, too distant, too inexplainable. They probably had families there, they probably weren't even really Romanian, stood the ready explanations. What do you mean you didn't go there to work ?!

There's limits to what can be readily understood, and especially by the common man ; therefore there's limits to what's interesting to the general population. To quote my prophet, writing more than a century ago,

Se-nțelege că la micul debitant marfa este mai mult sau mai puțin trezită, câteodată mai bine păstrată, adesea cam stricată, dar totuși e o marfa destul de bună pentru mușteriul care la izvorul cel mare al bogăției nu putea ajunge, și care poate găsi aci la-ndemână. A! Dar nu! Mușteriul este cu atât mai exigent și mai caprițios cu cât e mai puțin deprins la gustul lucrului. Întrebați pe orice biet lipscan: o să vă spună daca pe cea mai pretențioasă aristocrată bătrână n-o împacă mai ușor decât pe o tânără mahalagioaică ageamie.

Acesta este rolul teribil al mușteriului mic: să torturezepe micul debitant... Și să vezi critică de amănunte! Atât mai multă autoritate cu cât mai puțină pricepere, atât mai multă imperturbabilitate cu cât mai puțină siguranță. Mușteriii vor: unul să fie lucrul colea mai așa, altul, din contra, dincoace mai aminterea; pentru unii sunt prisoase tocmai acolo unde alții constată lipsuri; calități se par unuia defectele ce izbesc pe altul, și de-a-ndăratele. În fine, câți mușterii, atâtea capete și tot atâtea, firește, pretenții și exigențe. Ba mai mult: unuia și aceluiași singur azi îi place așa, mâine aminterea, și-n fiecare zi altfel.

Se-nțelege că într-un târg cu obiceiuri statornice de pe vremuri, cu tradițiuni de autoritate, cu deprinderi de gust dezvoltat încet-încet și normal, acest fenomen, cu toată diversitatea capetelor, va fi mai puțin bătător la ochi decât într-un târg de curând ridicat, cum sunt cele americane și altele. Aci au năvălit și năvălesc pe apucate strânsură și adunătură, fără egală deprindere de gust, fără continuitate și unitate de tradiție și de nevoi publice, și care schimbă, la fiecare câțiva ani, și moravuri, și legi, și deprinderi, și costume, ca și unele spețe inferioare care leapădă la zăstimpuri pielea din vârful botului până-n sfârcul coadii.

În târgul de vremi statornicit, micul debitant știe ce marfă caută, știe ce trebuie mușteriului cunoscut și credincios: ba îi merge chiar înaintea nevoilor; chiar i le provoacă, cunoscându-i firea și gustul. Dar într-un târg improvizat, în vecinic provizorat, Dumnezeu mai știe cum să multumești pe mușterii. Dai primitivului în pielea goală o bună flanelă, vânătorului preistoric o pușcă și porcarului mărgăritare: o fi bună marfa dumitale, dar mușteriii îi găsesc cusururi, deoarece... nu le trebuie. Primitivului nu-i trebuie căldură pe spinare și pe pântece, pielea lui e-nvățată cu de toate; el are nevoie de zorzoane poleite, să și le pună-n capul nețesălat; vânătorului îi trebuie un tomahawk, iar porcarului porumb pentru vitele de-acasă... Dar ia să nu bagi de seamă la vertiginosul mers al progresului! Ia poftim de le dă a doua zi aceea ce ai văzut că le trebuia ieri. Aș! primitivul vrea acum cămăși de mătase, vânătorul o carabină ghintuită cu repetiție și porcarul briliante.

This'd come, more or less, to

As one'd expect, the offerings of the street vendor are more or less worn at the edges, sometimes better kept, often pretty damaged, but nevertheless, merchandise good enough for the customer who can not reach the great source at all, but can here reach, and conveniently. Ah! But no! The customer's the more exigent and the more capricious the less familiar with the thing. Ask any poor haberdasher, he'll tell you whether the most pretentious aristocrat's not easier to satisfy than a working class youth getting married.

This is the terrible role of the small buyer : to torture the small seller... and see you there, criticism in detail! The more feigned authority as the less knowledge, and the more imperturbable certainty as the less settled awareness. These customers want : one, for the thing to be here more in this way, the other, contrarywise, there less in the other way ; some find excess precisely where others find lacking ; the qualities of one are the defects striking another, and backwards and vice-versa. What's more : one and the same today wants it thus and tomorrow otherwise, and every day some other way.

Self evidently in a town with mores settled in ages past, built on well expressed traditions and well formed, pervasive authority, with taste and habits formed over time, slowly as is normal, this phenomenon, in spite of the natural diversity of heads, will nevertheless flow subdued, less striking to the eye than in a town built out of nothing in the middle of nowhere, such as the ones in the Romanian Kingdom or in the United States, where uncounted hordes and indescript crusts flood meaninglessly, carried by incomprehended tides, without common usage or tastes, without any continuity or unity of tradition or public needs, and ready to change, every few years, public mores, laws, customs and costume, indistinctly in bulk and without concern like some inferior species that shed at times their whole skin from muzzle to the tip of the tail.

In the settled town, the small street vendor knows what merchandise's in demand, knows what the known and faithful customers need, can even go one step ahead of today's needs, and market to him his tomorrow, knowing his kind and taste. But in an improvised town, in a permanently provisory rural market pretending to act the town, God only knows how to satisfy the customer. You offer the nude troglodyte a good flannel, the subsistence hunter a rifle and the swineherd diamonds : perhaps your merchandise may be good, but they find it fault because... they don't want it. The troglodyte doesn't care for warmth on his back or belly, his thick hide is accustomed to the elements. Instead, he wants polished frippery, to add to his never-currycombed head. The hunter wants a tomahawk, the swineherd cheap grist. But just try to ignore the vertiginous march of progress! Just dare you offer tomorrow what you saw them buy yesterday! No damn way, the troglodyte now seeks silken shorts, the hunter a rifled repeating carbine and the swineherd blue stones, Princess cut.

Today, then, most everyone left. What remains in Romania are the ruins of a population, the stupid too stupid to understand just how stupid they are, the unpalatable dregs and unchewed margins. Everyone else -- to quote a girly,

Încă nu ne gândeam serios să plecăm de tot, pentru că nu puteam rămâne decât ilegal și nu aș fi acceptat așa ceva. Spuneam că doresc să intru în țara aia ca rezident conform regulilor, pe ușa din față și cu fruntea sus.

De asta am și refuzat ideea de a naște în NYC, pentru că, dacă era ca fie-mea să studieze la universitățile lor, o putea face și pe calea mai grea, dar corectă.


Pentru cei care-mi amintesc că nici New York nu e perfect, o știu bine, am stat 18 luni acolo. Nu vom locui în Manhattan, acolo unde sunt zgârie-norii, că e ca și cum ai locui pe pista de aterizare/decolare a unui aeroport. Vom sta probabil în Queens, într-o zonă extrem de liniștită, ideală pentru a-ți crește copilul.

Not really worth the translation ; besides I'm pretty sure you get the idea. Queens, that extremely quiet place, ideal for raising your children. I'm almost certain I read this exact thing cca 1819, though I suspect at the time it was written in a different Neapolitan dialect.

So : they're all huddled in Queens and such, very eager to tell everyone all about "their experiences". How are these experiences "theirs" is, of course, a question readily disposed of : some chick had a kid. Do you need more explanation ?

Who is that "everyone", however ? Who is supposed to be the reader for the latecomer hacks ? Obviously, the mass market, the common man, Mr and Mrs Nameless Nobody were the market, more or less adapted, more or less capable, more or less disavowediv but evidently the market of the elite. Who's gonna be the market for the mass market ? The aliensv ? When all the kids who went to Woodstock to listen to the band and the who go home and start torturing guitars in garages, who's gonna give a shit ?

But anyways, back when behaviour X, whatever value you choose to give X, was a matter reserved for the elite, the mass market pretended itself "sceptical", and conversation mostly served as a means for the elite individual to recognize another elite individual. Then, as it happened (and does not always happen), behaviour X became a mass market issue. At this juncture, the elite is well sated, I sure as fuck am not going to read rando Romanian girly's "experiences" "in the Queens" as about fucking Queens. Not anymore than I interview chickens on the topic of the chicken packaging plant, at any rate.

But... whatever, her experiential narrative may still make for great comedy, of course, of course, and specifically because it's not counterfit. Sascha Cohen, for instance, does this professionally, which is to say counterfits the orclet -- he's principally funny to orcs themselves, especially the orcs alienated from their originating He's not all that funny to me (and when he is, it's third pass, he's funny principally because in his attempt to discuss their alienation he reproduces his own). None of this has anyhing to do with her whatsoever, neither in the personal (lol) nor in any aggregate, but rather stands as the fundamental problem of knowledge : the more you know, the less satisfaction can be found in the counterfit ; and this because you become harder to fit against as your tendrils into the body and soul of the world surroundant multiply and diversify.

Other than this, the space formerly known as Romania consists of a desperate run to counterfit Romania into what blue UStards could comprehend -- the same exact nonsensevii as everywhere else. (Which is all the more amusing if you stop to consider that the United States itself is undergoing a wild run to counterfit itself into what the blue segment of its socialism judges most likely to be deemed acceptable by China. An imaginary Romania being counterfitted to match a self-alienated United States, counterfitting itself to match China, isn't that a beautiful image of insanity ?

But just as amusingly, this -- exactly this -- was the political problem "of the time", the pressing matter du jour for as long as [the imaginary nonsense they call] "Romania" has existed. Back in 1818 the discussion was very much a discussing of which forms should this imaginary construct be counterfit into ? Ottoman ? Russian ? The dispute continued, fifty years later it was a "choice" between the French "model" and the German "model", by and large. In fairness there also existed a tiny anti-counterfitting party, mostly represented by my prophet at the time, but who exactly has any time for that ?! What, actual work ? Wouldn't counterfitting be quicker ? Faster ?


So... yeah. Romania has progressed immensely in the intervening... millenia. Should Dacia be retroactively counterfit into a Roman or into a Sarmatian style ? Which pre-loaded palette shall we instruct our Civ emulator to paint it in ?

Practically speaking, the language's the only notable aspect of this perdurant failure. Romania was never meaningfully a state, nor did the populace ever hold much interest in citizenshipviii nor did it issue coinage nor did it produce cultural models. The language is extremely powerful, but, as often happens in this world, it's spoken almost exclusively by those who absolutely shouldn't, and almost never by anyone else.

I suppose on the long term we find out whether the wrappers on that true essence manage to withstand the test of time. There never really was a Romania -- but there sure as fuck once were a United States. Will there be ?

  1. Before Romania was a NATO member, because yes, my dear chitlins born yesterday or yesteryear, such a time did in fact exist. []
  2. No kidding. I don't know if your idea of a state revolves around the body of laws, understood broadly, like in common law systems. If it does, then as the year 2007 ended Romania ended as well. Conversely, if your idea of a state revolves around the habits of chancellery, if you actually believe bureaucracy is a sort of noblesse sui generis, like in civil law systems, then as the year 2007 ended, Romania ended as well. Pretty much the only available definition of a state which permits Romania to extend past that date is the purely nominalistic -- it's still called that, yes. Then again, Indiana is still called a state. []
  3. I didn't generally advertise my social status among the highschooler population when I was at that age ; nor among last decade's Roretards last decade ; certainly not now. I also didn't go about pestering waitresses and cab drivers with "new technologies" talk and assorted Jesusing back in the early days of Bitcoin, nor, come to think of it, did I at any point feel much need to "offer BDSM seminars" -- notwithstanding that I very much doubt a hundred men can be assembled living with either my experience or my situation. A hundred men in ten billion comes, you understand, to 0.01 ppm.

    Yes, obviously I state things, it's not like I keep any of these a secret. Yet I would expect the difference's self-evident. []

  4. One of the lulziest things about Trilema is the peripheral perception of the slaves living in its far reaching empire that the change of their habits, behaviours, activities and mores to suit the orders issued here is somehow magically annulled by their failure to mention why and wherefore exactly they changed. Somehow this pretension as to ignorance serves them just as well as any other ostrich, hurray for magic thinking! []
  5. Laugh if you will, but they're already "economically" exploiting this, in the sense economy takes in socialism.

    Perhaps it's not clear what I mean, so lest someone imagine I'm making a "joke", in the retarded style of post-Internet moomooo humour, let's delve. There was once made a film about a guy who, unknowingly, was the focus of a show making a lot of money, yes ? For the average retard watching, the premise of the film became part of the universe of possibilities. Because it's possible, yes ? He saw it happen.

    Furthermore, because the average retard is specifically weakly valved, possibility always leaks into belief, and therefore as a result of watching that film, he believes this may be the case. To a small degree, may, but also disproportionately huge when it comes to comparing with reality. Average retards, other than being weakly valved, are terrible at estimations, they flatten everything in the middle, so that in their mental representation of the world an event occuring 1:1e3 is just about as unlikely as an event occuring 1:1e72, notwithstanding that a space of 1e3 elements can be explored domestically in an evening, whereas a space of 1e72 elements does not in fact exist. This is, fundamentally, why they're so awestruck when they find out I dedicate most of my time and resources to exploring 1e7, 1e8 and 1e9 spaces -- and especially when they hear such searches yield (for me) results. "But it's impossible!!!"

    So upon that film being screened for 10 million moomoos, most of which ended up with a residual impression that perhaps they, too, are the secret main actors in a secret production making a lotta money, in point of fact there were thereby produced a few tens of thousands of such secret stars -- in the manner such items are produced in socialism. People there work for a promotion, that isn't yet a thing, it's merely imagined, exists as a possibility, right ? People ruin their lives early on, by paying pre-retirement, post-tax money to "colleges", to give them a "diploma", which stands for nothing else than exactly the same promise -- that somehow, sometime, eventually they'll be the stars of a movie, however modest. By exactly the same mechanism, in exactly the same way, that film created wealth. As far as the illusory-promisory nature of socialism is concerned, more moomoos have more to look forward to, are therefore more content with the little in their trough today, and the charade may continue a little longer. Future promises, ever the backing of any regime of the idiots, since the days of Alcibiade onwards.

    So yes, there are right now people walking about in pantsuitistan backing their present expenditure against expected future income from the aliens. What, you see problems with this !? []

  6. To quote the other prophet,

    Why would she think this? Because she's stupid? Actually, yes: the culture you know least about has all the answers, which is also why the Guinness ad hypermale in pre-season Special Olympics has chosen to tattoo gigantic Chinese characters on his arm to explain his ennui to himself. "It's a chinese proverb, 'That what doesn't kill me make me stronger.'" I hope to God a bus tries to make you stronger. Off topic, as a sociological metric, you can track a chinese person's first level of alienation from his culture by his branding himself with English-word tattoos; but you will know that all the chinese has been media powerwashed out of him when the he starts getting Chinese character tattoos. "It's because I'm Chinese," he'd explain, to which you would not dare reply, "yeah, I kinda figured." To which he will then not reply, "I mean, I know I'm genetically Chinese, but I don't really feel Chinese, but this signals that I'm part of a symbolic China more authentic than the actual China of my parents which I feel no real connection to, yet I know I'm supposed to feel the connection, it's not like I can go around pretending I grew up on Waltzing Matilda." To which you will not add, "It's not entirely your fault, you didn't live through a war like your parents and grandparents did, and anyway modern China resembles the U.S. far more than it does symbolic China. Technically, you're alienated from your parents alienation, but neither are you connected to Americana either, the white girls/boys seem out of reach, there's a frivolity you can't really empathize with, jobs other than Law, Medicine, Science are unreal, and you feel like you're always looking at everything from an outside that itself has no firm location." And he'll blink, confused, "truth be told, my only real association to chinese culture is my parents screaming at me that I'm not as good as 'real' Chinese. What can be done?" I don't have an answer for you, the good news is that when you finally find the answer that works for you, your kids will be too old to care.

    Pretty good, huh ?

    Honestly, I wasn't even going to link the orclet girl before, because she's anodyne and uninteresting, no need to further confuse her life with the burden of an undeserved name. Nevertheless, after re-reading Ballas I now will, specifically because of the children. Who knows when this piece will perhaps help resolve an issue a blondy aged five at the time of the writing will later in her life encounter, and, more on point : who knows it won't ? []

  7. If you're particularly curious, here's a very typical chunk :

    [Serios] Ați fost abuzat(ă) sexual?
    Discuție / Părere

    Yup, cand aveam 9-10 ani cred. Imi este foarte greu sa-mi aduc aminte exact ce varsta aveam pentru ca a fost pur si simplu un segment din viata mea pe care l-am reprimat cat am putut de bine.

    Aveam un vecin (defapt, in continuare il am) cu vreo 4-5 ani mai mare decat mine. Nu prea aveam prieteni pe la bloc, in casa nu prea aveam ce sa fac asa ca incercam sa stau cat mai mult pe afara. El era singurul prieten pe care il aveam. Inainte sa se intample evenimentul cu pricina a incercat intr-o zi sa-mi arate niste reviste porno dar nu intelegeam nimic din ele si nici nu intelegeam de ce mi le arata sau de ce s-ar fi uitat cineva la ele.

    Apoi intr-o dupa-amiaza, stand pe scara de bloc m-a luat cu o faza gen "you show me yours and I'll show you mine". Nu pot spune ca eram nefamiliarizat cu conceptul asta, la gradinita cam toti facusem asta si o mai facusem si cu alti amici de atunci. Mi-a cerut apoi sa-i fac sex oral. Chiar daca nu m-a amenintat si nu a fost violent - nu stiu de ce am acceptat, nu stiu cum am ajuns in postura aia, but I did it. Gandul ca as fi fost in regula cu asta sau ca in subconstient eu mi-as fi dorit asta ma macina si scarbeste pana in ziua de azi.

    Faza s-a repetat de cateva ori. Nu m-am opus si nu am spus nimanui. Incercase si anal la un moment dat dar nu i-a iesit. Intr-o zi eram pe afara cu el si cu prietenii lui - el pleaca si eu ramas cu ei. Unul dintre ei ma ia cu "Hehe, am auzit ca i-ai supt pula lui X, mi-a zis el." Evident, am negat tot si am fugit acasa dar de atunci nu am mai iesit pe la bloc si nici el nu a mai dat semne de viata.

    Il vad si acum din cand in cand prin fata blocului sau la lift. Ne salutam si nimic mai mult. Am trait o buna parte din adolescenta mea intr-o relatie ciudata fata de amintirea asta: in mintea mea nu credeam ca se intamplase nimic. Nici macar nu ma gandeam la ce s-a intamplat pentru ca pentru mine nu se intamplase nimic. Era ca o cutie neagra in mintea mea in care tineam ce stiam ca era ceva rau dar nu ma atingeam de ea.

    Strategia a mers o perioada de vreme. Nimeni nu a aflat de treaba asta si mi-am vazut de viata. Mai tarziu in viata insa au inceput sa ma macine gandurile din nou - cu prima mea prietena dadeam semne de disfunctie erectila, incepusem din nou sa ma gandesc la ce se intamplase, la cat de usor am acceptat sa fac ce am facut, la ideea ca sunt gay pentru ca nu m-am opus. Am trecut peste impasul acela si o futeam fara griji but then I was like "okay, let's try some gay porn, poate ca sunt bisexual" desi nu mi-am dorit si niciodata sa am o apropiere emotionala fata de un barbat iar toata atractia mea era pur sexuala. Plangeam de fiecare data cand terminam amintindu-mi de treaba aceea si gandindu-ma cat de "stricat" la cap eram sa-mi fi placut treaba aceea la varsta de 10 ani. A fost unul din factorii care au contribuit la o depresie majora si un self-destructive behaviour ale caror urme le simt si acum.

    Am decis sa calc cat de tare pot pe "pedala" de reprimare. In ura mea fata de mine, la 16 ani fumam deja 1 pachet jumate de tigari pe zi, ma auto-mutilam, eram deja prins pe legale, iarba, tusine, tantum rossa, ketamina - pe scurt, tot ce puteam lua ca sa uit de cacaturile de acasa puse peste aceasta intamplare.

    Pentru o scurta perioda de vreme aceasta ura fata de mine s-a transformat in ura fata de homosexuali. Ma imprietenisem cu niste neo-nazeri cu vreo 4-5 ani mai mari decat mine, membrii din ND. Au reusit sa ma convinga de faptul ca homosexualii sunt niste dezaxati, ca trebuie omorati cu totii s.a.m.d. Ura pe care o canalizam in mine se proiecta acum asupra homosexualilor. Eram cred ca ultima persoana la care te-ai fi gandit ca ar da-o pe laba la filme porno cu gay - iar eu stiam asta si imi jucam rolul in continuare. Serveam glume de closet-homo si nu ma deranjam - stiam ca daca ma enervez prea tare la ele devenea prea evident. Toti fumam, toti beam, toti ne drogam, cicatricile nu se vedeau, nu imi iesea nimic in evidenta. Orice doar sa nu se prinda ceilalti ca ar fi fost ceva neinregula cu mine.

    Culminatia prostiei mele s-a incheiat atunci cand m-am indragostit de o fata care trecuse prin ce am trecut si eu. Avea si ea probleme ei de self-destructive behaviour dar nu avea in ea ura pe care o aveam eu. Nu intru in detalii, dar fata era mai puternica decat mine prin simplul fapt ca a avut puterea sa-mi recunoasca ce patise - ceva ce eu nu am facut nici pana in ziua de azi. Am admirat-o in secret si am decis sa ii urmez calea - am incetat cu neo-labele si gay hate-ul, am incetat sa mai caut vina in fapte si-n oameni, am incetat a-mi cauta orice fel de razbunare. Am inteles ca prin a-mi face rau dadeam putere acelor amintiri si am incetat din nou sa ma gandesc la ce se intamplase dar de data aceasta, acceptand trecutul asa cum era el. Si am inceput sa rad de toata intamplarea - in stilul lui Kierkegaard pe care il citeam pe vremea aceea.

    Am avut nevoie de 5 ani de atunci sa-mi gasesc puterea si persoana fata de care sa ma deschid cu treaba asta. Senzatia a fost covarsitoare si pentru prima data in viata mea am simtit ca o controlez si ca pot sa traiesc si sa fiu iubit pentru ceea ce sunt. E foarte greu sa vorbesti despre chestiile astea cand esti tip. Imi inchipui cum ar fi reactionat prietenii mei, comentand ca sunt gay, ca sunt pampalau, ca de ce nu i-am rupt moaca, ca mi-a placut sa-i sug pula, ca sunt pizda si nu barbat, ca sunt slab, ca ce mare chestie. Mor cand vad feministele ca polarizeaza treaba cu violul si abuzul sexual bazandu-se pe ce au declarat oamenii la un interviu. Cu toata bunavointa si impacarea din lume, eu tot nu as recunoaste chestia asta, nici macar intr-un chestionar - si sunt sigur ca sunt foarte multi barbati pe lumea asta care ar face la fel. Nu cred ca e genul de cacat pe care sa-l bagi intr-o oala cu celelalte abuzuri sexuale sau de care sa ma intrebi asa, cu o fata zambitoare si detasarea completa, ca sa ma bagi intr-o statistica si sa-ti scrii un amar de articol din el. Sa bag un X in casuta cu ce organ mi-a intrat pe unde sa se holbeze altii care n-au nici o treaba cu mine gandindu-se daca vaccinurile mi-au bagat cumva o pula in gat sau ceva.

    Holy shit dude. Kudos to you ca ai trecut peste treaba asta.

    Oh, astea sunt situatii cand ma simt atat de prost ca am fost asa sheltered si privilegiata cand alti oameni au avut ghinionul sa treaca prin experiente care lasa urme atat de adanci si pe care nimeni, absolut nimeni, nu ar trebui sa le traiasca.

    Here, have a huge hug. Ma bucur ca ai reusit sa treci peste.

    Nu stiu daca il pot numi un "abuz sexual", but here it goes:

    Prin 2001-2002 cand aveam vreo 10-11 ani, stateam mai mult la bunica-mea, pentru ca era mai aproape de scoala (locuia in oras). Acolo la bloc aveam o vecina de 18 ani cu care ma intelegeam foarte bine, ma jucam toata ziua cu ea. Fiind vecini, ne cunosteam de foarte mult timp, iar relatia dintre noi fusese perfect normala pana in acel punct. Evident, nici bunica-mea, nici parintii ei nu au vazut nicio problema in asta, mai ales ca fetelor in general le plac copiii.

    Momentul in care lucrurile au luat o turnura ciudata, a fost cand am revenit dintr-o vacanta la mare cu parintii, iar in camera de hotel, la TV vazusem primul film porno din viata mea. Evident, cand m-am intalnit cu ea, m-am apucat sa-i povestesc ce vazusem. Tipa parea foarte interesata de filmul pe care-l vazusem si-mi punea tot felul de intrebari despre ce am vazut. La un moment dat, m-a intrebat daca nu vreau sa vad in real ce am vazut si in film. Am spus ca da si atunci si-a dat maioul jos si m-a intrebat daca imi place mai mult de ea sau de tipa din film. I-am raspuns ca de ea, si apoi mi-a spus sa-i masez si sa-i sarut sanii, cum am vazut in film. Eu eram deja panicat ca parintii ei se uitau la televizor in cealalta camera, dar ea m-a asigurat ca nu vor intra, so I obliged. Dupa cateva minute, gandul ca ar putea intra ai ei in camera a inceput sa ma sperie asa de tare, ca m-am oprit si i-am spus ca nu mai vreau, decat daca o sa fim singuri. Nu a comentat, dar a parut destul de trista.

    Din acel moment, relatia dintre noi s-a schimbat total, nu puteam sa raman mai mult de 5 minute singur cu ea fara sa-mi propuna sa facem ceva sexual. Practic, timp de aproape un an, rar trecea o zi sa nu facem nimic. Am facut cu ea cam tot tacamul in afara de sex anal. Looking back on it, ma mir cum nu s-a prins nimeni, cel putin de faptul ca din ce in ce mai des, fie venea ea sa doarma cu mine, fie mergeam eu sa dorm cu ea. Mai dormeam si inainte cu ea, dar destul de rar, din momentul in care au inceput "aventurile", nu mai voiam aproape de loc sa dorm singur sau cu bunica-mea.

    Chestia asta a tinut cam un an de zile, dupa care ea a plecat la facultate si eu am ramas un labagiu pana pe la vreo 16 ani cand mi-am (re)inceput viata sexuala cu o tipa de varsta mea. Cam tot pe la varsta aia am aflat ca nu a fost chiar ok ce s-a intamplat. Totusi, nu am considerat niciodata ca m-ar fi abuzat, pana la urma tipa nu m-a fortat niciodata sa fac ceva, totul a fost de comun acord (chiar daca se poate considera ca la varsta respectiva nu aveam discernamant). L-am privit mereu (chiar si in prezent) ca pe un "dirty little secret". De cand a plecat la facultate, m-am mai intalnit ocazional cu ea, insa niciodata nu am mai discutat despre ce am facut. In prezent, tipa are vreo 33 de ani, e casatorita si are 2 copii.

    TL;DR cand aveam 10 ani, o tipa de 18 a decis sa-mi dea lectii de sex timp de un an de zile.

    Totusi, nu am considerat niciodata ca m-ar fi abuzat, pana la urma tipa nu m-a fortat niciodata sa fac ceva, totul a fost de comun acord (chiar daca se poate considera ca la varsta respectiva nu aveam discernamant).

    E manipulare si o forma de abuz de putere, ea la 18 ani stia ce face, tu la 10 ani nu.

    E manipulare si o forma de abuz de putere, ea la 18 ani stia ce face, tu la 10 ani nu.

    De acord, si recunosc ca au fost urmari psihologice, chiar daca nu imediat. Spre exemplu, desi era foarte frumoasa tipa si tineam la ea, mereu am vazut-o doar ca pe o prietena, nu pot spune ca am fost indragostit de ea vreodata (nici nu stiu daca se pot simti astfel de sentimente la varsta aia). Cand am avut prima relatie in care am fost cu adevarat indragostit, experienta sexuala nu mi s-a parut deloc speciala, cum ar fi trebuit, ba chiar ma simteam frustrat, pentru ca tipa fusese virgina si nu accepta sa faca nici jumatate din ce facea vecina. Apoi, frustrari sexuale am avut cam in toate relatiile, nu a fost ceva constient, veneau din subconstient, dar probabil (desi nu sunt 100% sigur), au legatura cu aceasta experienta.

    Am incercat uneori sa le povestesc prietenilor apropiati despre aceasta experienta, insa mereu atitudinea lor a fost "Bravo coae!", "Ba, ce norocos esti!", "Ce n-as da sa fi avut copilaria ta!" si alte raspunsuri de genul. Nu stiu ce sa zic, daca nu este normal ca un baiat de 18 ani sa aiba o relatie sexuala cu o fata de 10, acelasi lucru ar trebui sa fie valabil si invers.

    insa mereu atitudinea lor a fost "Bravo coae!", "Ba, ce norocos esti!", "Ce n-as da sa fi avut copilaria ta!"

    îmi pare rău :(

    Drept sa-ti spun, daca nu ti s-ar fi intamplat oricum ai fi stat cu gandul numai la sex, asa eram cam toti.

    Eu stiu, am avut si eu colegi, prieteni, e normal ca la pubertate apare dorinta sexuala. Insa la mine era un cu totul alt nivel, eram de-a dreptul obsedat. Cand aveam vreo 13 ani, s-a laudat un prieten ca a intrat cu o fata in cabina de proba si i-a aratat aia sanii, mie mi se parea ceva banal, pe mine ma interesa doar sa dau la cioc si la supapa. Iti spun sincer, au fost momente, pana mi-am facut o prietena, am avut ganduri foarte infecte, doar frica de scoala de corectie m-a tinut sub control. Daca ajunsese diriginta sa spuna ca sunt obsedat sexual, pot spune sigur ca am depasit limita pentru ce era normal la varsta respectiva.

    ajunsese diriginta sa spuna ca sunt obsedat sexual

    pot să întreb de ce? ce informație ajunsese pe la urechea ei de spunea așa ceva?

    Si analizandu-te, crezi ca de acolo ti se trage? E greu de facut o distinctie intre cat de "obsedat" erai tu si cat eram ceilalti care nu apucasera sa faca sex, dar crede-ma ca si noi aveam ganduri infecte si ne gandeam in marea majoritatea a timpului la datul la bijboc. Dupa multa laba iti mai treceau temporar gandurile, dar pentru putin.

    Unul dintre semnele ca un copil a fost abuzat sexual este interesul exagerat fata de sex/comportamentul sexual exagerat.

    Nu stim noi exact ce inseamna exagerat, ce e normal si ce nu, dar un psiholog ar sti cel mai bine si este cert un semn cunoscut de abuz sexual la copii.

    fuck man, nu ai idee cat de invidiez.

    Nu ai ce invidia. Eu sunt de parere ca toate lucrurile au timpul lor. Pentru mine a fost prea devreme. In primul rand, cand am inceput sa fac aceste, mi-a pierit aproape complet interesul pentru majoritatea lucrurilor care le faceau copii de varsta mea. Petreceam mult prea mult timp cu vecina si prea putin cu copiii de varsta mea.

    Cand tipa a plecat la facultate, lucrurile s-au inrautit, mult. In capul meu era numai sa fut. Mai mult decat atat, interesul meu era in principal pentru fete de 15+ ani, insa cum majoritatea fetelor nu sunt pedofile, interesul lor era pentru baieti de varsta lor sau mai mari. Vreo 5 ani din viata mea au insemnat, in parte, filme porno si laba la greu. La un moment dat, prin clasa a 6-a cred, pana si diriginta auzise povesti despre mine si mi-a spus ca sunt un obsedat sexual.

    Cand in sfarsit am reusit sa am si eu o relatie mai serioasa, pe la 16 ani, cu o tipa de aceeasi varsta, virgina si timida, atat am tras de ea, cred ca daca ma mai refuza ceva timp, ajungeam ca aia din Vaslui. Pana la urma, tot sexul a fost si motivul pentru care ne-am despartit, multe dintre fanteziile mele o oripilau pur si simplu.

    Vreo 5 ani din viata mea au insemnat, in parte, filme porno si laba la greu.

    Ti se pare ca-i ceva deosebit? Ce crezi ca faceam restul carora nu ni s-au implinit fanteziile?

    Am impresia ca iti plangi de mila... Tu ai ajuns cumva sa asociezi experienta, cu chinu' hormoniilor unui adolescent. Nu ti-a dat heroina dude, te-a lasat s-o "atingi".

    In prezent, tipa are vreo 33 de ani, e casatorita si are 2 copii.

    asta e foarte scary considerând că tipa e pedofilă.

    În terapie pentru pedofili, #1 e să nu facă copii și să nu fie niciodată singuri cu copii.

    Știu că e destul de greu de acceptat, chiar și eu mă chinui să accept chestia asta, dar un pedofil nu scapă niciodată de asta. Poate merge la terapie pentru a controla atracția față de copii, însă nu scapă niciodată de ea. Există pedofili care nu au molestat niciodată un copil, nici nu s-au uitat la child porn, dar sunt atrași de copii. Merg la terapie pentru a ține sub control problema asta.

    Acuma, probabil veți spune că judec prea aspru și că tipa nu e atrasă de copii, dar ea era trecută de pubertate și era atrasă de oameni neajunși încă la pubertate. Deci in my book (and by the definition of paedophilia, tipa este pedofilă).

    Informații despre pedofilie și terapie:

    Nu stiu ce sa zic, m-am gandit de multe ori sa port o disctie cu ea, asa ca de la adult la adult, sa vad poate ce a fost in capul ei, so I can at least get some closure, dar nu stiu cat de ok ar fi sa redeschid acest subiect dupa 13 ani de blackout complet (cum am spus, am mai vorbit cu ea de atunci, chiar am mai si iesit, as friends, dar subiectul asta era sealed, ca si cum nimic nu s-ar fi intamplat vreodata).

    Tot ce stiu, cu vreo 4 luni inainte sa inceapa povestea asta, tipa se despartise de prietenul ei pe care-l avea de vreo 3 ani, o despartire destul de nasoala pentru ea, probabil a facut asta sa acopere un vid emotional, cine stie, desi sunt de acord ca in mod normal ar fi trebuit sa-si gaseasca pe cineva de varsta ei, mai ales ca era foarte frumoasa si multi erau in limba dupa ea.

    mai ales ca era foarte frumoasa si multi erau in limba dupa ea.

    cu toate asta și-a găsit rebound într-un copil de 10 ani... something fishy there, baby

    I'm just saying, poate ca oameni care sunt intr-o situatie psihologica precare, poate ajung sa faca lucruri care nu le-ar face in mod normal. In general, nu-mi place sa judec oamenii.

    doar că asta nu e o justificare.

    pedofilia e o situație psihologică precară permanentă, just saying.

    Fiind foarte frumoasa, era suspicioasa in privinta celor care "erau in limba dupa ea" (masculii de varsta ei sunt toti la fel, vor doar sa profite de ea si sa se culce cu ea, etc.)...intentii scabroase care lipsesc la un pusti de 10-11 ani...cum s-ar zice, l-a folosit can un fel de vibrator uman care iti da intimidate si nu iti trage clapa pe ne-ve...


    Asta nu e o scuza.

    spune-mi, te rog, că nu crezi ceea ce tocmai ai scris.

    To quote South Park: Niiiiice /s Glumesc bineinteles, e cam aiurea treaba, 10 ani esti prea tanar

    FUCK! GG!

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    That's all, there's not really anything else there. But then again, you might as well appreciate the careful needlework on the series product. []

  8. I'm aware you think you know the contrary -- but you think so on the basis of having stuffed yourself full of homebrew Romantic 1850s-1950s literature, which could be best summarized as "an attempt to retcon history with very little artistic merit". []
Category: La pas prin lume
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7 Responses

  1. imortel`s avatar
    Monday, 20 May 2019

    you know who you remind me of? charlie sheen and his angels.

  2. Mircea Popescu`s avatar
    Mircea Popescu 
    Tuesday, 21 May 2019

    I had to look that up, and I call bullshit. Fucking panties ? There's not even a pair in the house, what the everloving fuck ridiculous nonsense is this!

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