I suppose you've never heard of Take Ionescu. It's little wonder and of little consequence ; though he's one of the few Romanians to date to speak English properlyi you didn't miss much by it.
I on the other hand have heard ; and recently've been spending my time re-reading his work and commenters, reconstructing his life from within and without, rebuilding his commonii name exo&endonymically. This is also little wonder : I'd have missed much by not doingiii it. To each according to pizda ma-sii, you know ?
Events are never the salient point ; the interpretation of events always is. Upon hearing of the start of the first H1N1 pandemiciv he correctly predicted that Sense will make some initial inroads but eventually be crushed by Mass, that Transylvania will fall off Europe and into the latrinev, and that Stupidity will thenceforth find its tide ever on the rise. Genius.
Now let's read together, among his negligible contemporaneity, the pompously pretentious caracuda polluting his air with its unwarranted, tedious presence :
Din crimele lui Take Ionescu
Infamia de la Camera
Unul din cei mai buni prieteni ai nostri, Ionescu Raicu-Rion, a incetat din viata. Pentru cei care l-au cunoscut, pierderea camaradului e o trista si dureroasa stire. Rion era o natura blinda, prietenoasa, iubita de toti. Pentru noi, socialistii, in genere, moartea lui lasa un gol care greu se va umple, caci Rion era unul din cei mai culti si mai devotati dintre amicii nostri.
Dar moartea asta nu ne inspira noua numai intristarea naturala la pierderea unui tovaras pretuit; este aici ceva mai mult, o drama sociala, care s-a jucat pe tacute, in linistea mizeriei.
De un an de zile aproape, Rion incetase de a fi omul activ si comunicativ de odinioara; retras in singuratate, nu mai dedea stiri despre dinsul, traia pentru catedra pe care o suplinea la Tirgoviste, si atita tot. Aceia care il cunoscusera de aproape, care il stiau incapabil de a renunta cu totul la activitatea in folosul ideilor lui nu-si puteau explica schimbarea asta intr-o fire devotata si setoasa de munca.
Ni se va permite sa povestim o mica scena, asupra careia am fost siliti sa pastram tacerea, dar pe care astazi avem datoria de a o scoate la lumina.
Anul trecut Rion s-a prezentat la un concurs si a reusit al doilea, cu media aproape 9. Ei bine, desi erau trei catedre vacante, desi juriul l-a recomandat pe Rion, d. Take Ionescu n-a vroit sa-l numeasca, si de cite ori nenorocitul nostru prieten s-a prezentat la minister, raspunsul invariabil al celui mai cinic dintre ministri era: "N-am ce-ti face, ai reusit, locuri vacante sint, dar dumneata esti socialist, si eu nu te pot numi. Cel mult iti pot acorda un loc de suplinitor."
Dezgustat, covirsit de mizerie, el, care era singurul sprijin a cinci surori si al unor parinti saraci, tarani din Vaslui, Rion s-a osindit la rolul de a vegeta o viata fara bucurii si de a renunta la orice alta activitate intelectuala...
Las pe altii sa traga concluzia. Dar nu se va gasi nimeni sa nu faca deosebirea cuvenita dintre acest copil de taran, pe care-l doare, pe care-l ucide imposibilitatea de a munci pentru ideile lui, si intre fiul necinstit al unui necinstit tirgovet, care si-a vindut si trup, si suflet pentru un blid murdar de linte, si care vroieste sa coboare la decaderea lui morala pe toti.
D. Take Ionescu isi face o glorie din faptul ca poate zice: „sint un ex-mitocan”. Convins ca a atins cea din urma treapta a maririlor, nu are azi decit un singur dor; acela de a nu intilni in cale tineri cinstiti, care sa-l umileasca prin onestitatea lor. E patima batrinelor corupte, care, dupa ce s-au speculat pe ele, n-au alta pasiune decit aceea de a tiri fecioare pe drumul pierzarii.
Rion insa nu era din stofa celor ce-ajung la Vacaresti sau pe banca ministeriala. Natura incapabila de vinzare a constiintei, socialist cu fapta, cu cuvintul si cu cugetul, era fatal sa moara in mizerie, dar sa moara cum mor eroii, nu cum mor caracudele.
La sentimentele lui Take Ionescu nu ne gindim, caci pina intr-atita de naivi nu sintem. Dar sa se gindeasca singur la deosebirea pe care el a creat-o: Rion moare sarac, lasind in urma-i regrete adinci si admiratia tuturora; Take Ionescu traieste, si i se pare ca are admiratori sinceri. Iasa insa din cercul in care se gudura, si va vedea ca nu exista in tara asta un om care sa nu fie adinc dezgustat de cinismul si de degradarea ministrului-lipitoare.
Moartea unor tineri ca Rion trebuie plinsa nu numai de socialisti, dar de toti citi inteleg devotamentul sfint si onestitatea, asa de rara in lumea noastra, unde, pentru ca sa traiesti, trebuie sa te cobori, sa decazi, sa fii un Take Ionescu.
In your own idiom it'd go something like
Among Take Ionescu's murders
The infamy in Parliament
One of our best friends, Ionescu Raicu-Rion, has moved on. For those who knew him, the loss of this comrade makes for sad and painful news. Rion was a domesticvi nature, friendly, loved by all.vii For us, socialists, in general, his death leaves a vacuum that'll be hard to fill, for Rion was one of the most cultivated and devoted of our friends.
But this death does not inspire merely the natural sadness of losing a valued collaborator ; there's here more, there's social drama that played out quietly, in the silence of poverty.
For the past year almost, Rion had ceased of being the active, communicative man of yesteryear ; withdrawn in solitude, he gave no sign of himself, living for his substitute teaching position in Tirgoviste and nothing more. Those who had known him closely, who knew him incapable of renouncing entirely his activity in furthering his ideas could not explain this change in a devoted and work-seeking nature.
We will be permitted to recount a little scene, on which we were forced to keep quiet, but which today we have the duty to bring to light.
Last year Rion participated in an examination and succeeded second, marked almost 90%. Well, although there were three vacant posts, and although the examiners recommended Rion, Mr. Take Ionescu refusedviii nominating himix, and every time our misfortunate friendx rang the ministerial doorbell, the unchanging answer of the most cynical of ministers came as "There's nothing I can do for you ; you might've passed an exam, there are indeed vacancies, but you're a socialist, and I can not nominate you. At most you can have a substitute position."
Disgustedxi, overwhelmed by poverty, he, the sole support of five sisters and poor parentsxii, peasants from Vasluixiii, Rion convicted himself to the role of vegetating out a joyless life, giving up any other intellectual activity...
I'll let others draw the conclusion.xiv But there will be no one found to not make the needed distinction between this child of peasants, who hurts, who is killed by the impossibility of working for his ideasxv and the dishonest son of dishonest bourgeoisie, who has sold body and soul for a dirty bowl of lentils, and who aims to lower to his own decay everyone else.
Mr. Take Ionescu pretends to some glory over the fact that he can say "I'm an ex-mitocan"xvi. Convinced he's reached the last degree of greatness, he's got one desire left : to never run into honest young men, who might humiliate him by their honesty. It's the addiction of old whores, who, after they speculated their own bodies, have no other passion besides dragging virgins into perdition.xvii
Rion however wasn't cut of the cloth of those who end up in Sing-Sing or on the ministerial bench. Nature incapable of selling its consciencexviii, socialist by deed, word and thought, it was unavoidable he'd die in poverty, but to die like heroes, rather than inconsequential plebs.xix
We're not quite naive enough to think of Take Ionescu's higher feeling. But let him think himself of the difference he himself created : Rion dies poor, leaving behind deep regret and everyone's admiration ; Take Ionescu lives, and thinks himself earnestly admired. Let him go out of the circle in which he fawnsxx and he will see there's not in this whole country a man who's not deeply disgusted by the cynicism and degradation of the leech-minister.
The death of youths like Rion must be cried not just by socialists, but by all who understand sacred devotion and honesty, so rare in our worldxxi, where, to live, you must lower yourself, to decay, to be a Take Ionescu.
Murders, rite ? The man's murders.
Now then : the strategy of socialism is in all places and for all time fixed, always the same. Apud Hamilton :
The spirit of jacobinism, if not entirely a new spirit, has at least been cloathed with a more gigantic body and armed with more powerful weapons than it ever before possessed. It is perhaps not too much to say, that it threatens more extensive and complicated mischiefs to the world than have hitherto flowed from the three great scourges of mankind, War, Pestilence and Famine. To what point it will ultimately lead society, it is impossible for human foresight to pronounce ; but there is just ground to apprehend that its progress may be marked with calamities of which the dreadful incidents of the French revolution afford a very faint image.
Incessantly busy in undermining all the props of public security and private happiness, it seems to threaten the political and moral world with a complete overthrow. A principal engine by which this spirit endeavours to accomplish its purposes is that of calumny. It is essential to its success that the influence of men of upright principles, disposed and able to resist its enterprizes, shall be at all events destroyed. Not content with traducing their best efforts for the public good, with misrepresenting their purest motives, with inferring criminality from actions innocent or laudable, the most direct falsehoods are invented and propagated with undaunted effrontery and unrelenting perseverance. Lies of ten detected and refuted are still revived and repeated, in the hope that the refutation may have been forgotten, or that the frequency and boldness of accusation may supply the place of truth and proof.
The most profligate men are encouraged, probably bribed, certainly with patronage if not with money, to become informers and accusers, and when tales, which their characters alone ought to discredit, are refuted by evidence and facts which oblige the patrons of them to abandon their support, they still continue in corroding whispers to wear away the reputations which they could not directly subvert. If, luckily for the conspirators against honest fame, any little foible or folly can be traced out in one, whom they desire to persecute, it becomes at once in their hands a two-edged sword, by which to wound the public character and stab the private felicity of the person. With such men, nothing is sacred. Even the peace of an unoffending and amiable wife is a welcome repast to their insatiate fury against the husband.
In the gratification of this baleful spirit, we not only hear the jacobin news-papers continually ring with odious insinuations and charges against many of our most virtuous citizens; but, not satisfied with this, a measure new in this country has been lately adopted to give greater efficacy to the system of defamation - periodical pamphlets issue from the same presses, full freighted with misrepresentation and falsehood, artfully calculated to hold up the opponents of the Faction to the jealousy and distrust of the present generation and if possible, to transmit their names with dishonor to posterity.
Even the great and multiplied services, the tried and rarely equalled virtues of a Washington, can secure no exemption. How then can I, with pretensions every way inferior expect to escape ? And if truly this be, as every appearance indicates, a conspiracy of vice against virtue, ought I not rather to be flattered, that I have been so long and so peculiarly an object of persecution ? Ought I to regret, if there be any thing about me, so formidable to the Faction as to have made me worthy to be distinguished by the plenitude of its rancour and venom ? It is certain that I have had a pretty copious experience of its malignity. For the honor of human nature, it is to be hoped that the examples are not numerous of men so greatly calumniated and persecuted as I have been, with so little cause.
But no, it didn't start in 1797. Rochester evidently knew of it and... well, Rochester lived before the great bursting forth of socialism, not (however marginally) after. If you can be bothered to come up with another "initial moment" I'll look for a counterexample, but as we currently stand I'd say it's good enough.
The strategy of socialism is in all times and places the same thing : ever told a small child he's bad only to hear back "no, you're bad", mechanically, like that ? Yes, they do it -- some do it for the entire rest of their lives.
It could be said that a concentration upon failure, lack, insufficiency and inadequacy is ultimately healthy, aiming as it must aim to their correction. This statement is not merely false, it is outright falsifying : the concentration by the successful, by the whole, by the complete and the adequate upon failure, lack, insufficiency and inadequacy is ultimately healthy. Yes, all shortcomings can be and ultimately must be resolved. But resolved by they afflicted, under pressure from their betters. Not the other fucking way around!
Unyielding, insistent discussion of perceived (necessarily incorrectly) flaws by the transparently, obviously flawed ; fixation, to the exclusion of all else (and very much especially to the exclusion of any proper and due worship ; a complete shuttering of the very natural, and very necessary, and very directly obvious "I love him, I want to be more like him" impulse of healthy boyhood) is nothing more and nothing besides a raging inferiority complex, resolving itself impotently in verbiage, hollow chaining of "conscience" and "sacred ideals" and rank fucking nonsense.
Let the boi first be himself a minister, and then point at that generation's evidently superlative product. Who, of those born in Romania 1850-1860, can claim preminence over this man ? On what ground are they standing, such as the accident of terrain compensates for their own shortness ? Of those few who maybe have a claim, which eminently does not include barely literate aspirants to good life on public moneyxxii, who actually said anything ?
The strategy of idiocy aiming to self-preservation is "speaking truth to power" in this particular sense : the child will echo "no, u!" at you ; if it takes, it'll stay a child, mark down yet another great victory for "progress" aka statu quo. Do you realise, incidentally, that Voltaire would likely deplore your troglodyte state, in personal as well as public matters ? How do you figure you've gotten here, by progressing ?
Progressing backwards, the necessary if universal fruit of the socialist approach to things.———
- And he learned it correctly, too, which is to say from a woman, in the bedroom. There's no other way, and moreover -- there's entirely no point to the pretense some other process produces anything worth the mention. [↩]
- Take is just notational innovation upon the very banal Tache, short form of Costache which is in turn a contraction of Constantin which was a most fashionable period christening. [↩]
- It's the sort of thing that, much like fucking, can't be delegated, as the benefit soundly rests with doing the work, not with "enjoying the fruits". Unlike the case of pre-us fucking (and like the case of post-us fucking), there are no fruits. [↩]
- A historical occurrence more commonly referred to by the "Great War" moniker, on the flimsy basis of a supposed something which supposedly ran at the same time, though nobody really noticed it because how could it be possible to notice anything else while a virus is going around !?
But let's leave sarcasm aside, to sit undisturbed with the other lowest forms of
witambition and talk seriously instead. The 1914-1920 edition of the pandemic killed about fifty million people, doubling natural mortality rates over half a decade -- yet nobody even knew about it. Not then, not for many years after. Men. [↩]
- Perhaps more properly speaking, that Transylvania's adherence to and maintaining of early Roman mores and mental spaces will not ultimately provide enough adherence to a rather corrupted Anglo-germanic periphery, and so it'll go instead for an inept attempt at reformation long dead in its originating point. Think of these idiots if you will, waking up to
Les légions romaines, que vous avez quelquefois imitées, mais pas encore égalées, combattaient Carthage tour à tour sur cette même mer et aux plaines de Zama. La victoire ne les abandonna jamais, parce que constamment elles furent braves, patientes à supporter les fatigues, disciplinées et unies entre elles... Soldats, matelots, vous avez été jusqu’à ce jour négligés ; aujourd’hui, la plus grande sollicitude de la République est pour vous... Le génie de la liberté, qui a rendu, dès sa naissance, la République, arbitre de l’Europe, veut qu’elle le soit des mers et des nations les plus lointaines.
in 1918! The damned thing was written 1798! It was well buried by 1818! Yet they wanna join the g/host of a departed Napoleon, what can you do.
Actually... you're still chasing that impossible dream, huh. Aite, by all means, don't let me get in the way. [↩]
- Fuck "gentle", it's a terrible "no brainer" translation. The point of the Romanian word is precisely the female quality of domesticity. [↩]
- For any definition of "all" not including anyone in any danger of meaning anything or mattering in any sense. The socialist "all", Sofia Nadejde & co. [↩]
- The original contains a common if disgraceful spelling error. The language knows of two verbs discussing will : a vrea and a voi. The forms they provide to mark the concept behind "he wanted" are el a vrut and el a voit. The composite, inexistent form "a vroit" is a barbarism, much like "trans"-sexuals.
Pick one or the other, fucking retards. Stop trying to average everything into nothingness just because your mediocrity feels best at ease among garbage.
mysql> SELECT id, post_name FROM posts WHERE post_type ="post" AND post_content LIKE "% vroit%";
Empty set (9.09 sec)
Now I'm stuck with this garbage on top of everything else, because hurr durr, "beloved by all" fucking nonsense. The retards' continued existence is the worst ecology problem humanity has ever faced. They sully everything, for as long as one still lives everything's dirty. [↩]
- Take Ionescu was the Education Minister at the time, the statal authority in charge of tenure (which is what this is all about). [↩]
- The fellow had completed secondary education on public funds ; and otherwise had acquired tuberculosis through the usual venue socialists manage that feat : being poor and stupid. To my eye these two central (and as far as the eye can see, rather only) circumstances of his life indicate anything but misfortune ; but then again socialists' reasoning, that spaghetti plate of selective disavowal in a thick nonsense sauce. [↩]
- Someone should sometime write a monograph of this "disgust" theme, I suppose just as soon as someone finds hazmat suits thick enough to brave the socialist cloaca with. It certainly merits it on the face, being as it is the foremost pretense / defensive manoeuver of the "upper class ideals" cuntlet. Obviously genuine disgust exists in nature, but somehow the subhumans end up walking like little girls in ill-fitting high heels evidently intended for an adult woman with that particular theme more often than they do any other particular item on the long list of dumb shit they do. [↩]
- All blameless in their destitution, of course, it's to be taken as a given. Not like poor young women have some urgent duties to attend to, not like poor parents have some 'splaining to do, not like anything. Take it all as a given and proceed stupidly vorwards why don't you!
Dans ma rue y'a des ombres qui s'promènent, et je tremble et j'ai froid et j'ai peur.
Mon père m'a dit un jour : ma fille, tu vas pas rester là sans fin. T'es bonne à rien, c'est de famille, faudrait voir à gagner ton pain. Les hommes te trouvent plutôt jolie, tu n'auras qu'à partir le soir. Y'a bien des femmes qui gagnent leur vie en s'baladant sur le trottoir.
Oh, wait, the "disgusted" precious cuntlets are too precious (in their own, personal estimation, shared by exactly no-one as it might be) to get the fuck to work. They'll just wait instead. Disgustedly though, okay ?
Fucking bullshit. [↩]
- Then as now an epicenter of such sagacious bovinity. [↩]
- And not, obviously, their own conclusions. You're cordially invited to support the anal childhood. [↩]
- In the sense of poisoning the youth under the guise of "education" without fear of repercussions. That's the fucking point, the great comrade is suffering greatly because he can't "work for his ideas" with impunity, and in such unfair circumstances he rather prefers to not work at all. Indemnification from consequence, the "science" America runs on, the great dream uniting all these worthless dicklets since the dawn of urban life and naive application of resources produced half-literate street urchins. [↩]
- A mitoc, метохъ, μετόχι denotes in the most direct a benefice, real estate owned by a political center of power. More practically, as the interplay between cunt's anonymous yet endless byproducts and mind's sharply limited capacity to make sense and keep track of the sense made yielding over time the unavoidable crushing of the latter, it came to denote a piece of real estate inhabited in precaria by some litany of nobody in particulars, like dogs are inhabited by fleas : "because it was there".
As in the Eastern world individual men never rose to much social preminence, leaving collective action (such as the church and monasteries) to dominate social life, there's some vague churchly relation ; but otherwise the situation's exactly the same as depicted in the English hackery : recall that set of five sisters very worried about getting kicked out of "their home" which wasn't theirs, but not worried enough to assume the proper position before the young lord ?
That's what it is ; a mitocan's a dweller of such a place, one whose principal with a view to only (and in any case defining) characteristic is this fundamental inadequacy between status and pretense. The word is to this day in common usage ; Take Ionescu's self-mocking intension being that he's resolved the tension by upgrading his status to match. [↩]
- See ?
"Honesty" is now to be the pavise of imbecile indolence. Why not ? Give a socialist anything and watch him turn it into further reasons for staying stupid.
- I love it how it's always some selling of a putative (rather, wholly imagined) "conscience" that's purported to be the object. It ain't the object. "Conscience" can't be the name for "that which prevents me from acting effectually in the world", retrofitted retrospectively just like that, "whenever I sat around like discarded toilet paper instead of doing, '''conscience''' was holding me back". Nor does substituting a different, period-fashionable word work any better! [↩]
- He's the backwards man, he's the backwards man. He can walk backwards faster than you can, he can walk backwards faster than you can! [↩]
- There's a particular ebullitiously-submissive behaviour in dogs (most visible for instance when a beloved master returns after a brief absence) that apparently doesn't enjoy a dedicated word denoting it in English. There is one in Romanian. [↩]
- That's okay, it's common in this other, latter world. Just as intolerably idiotic as before, but in truth a lot more of it to go around. Progress, I guess. [↩]
- What a hallucination, this concept of "public money". What, "the government" has "injected" howevermany trillions "into the economy" ? What, like injecting air into a hated old relative's circulatory system with a view to hastening inheritance ? Whence's that "money" to have come from, the very skies above ? [↩]