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Inteligenta nu e niciodata o achizitie finala. Nu e un certificat, o diploma, un titlu academic, acordat pe viata si de care nu poti fi deposedat. Nu e o destinatie ultima in care te poti instala ireversibil. E mai degraba un drum in care iti poti aseza cautarile. O directie. Un vector. E ca un varf de munte pe care poti sa-l cuceresti dar nu poti sa-ti instalezi cortul. E ca un animal salbatic pe care-l poti domestici dar care nu te va pastra in sa daca inlocuiesti vigilenta constanta cu prezumtia gaunoasa. E ca o virtute divina de care te poti molipsi frecventand panteonul bibliotecilor dar care nu ramane cu tine din pura inertie. Inteligenta e o virtute capricioasa a mintii, un taram a carei reduta trebuie sa o cuceresti de fiecare data. O tara in care locuiesti fara drept de rezidenta permanenta. Ritos spus, suntem mai degraba prosti decat inteligenti. Prostia nu este (ca sa parafrazez un geniu prost – Sartre) Celalalt. In lupta cu prostia proprie castigi doar batalii. Razboiul nu-l castigi niciodata.  Suntem mai degraba pe langa drum, decat pe drum. De cele mai multe ori ratacim. Uneori recuperabili, in directia drumului, alteori dezastruos, in inversul lui. A fi inteligent se reduce, in ultima instanta, la o chestiune de orientare. Geografie. Sa stii unde este Nordul astutiei si sa te indrepti spre el. Inteligenta nu e ireversibila. Poti cadea din har. Poti sa-ti pierzi mantuirea. De la Cadere incoace, paradoxul face ca putem fi prosti si destepti in acelasi timp. Inteligenta si prostia, gratia si damnarea sunt stari simultane, nu succesive. In fiecare moment al vietii voi fi inteligent in chestiunea p, q, r si prost in chestiunea x, y, z. Evident, in chestiunea de fata, sunt inteligent. Sunt absolut sigur.

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“ – Numai idiotii n-au nici o indoala.

– Sunteti sigur?

– Absolut sigur! “

(Georges Courteline)

 

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N.B. Deconstructia inteligentei o putem face de unii singuri, prin pura introspectie, descoperind cu stupoare ca suntem mai putin inteligenti decat indeobste ne credem, ceea ce necesita onestitate si, paradoxal, inteligenta sau cu ajutorul unor inaintasi mai inteligenti si mai resourceful decat noi in psihologie cognitiva, neurostiinte, stiinte cognitive etc Daniel Kahneman cu al sau op “Thinking, Fast and Slow” ar fi referinta clasica. #biases #fallacies #cognitive heuristics #mental shortcuts etc In ce ma priveste am inceput cu o clona minora dar eficienta totusi in demistificarea autosuficientei mele (Ewa Drozda Senkowska“Capcanele raţionamentului : Cum ne înşelăm convinşi că avem dreptate”). Alte carti care s-au mai strans pe la mine prin biblioteca despre sau in marginea chestiunii, carti destepte despre cat sunt eu de prost, see below:

 

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“Dar şi un om deştept e capabil de mult cretinism. Şi eu am fost în nenumărate rânduri, cretin. Inteligenţa e recurentă, numai prostia e continuă.” (Alexandru Paleologu – “Breviar”)

“Contrariul prostiei, constat cu mirare, nu e inteligenta (ci bunul simt). Altfel cum ar fi posibil sa vedem, in atatea cazuri, o inteligenta nu rareori exceptionala, oferind cele mai crase probe de prostie, ca suficienta, infatuarea, vanitatea, snobismul, egocentrismul, ambitiile marunte sau, din contra, excesive, incapatanarea (care duce la inconsecvente deseori flagrante), intoleranta si multe altele ce viciaza atat intelegerea si cunoasterea cat si comportarea. In fapt, inteligenta nu e nici constanta, nici omnivalenta; ea functioneaza recurent, cu o frecventa variabila, in raport cu care recunoastem cuiva calitatea de om inteligent; dar are pauze, uneori deconcertante, cand nu de-a dreptul penibile. Afara de aceasta, inteligentele sunt heterogene si uneori incapabile sa se recunoasca mutual; cei mai inteligenti oameni sunt de o completa opacitate in alte domenii decat cele in care exceleaza.” (Alexandru Paleologu –  “Bunul-simt ca paradox”)

„Am ales să vorbesc despre prostie şi ar fi o pură prostie din partea mea să vreau să lămuresc un asemenea subiect. Vă spun de la început că nu o să vorbesc despre prostie ca un deştept, respectiv ca unul care se simte în afara sferei conceptului despre care vorbeşte. Mi-am adus aminte de o vorbă a lui Alexandru Paleologu care spunea că oamenii inteligenţi ating cote de prostie pe măsura inteligenţei lor. Şi vorbesc despre prostie ca o condiţie obişnuită a umanităţii. Toţi suntem proşti din când în când: spunem prostii, facem prostii, ne purtăm prosteşte… votăm prosteşte”. (Andrei Plesu)

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“The misconception: you are a being of logic and reason.

The truth: you are a being capable of logic and reason who falls short of that ideal in predictable ways. “

(David McRaney – “You can beat your brain”)

“You assume you are intelligent, capable, rational, and full of the same glorious reason that invented calculus and ginger snaps. You were born with a chip on your shoulder, and you’ve grown into a sort of undeserved confidence over the years. It’s a human foible that comes in many flavors. The truth is that your brain lies to you. Inside your skull is a vast and far-reaching personal conspiracy to keep you from uncovering the facts about who you actually are, how capable you tend to be, and how confident you deserve to feel. The truth is that the human brain generates a mind that is deeply flawed. There are some things you just aren’t very good at and never will be. Evidence of your dumbness is everywhere.  You greatly underestimate how easily and how often you delude yourself, and how your perception can be dramatically altered from within. You do not passively receive reality. You actively participate in the creation of your personal universe. “(David McRaney – “You can beat your brain”)

“You think you know how the world works, but you really don’t. You move through life forming opinions and cobbling together a story about who you are and why you did the things you did. The truth is, there is a growing body of work coming out of psychology and cognitive science that says you have no clue why you act the way you do, choose the things you choose, or think the thoughts you think. Instead, you create narratives, little stories to explain away your thinking, your decisions, your behaviour. You have a deep desire to be right all of the time and a deeper desire to see yourself in a positive light both morally and behaviorally. You can stretch your mind pretty far to achieve these goals. The maintenance of a positive self-image seems to be so important to the human mind you have evolved mental mechanisms designed to make you feel awesome about yourself. Cognitive biases lead to poor choices, bad judgments, and wacky insights that are often totally incorrect. For example, you tend to look for information that confirms your beliefs and ignore information that challenges them. This is called confirmation bias. The contents of your bookshelf and the bookmarks in your Web browser are a direct result of it. With each new subject in these pages you will start to see yourself in a new way. You will soon realize you are not so smart, and thanks to a plethora of cognitive biases, faulty heuristics, and common fallacies of thought, you are probably deluding yourself minute by minute just to cope with reality.” (David McRaney – “You are not so smart”)

“You see, being smart is a much more complicated and misunderstood state than you believe. Most of the time, you are terrible at making sense of things. If it were your job, you would long since have been fired. You think you are a rational agent, slowly contemplating your life before making decisions and choices, and though you may sometimes falter, for the most part you keep it together, but that’s not the case at all.  You are always under the influence of irrational reasoning. You persist in a state of deluded deliberation. You are terrible at explaining yourself to yourself, and you are unaware of the depth and breadth of your faults in this regard. You feel quite the opposite, actually. You maintain an unrealistic confidence in your own perceptions even after your limitations are revealed. It is at this intersection of presumption and weakness, the beautiful combination of assurance and imperfection, where we will be spending most of our time together. This is an exploration of some of the most compelling self-deceptions that have been identified and quantified by science.  This is the stuff that should be in the instruction manual for operating human body – just like the entries science recently added about trans fats and glutens. Herein lies a catalogue of some of the things science has learned about the flaws of the human mind and how your brain lies to you, how it cheats and edits and alters reality, and how you fall for it over and over again.

Well, when it comes to your mind, you are often unaware of the source of your own feelings and thoughts, your own behaviors and memories, but instead of bumbling about confused and frightened, you possess a giant toolkit of tricks and techniques by which you invent scenarios that make life easier to comprehend, and then you believe in those scenarios. Over years and years, that jumble becomes the story of your life. “(David McRaney – “You can beat your brain”)

“Heuristics allow you to think and act faster, and biases influence you to behave in ways that typically keep primates alive and active. In modern life, though, your heuristics and biases get challenged all the time, and that’s when you pull out logical fallacies. Logical fallacies appear during arguments with yourself and others. You often begin with a conclusion already in mind and then work toward proving that you were not stupid to have drawn that conclusion in the first place. This sort of motivated reasoning often depends on warping logic to make things work out in your head.  You get confused in your own logic all the time and end up twisting language to make the world line up with your preconceived notions.” (David McRaney – “You can beat your brain”)

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“We can be blind to the obvious, and we are also blind to our blindness. We have very little idea of how little we know. We’re not designed to know how little we know. Our comforting conviction that the world makes sense rests on a secure foundation: our almost unlimited ability to ignore our ignorance.” (Daniel Kahneman – “Thinking, Fast and Slow”)

“Suppose you like someone very much. Then, by a familiar halo effect, you will also be prone to believe many good things about that person – you will be biased in their favor. Most of us like ourselves very much, and that suffices to explain self-assessments that are biased in a particular direction.” Daniel Kahneman

“You like or dislike people long before you know much about them; you trust or distrust strangers without knowing why; you feel that an enterprise is bound to succeed without analyzing it. Whether you state them or not, you often have answers to questions that you do not completely understand, relying on evidence that you can neither explain nor defend.”  (Daniel Kahneman – “Thinking, Fast and Slow”)

 “Doubting what you see is a very odd experience. And doubting what you remember is a little less odd than doubting what you see. But it’s also a pretty odd experience, because some memories come with a very compelling sense of truth about them, and that happens to be the case even for memories that are not true.”  Daniel Kahneman

“We think, each of us, that we’re much more rational than we are. And we think that we make our decisions because we have good reasons to make them. Even when it’s the other way around. We believe in the reasons, because we’ve already made the decision.” Daniel Kahneman

“I call it theory-induced blindness: once you have accepted a theory and used it as a tool in your thinking, it is extraordinarily difficult to notice its flaws. If you come upon an observation that does not seem to fit the model, you assume that there must be a perfectly good explanation that you are somehow missing.”  (Daniel Kahneman – “Thinking, Fast and Slow”)

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Nu. Nu suntem niciodata chit. Intre tine si tine va sta intotdeauna un pepene blestemat.

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“Nu pot, totusi, sa pretind ca prima mea intalnire cu magia a fost incurajatoare. Initierea mea a avut loc in curte, si a fost opera unuia mai mic decat mine, poreclit Harvuz, din pricina obiceiului pe care il avea de a privi lumea pe deasupra unei felii rosii de pepene verde, in care isi vara dintii si nasul, in asa fel incat numai ochii sai meditativi ramaneau vizibili.  Parintii lui aveau o dugheana cu fructe si legume in imobil si nu se ivea niciodata din subsolul in care locuia fara o portie serioasa din fructul preferat. Avea un fel special de-a se infrupta din miezul suculent al fructului, care ne facea sa salivam de pofta, in timp ce ochii lui atenti ne priveau cu interes pe deasupra obiectului dorintelor noastre. Pepenele verde era unul din fructele cele mai obisnuite ale tarii, dar se iveau, la anotimpul respectiv, in oras, cateva cazuri de holera, fapt pentru care parintii ne interziceau sa punem gura pe acest fruct. Sunt convins ca privatiunile incercate in copilarie lasa o dara profunda, de nesters, neputand fi niciodata compensate. La patruzeci si patru de ani, ori de cate ori imi infig dintii intr-un pepene verde, incerc un sentiment de revansa si de izbanda extrem de satisfacator, iar ochii mei par mereu sa caute, pe deasupra feliei parfumate, chipul micului meu camarad, pentru a-i face cunoscut ca suntem chit, ca si eu am izbutit ceva in viata. Oricat m-as infrupta, insa, acum din fructul preferat, voi simti vesnic – ar fi in zadar sa neg – muscatura regretului in suflet, si toti pepenii verzi din lume nu ma vor putea face sa-i uit pe cei pe care nu i-am mancat la varsta de opt ani, cand ii pofteam cu cea mai mare ardoare, iar pepenele verde absolut va continua sa ma sfideze cu insolenta pana la capatul vietii, vesnic prezent, presimtit si vesnic inaccesibil. “

(Romain Gary – “Prima dragoste, ultima dragoste” )

 

Frig. Cumplit. Pustiitor. Ca si cum cat a fost in coma trupul ala cald a tinut la distanta iarna. Ca si cum odata plecata din lumea asta gerul dezolant ar fi singura consecinta logica. Frigul din oasele ei devenit frigul din oasele noastre. Flori aproape casante pe sicriu. Maini inclestate prin care sangele nu mai curge. Fete invinetite de frigul napraznic. Lacrimi care iti ingheata in gene imediat ce-ti mijesc sub pleoape. Picioare bocna degerate care te smulg doliului si te livreaza solipsismului. Capela rece si umeda ca o pestera in care nici Hristos nu ar invia. Alb mincinos peste tot. Nameti negri inauntru. Bolovani care cad cu zgomot sinistru peste sicriu. Langa mormantul ei mijesc printre lacrimi pe o cruce doua nume. Numele parintilor mei. Amutesc. Tusa de surreal se ingroasa pana la absurd. Lespezile reci cad fara zgomot peste haul care o inghite dintre noi. Nu-mi vine sa plec. Sora mea e singura acolo si ii este frig. Cumplit. Siberii in suflet.

 

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oroarea de a descoperi ca esti considerat inadecvat. nefrecventabil. alter. toata vorbaria anterioara cum ca esti altfel, diferit ipso facto valoros se dovedeste astfel o mare facatura. nu suntem altceva, cu totii, decat niste impostori, tarand dupa noi pretentii pe care nu reusim sa le implinim. la primul test cadem ca mustele, imbratisand naufragiati conventiile care sa ne duca inapoi pe taramul solid al adecvarii. progres cu semn schimbat. de la trubadurul medieval care isi urla pe ulitele burgului mandria de a fi indragostit de obiectul iubirii lui, din presupusa electiune divina, la trubadurul modern care se rusineaza cu cel pe care-l iubeste. de la ma mandresc cu tine, ma mandresc ca privirea ta s-a oprit la mine la inclasabilul priveste in alta parte, nu vreau sa fiu asociat cu tine. si asta dintr-un motiv simplu, iar intuitia e corecta. pentru ca suntem ceea ce iubim. in obiectul iubirii, care scapa calculelor rationale, ne dezvaluim cel mai bine cine suntem in adancime (ortega y gasset). spaima asocierii cu cel iubit si nevoia distantarii de el din asta vine. nu vrem sa fim ceea ce iubim. nu vrem sa fim atat de … putin. ponciful ca suntem imputinati fara cei iubiti inlocuit astfel cu acela ca suntem imputinati cu ei. fortune’s fool putin pe dos. putin mai mult.

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Betraying, lying, sneaking behind your lover’s back, cheating, breaking the bond of trust are all forms of backstabbing. You need to be the object of a betrayal in order to understand why in Dante’s Inferno betrayal is the ultimate sin. You need to be backstabbed to understand why he dedicated the ninth and the last Circle of Hell to their perpetrators.

1. When you first encounter the betrayal and all of these happen to you there’s still room to work it out. At the end of the day shit happens. Maybe it was an accident. Maybe it wasn’t done out of habit or because your spouse is that particular way. Whorish. Dishonest. Treacherous. You will wisely say to yourself – wait and see. Don’t rush into judging people. Don’t rush into labelling them based on a single instance of mistrust. People make mistakes. People do make mistakes.

Once you are faced with such an ordeal you have two options. You can turn left  and exit the relationship or you can turn right  and wait to figure out what was all that about. If you turn right, preserving that relationship, you can either put on hold the whole thing (ignoring the betrayal or just thinking it out properly before making a move) or confront him with his disloyalty. If you decide to confront him, his options are admitting the treachery or denying it. If he admits it he can do it remorsefully or he can do it making excuses. If he denies it he can do it lightly or he can do it in a strong way, outraged that you would dare put him in such a place. The former, the light form of denial is rather common while the latter, the rage denial is rare and abusive. Whether it’s done as a defensive mechanism (out of shame or embarrassment because you have witnessed his flaws), or as an offensive and deterrence mechanism (in order to prevent you from challenging him again in the future) is another matter. No matter the case the outraged reaction over his own mistakes and exposure is a sheer case of abuse. If he denies lightly he is just weak and defensive, it’s understandable. We all are. It is not abuse. If he denies it in a strong and punitive way, turning you from a victim to an abuser, punishing you for his own mistakes, this means he is an impostor and it’s a first sign you will likely face an abusive relationship. He is an abuser and that’s the end of it. It’s better to get out of there before you are involved too much and it’s too late or too difficult to find a way out. He might be loving otherwise, he might make you happy at times, he might be sweet and all that, but unless you like being abused and find joy in being mind-twisted by lies and deceits it will never work out. At some point the price will be paid in full. Because, mark my words, there’s no way to turn an abusive individual!

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2. Anyway, so you decided to wait and not to make haste. To smooth things out. To credit the accident explanation. So far so good. For a while everything seems to be back on tracks. The project of smoothing over the whole affair seems to have worked. And then, out of the blue, much to your surprise, it happens again! The betrayal. The lying. The pain. The irrepressible pain. The break of trust. The backstabbing. It’s s i c k e n i n g. You are once again fully exposed to his disloyalty. You enter the same circle. Copycat. He admits or he denies. He admits the wrong doing, either apologetic or providing excuses. Or he denies it, either casually or abusing you. In any case, as far as you are concerned, now there’s something else added to the first shock. The idea of an accident tends to fade away. It becomes clear that what happened the first time was not an accident whatsoever. One pillar is an accident, two pillars is a fucking bridge. Yet, you say to yourself, it’s not routine. We can still work it out. I could reach him. I could turn him. It’s not like he has cheating in his genes. There’s no necessity running through his veins that makes him do that. It’s his decision. It’s up to him to be honourable.

So, you decide to credit him again with trust. Usually he would mumble an apology, rather out of embarrassment and because he was caught, not because he is really sorry for hurting you or because he turned out to be a dishonourable man.

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 3. Then for a while, everything goes back to normal, with the ups and downs of every relationship. And then, at some point the u n b e l i e v a b l e happens again. Three in a row should count for a disaster by now. Sheer geometry. One is a point of no consequence. Two makes a line. Three define a plane. That’s final. Settled. Alas, it should be easier somehow. At the end of the day, you know the cycle you have to go through. But if you love someone, the pain of being betrayed and lied to never dies out. Now, added to the shock that the betrayal was no accident is the terror that the person you love is undeniably a deceitful liar cheater. Now it’s crystal clear. If you decide to give him another chance you will have to live every fucking day with this fear deep inside you. He will do it again. It’s not a question of “if”, but “when”. As a matter of fact, he might be doing it right now. You can no longer trust him. You are having dinner with him and he is telling you stories from work from that day. You both laugh. But you also wonder. How much is real? How much is true from what he’s saying? How can one distinguish between truth and lies? Is there an antidote to this toxicity of lies that he brought in your relationship? And when someone poisoned a relationship with his constant deceit and betrayal should be given another chance? If you ask me, the answer is no. However, it’s easier said than done. By now you are already too involved and there is too much at stake. You should definitely leave but somehow love is stronger than anything. Still. As usual, he mumbles his apology, probably adding more resentment towards you, for not being able to get away with it again. Of course the problem is that you outsmart him and that you caught him, not that he is a jerk in the first place. But who am I to say that a sinner cannot repent and be given another chance? Second chance. I mean third chance. Actually fourth chance. Damn. I lost count already. Some people are born martyrs, aren’t they?

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 4. So, you have decided to give him one more chance. Maybe this time he will make the most of it. Maybe this time he won’t ruin his chance. Maybe this time he will come around. Maybe this time he will learn honour. The very thing he pretends he respects most. Ha. The never-ending irony. But you know that’s not going to happen. You weren’t born yesterday. Even though there’s still some undying hope that things will turn out different this time, you know the only thing that is left for you is to find a way to deal with a serial cheat. That’s all there is to it.

According to the script, for a while everything is back to the new-normal. His bitterness and resentment (geez, I love twisted psychology) that you once again witnessed his flaws deepens. Your bitterness and resentment that he once again made you live beneath your dignity deepens as well. You try to make your way through pain and suspicions and lies and fear and disappointments and shock and terror and hope. And then it happens again! Bloody hell, it’s turning into a joke. No surprise here though. Now you cannot pretend it is a shock. Yet it feels like it happens the first time. The pain of being betrayed is always the same. A rape is a rape. No matter if it happened before. You don’t grow antibodies against betrayal.

By now you know you have to find a way out. Some people find the strength to break the vicious cycle themselves and move on. Some people cannot break free suddenly and they need time to adjust and make preparations. And some people, the most unfortunate, cannot break away at all, not even slowly, in small steps.

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5. For the people who are able to get their soul out of the hold of someone else I have nothing to say more. I just envy them. If it’s out of indifference I don’t, but if it’s strength I do envy them. For the people who still need to linger along an abusive person they love before they get delivered from it I have my all sympathy. I am one of them. You listen to the usual play, his excuses, his apology, his pretended remorse, his bullshit choreography bla bla. You don’t believe a word of it. Not because you don’t want to. Not even because it happened before. But because you know him. You go back to your life with him not having any expectations now. Waiting for that strength to grow inside you. And it does. Slowly. Never enough though. Yet it’s a small improvement in breaking that bondage. You still suffer at the thought of breaking up with him but you also find some joy at the thought of soon being free from all the pain. That is something. You’ll have to learn how to live with this dissociated self for the time being. Time passes by. Sometimes it’s quiet and it’s normal and it’s nice. But you never let yourself be fooled by the domestic bliss. Underneath its surface the havoc awaits. And yet you cannot stop the hope turning up. Hope that he will stop being a treacherous asshole. Hope that he will come to his senses. But of course he won’t. As predicted, it happens again.

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 6. You still suffer but there’s a sort of numbness in that pain. It comes with a repetitive rape. The pain is still there but you are not there anymore. You are folded inside yourself. You try to keep going and regain your self back from its trap. You try to find ways of being more independent. To make new friends. To move your focus on other things, on other people. To some extent it works. Slowly but steadily. Never enough though. He says he loves you. He still wants to be with you. But you can’t be fooled more than twice. You know nice and dishonesty comes at a package with him. You can’t have one without another. And it happens again. Now you just wonder why it took him that long.

7. (…) And it happens again…

8. (…) And it happens again…

9. (…) And it happens again…

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Beth has been married for 10 years. She had a good life, living with her husband and their two kids. At some point her husband Dave disappears. Just like that. He vanishes. As if he never existed. No warning signs. No leaving note. No explanation. No potential reason whatsoever. She is in shock. Is he dead? Did he have an accident? Was he murdered? Is he in a hospital, lying unconscious? Is he running on the streets, amnesic, unaware of his identity? Is he a corpse lying in a morgue unidentified? Did he leave her? Did he just leave her? Without letting her know? Without the slightest explanation? Was he having an affair and he just ran away with his new lover? Did he fall accidentally in a river? Was he kidnapped? So many possibilities. Not a single piece of evidence. She is in shock. She fears for his life. She is dead worried. She cannot even sleep. How can you sleep when someone dear to your soul might be in danger, in pain, needing your help? How can you sleep when you don’t know? How can you sleep or even eat when you don’t know if he does? The police takes the case but they don’t have any clue for the time being. After a week or two of overwhelming and sickening worries she follows the classical pattern of people dealing with a trauma. Denial. Anger. Bargaining. Depression. No acceptance stage though. She cannot reach the fifth and final stage. How could you accept the un-acceptable? You need an explanation for that. You need a body. You need a corpse to mourn. You need a leaving note to refute. You need a husband who leaves you for another woman to hate. None of these whatsoever. Time passes by. Apart from the pain of not knowing is the sense of abandon that grows bigger and bigger. When a marriage doesn’t work you acknowledge this fact and you get divorced. And then you try to move on. You don’t just leave people behind like that. More than anything else she needs closure. To be dumped like that, without even letting her know is worse than anything. Worse than death. Oh, she is losing her head. He will turn up eventually. She doesn’t have to give up on him. She feels guilty now. Every night she looks through the windows hoping that he will appear from nowhere. And there are also these anonymous calls in the nights. Nobody talks at the other end of the line. Is it him? If it’s him why doesn’t he say anything? Is it him having second thoughts? Is it someone else who knows something? On one hand it gives her hope, on the other hand it fucks her up. Lingering like that in a limbo, glued to a telephone and looking through the windows. It’s been two months since he disappeared. Two months of hell. She just wants things to be like they were before. She just wants her family back. She wants her husband back. She can’t carry on without any shred of explanation. If she knew she was dumped for another woman she would have been devastated but she could start healing. If he was dead she would be devastated but she could mourn him and start healing. She needs closure more than anything. Not knowing is tearing her apart. It’s been five months by now. She still hopes that at some point he will enter the door as if everything was a nightmare. She lives like a zombie. She put her life on hold. The anonymous calls carry on. Now and then a call during the day or in middle of the night. She cannot bear the thought of not knowing if he is well. Fed. Properly fed and cared for. Settled. Sometimes, she feels she would be happy even if he was with another woman. At least he would be safe. But she ought to know that. Sometimes she feels angry at that thought. It’s been eight months by now. The pain is still there but sort of numb. It has reached a plateau phase. The silent calls in the nights didn’t stop, yet they are less frequent. It’s been one year and two months. She tries to carry on living. The hope is still there but dying out. Like a candle barely flickering. She tries to be sane for her two girls. She throws herself in work trying to forget, to come to terms with her trauma.

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When she felt a bit stronger she tried to let her friends in. Supporting her. Comforting her. One of these friends is also her boss, Mike. He always liked her. He always fancied her but since she was married he never express that. Now he decided to take a chance. She was flattered but told him that even though she likes him she is still married and she is too of a mess to even think about it. Is she still married though? Is she? On paper yes. But without a husband is she? Mike doesn’t give up on her. She starts growing fond of him. Slowly. Gradually. Small steps. At some point, eventually, she starts seeing him. She still hopes her husband will appear at the door in the same way he disappeared. She feels guilty she is dating another man. She is not that kind of a woman. She never cheated on her husband. Is this cheating? Is she cheating on her husband? What husband? She tries to cope with everything, letting the past behind and opening up for what is ahead of her. Is it too soon? Is it too late? Is she a widow? It’s been a year and four months by now. Sixteen months. She doesn’t have much hope left but she still jumps when somebody rings the bell. It’s never him. Bloody sales agents. Bloody mormons. Sometimes she is thinking, what if he would come back now? What about her new relationship? Incomplete, yet a relationship. What a bloody mess. At some point she gets a visit from her brother in law. They always liked each other. She tells him about her sense of guilt over her new relationship. He tells her that she shouldn’t and that she is entitled to a bit of comfort, a bit of happiness, that she is right trying to move on. She learns of something terrible. She finds out about the source of those anonymous calls. She finds out that behind that constant torment was her mother in law. Beth goes mad. Understandably mad. She cannot help challenging her mother in law. Putting her through all that hell over and over. Dwelling on that hope like a mad woman. How could she? Her mother in law is embarrassed but at the same time she says she needed to do that. It’s her son. She cannot give up on him. And she cannot allow her daughter in law to give up hope. Even if that is cruel. “It is my son. I could see you trying to move on. Giving up on him. Breaking your wedding oath in the end. You are married. Married to my son. You are cheating on him. This shouldn’t happen. “ Oh, for the love of God….

And then Beth goes really mad. She tells her mother in law that she is not welcome in her life anymore. And then she asks her, yelling like a madwoman: WHAT IS THE MAGICAL NUMBER? What is the good number then? When is she right to go stray? When is she entitled to move on? After three months? After five? After eight? Twelve? Sixteen? Two years and a half? If she goes stray after two months she is a whore but if she does that after three years she is not? What about four months? Would she still be a whore? If so, what then? Seven months? Eleven? Two years? WHAT IS THE BLOODY MAGICAL NUMBER?

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Well, Beth is a character in a movie, as the second part is a tv series broadcast by BBC (Ordinary lies). The first one is not. It was my life. The parallel is obvious. When I watched the British tv series and reached the part where Beth exploded with rage asking that question I almost jumped off the couch. I just saw myself in that rage. In that question. In the process of going through that sense of abandonment, betrayal and pain what is the magical number? When can you go astray? When can you come up with a reaction? After the first instance of betrayal? After the second one? After the third? The fourth? The sixth? The eighth? Some of you will say undoubtedly: never. You will say that going astray is not the solution. I would admit it is not. Retaliation is never a solution. But things are not that simple. It would be better if you just break up with that and give up on that compromised relationship. But, for the sake of argument, let’s say it’s not that simple and it is not an option. When is it okay(ish) to reciprocate then? When is it okay(ish) to try to move on and defocus so to speak? After which one? After which instance of his going astray you are entitled to go astray? What is the magical number? One?… two?…. three?… four?…. five?… six?… seven?… eight?… nine?…

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Cain & Abel_poster_EN 3

gelos pe eul meu proiectat. pe ceea ce el reuseste si eu nu. razboi civil. cain si abel disputandu-si teritorii. fratricid. damn. cum sa las un eu sa ucida un alt eu fara ca eu sa ma sinucid. imi declin competenta. am nevoie de un arbitraj. de un adjuvant.

trust-torn6A. In jumatate din cazuri sexul este despre sex. Este despre ceva pus in noi care are functie colonizatoare. Proiectul lui e să preia controlul pana cand Specia e multumita. E cea mai banală, trivială, comună moarte a ratiunii. Esti luat in posesie de Specie, de ceva mai mare decat tine si te trezesti că, intrat in registrul unei demenţe care vrea sa te reproduci, faci lucruri pe care in mod normal nu le-ai face. Lucruri pe care, cand esti rational, neincarcat hormonal, le vezi ridicole sau triviale. Markerul psihologic pus de specie la sfarsitul coitului semnifica trezirea, ieşirea din transă. Post coitum omne animal triste est. You’ve been punked! Ai fost folosit. Nu mai e nevoie de tine. You were the weakest link! La revedere! Precum insectele calugariţe care isi omoară partenerii sexuali la sfarsitul acuplarii. Peste cateva zile, zeii speciei o iau iar de la capat si dau cu tine de pamant. E lună plină si esti luat in posesie iar. Danţuiesti inca o data dionisiac peste cadavrul ratiunii tale, aduci ofrande zeului carne pentru a te lasa cateva zile in pace. Si tot asa la nesfarsit, intr-un loop care te poate istovi daca te-ai impotrivi.

B. In jumatate de cazuri sexul nu este despre sex. E despre orice altceva dar nu despre sex. E despre putere, despre vanitate, despre afirmare, despre nevoia de a fi doriti, placuti, apreciati, despre lacomie, despre razbunare, despre thanatos, despre obisnuinta, despre iubire, despre adictie, despre umplerea sterila a unui vacuum sufletesc, despre afirmarea eului, despre competitie, despre autodistrugere, despre conformism, despre nonconformism, despre orice altceva dar numai despre sex nu. E despre software nu despre hardware. E despre minte nu despre corp. E despre psihologie nu despre biologie. Mai mult decat orice este despre nevoia psihologica de afirmare decat despre nevoia fiziologica in sine. Te duci inspre Celalalt nu pentru a te impreuna cu el, nu pentru ca Dumnezeu a pus in rarunchii tai un imperativ biologic care iti depaşeşte vointa, ci pentru a-ti valida fiinta. Jumatate din sex il facem pentru a ne legitima existenta.

Suntem fiinte amfibii si ne impartim viata sexuala alergand back and forth intre sexul din trup si sexul din cap, intre sexul despre sex si sexul care nu e despre sex. Intre nevoia din coapse si dorul din piept. Intre sus si jos. Intre inauntru si inafara. Oscar Wilde intuise bine, totul in lumea asta este despre sex, cu exceptia sexului. Sexul nu este despre sex.

Bosch - The Temptations of Saint Anthony

Bosch – The Temptations of Saint Anthony (central panel)

A. Cand sexul este despre sex. Sau despre cum e sa inseli, cand nu inseli.

In primul an de relatie, m-am trezit intr-o situatie in care mi-a fost testata fidelitatea. Cineva s-a dat la mine intr-un mod neechivoc sexual. Intamplator, personajul era ca decupat din revistele moderne pentru barbati. Vorba unui prieten bun care, cand vedea cate un Adonis musculos pe strada, spunea mereu “asa visez eu”.  Cand cineva se da la tine si ti-e indiferent fizic incidentul nu intra cu adevarat in categoria tentatiei sexuale. Nu ispitesti un armasar cu un inorog roz de plastic. Ispita se pune doar in conditiile in care e un jaw-dropping case. Ceea ce s-a intamplat la mine. Prima mea reactie a fost de refuz al gandului. “Nici nu pot sa ma gandesc la asa ceva. “ “Nici nu pot intretine macar gandul. Nu eu.” “Eu il iubesc pe al meu si asa ceva nu se face”. Precum bine stim, intentiile bune sunt uneori erodate de timp. Ma aflam (dar cand nu m-am aflat cu el?) intr-un moment de oaresce confuzie. Ne certaseram un pic si nu avusesem cand sa netezim cum trebuie lucrurile. Eu ma simteam usor afectat de cearta cu pricina, si desi nu ma asteptam la niste scuze formale (nu pentru ca nu erau necesare ci pentru ca imi devenea clar ca e genul care nu are organ pentru scuze) nu puteam sa scap de nevoia legitima de a avea o discutie lamuritoare. N-am suportat niciodata metoda sinucigasa a bagatului sub pres a unei altercatii, mai ales cand esti victima unei injustitii. Ei bine, la un sfert de ora dupa respingerea categorica a gandului marsav, m-am trezit ca gandul revenise. Revenise cu intariri. Pe negandite, m-am surprins ca deja cochetam cu gandul. Mintea mea il dezbraca curioasa, pentru a-l imbraca imediat la loc, rusinata de indrazneala avuta. Avea un trup ca de gimnast. Oare cum arata dezbracat? Nu visasem in viata mea ca as putea fi in brate cu un astfel de barbat. Pestisorul de aur imi aparea in vis si eu ii dadeam moralist cu piciorul? Istoricul meu sexual, mai degraba saracacios, ar putea justifica o mica adaugire. S-ar intampla doar o data. Sa vad si eu cum e. Si nu ar sti nimeni. A doua reactie, precum se vede, a fost una de rationalizare. Cine are niste cunostinte minime despre psihanaliza si psihologie stie ce spun. “La urma urmei, sunt un prost. Sunt fidel unui barbat care nu ma respecta. Care atunci cand greseste cu ceva, nu numai ca nu-si recunoaste greseala dar ma sanctioneaza tot pe mine, pentru ca am fost martor al acelei greseli. Impostura si abuz pe fata.” “La urma urmei iubitul meu este insurat. Trebuie sa fiu prost sa visez la cai verzi pe pereti.” “La urma urmei, acum cateva luni si-a facut pe la spatele meu un profil pe un site de dating asa ca nu stiu de ce ar trebui eu sa fiu fidel. Fidelitatea nu e un one way road.” etc etc Precum bine vedeti, hormonii incepeau sa colonizeze neuronii. Nu-i trebuia decat un punct de sprijin. O scuza. Si putină victimizare. Cum se intamplă insă ca am avut intotdeauna mai multi neuroni si exercitiul meu dialectic interior a fost intotdeauna exemplar, am stiut ca partea de jos a eului meu a inceput sa bata campii. Nu numai ca am intotdeauna limpede ce se discuta in instantele eului meu, dar am avut si mereu curajul si onestitatea sa le privesc in fata. Nu pot spune ca imi lipseste umbra in sens jungian, dar e devoalata in permanenta. Mi-am dat seama ca nu despre iubitul meu e vorba in dilema mea morala. E vorba doar despre mine si obiectul atractiei mele sexuale. Atat. Pot incerca sa-mi justific si sa impachetez ispita sexuala in ce vreau (razbunare, realism, lehamite, vanitate erotica, reactie compensatorie etc) nu am cum scapa de evidenta faptului ca despre mine e vorba si ca ceea ce sunt ispitit sa fac este ceva ce spun ca dispretuiesc. Mai mult, fiind un expert in dialectica contrafactuala, mi-a fost usor sa demontez subterfugiile eului rationalizator. Mi-a fost usor, de exemplu, sa supun gandul rationalizator cum ca iubitul meu necerandu-si scuze este un netrebnic si ca asta ar fi (vezi Doamne) sursa primara a slabiciunii mele erotice, urmatorului test: “Ce ai SIMTI daca ai primi un telefon de la el ACUM si si-ar cere scuze?” “Crezi ca tentatia sexuala ar disparea? Crezi ca s-ar diminua macar? Crezi ca nu ai mai cocheta cu gandul?” Am stiut ca nu. Am stiut ca incercam sa ma mint ca sa imi adorm constiinta. Dar am stiut si ca era prea tarziu. Gandul se insurubase deja in carnea mea. Slabiciunea hormonala care imi dadea tarcoale acum nu avea nici o legatura, precum devoalasem, cu cearta noastra de dinainte. Post hoc ergo propter hoc. Eroarea clasica. Dupa q, deci din cauza ca q. Am stiut ca nu pacalesc pe nimeni cu auto-victimizarea si justificarile precare. Era vorba doar despre mine si oportunitatea acelei gratulari sexuale. Daca era sa fac o magarie mi-era clar ca ea n-ar putea fi facuta altfel decat asumat, in deplina luciditate. Ceea ce am facut. Dupa mai putin de o ora picioarele ma transportau ca teleghidat, impovarat de constiinta crimei pe care urma sa o comit, la locul la care ma ispitise barbatul care ma dorea. Plecase.

Cel Rau banuiesc ca isi radea in barba satisfacut. Palmaresul lui crescuse cu inca un netrebnic.

Desi NU s-a intamplat nimic, desi specia nu si-a luat tributul sexual, am stiut intodeauna ca L-AM INSELAT. Indiferent care au fost circumstantele, indiferent de cat de exact se potrivea ispititorul meu profilului fizic de barbat fata de care ma simt atras sexual, indiferent care au fost frustrarile mele sexuale anterioare, inerente unei astfel de identitati in Romania, indiferent cat de atenuante pot fi circumstantele slabiciunii mele sexuale, am stiut ca ceea ce detestam si spuneam ca detest se intamplase: l-am inselat. A trebuit sa traiesc cu asta tot restul relatiei mele si am avut-o mereu in minte, ori de cate ori m-am vazut nevoit apoi sa-i reprosez ratacirile sale cand ele s-au intamplat.

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B. Cand sexul nu este despre sex. Sau despre cum e sa nu inseli, cand inseli.

A existat un moment definitoriu in relatia mea. La un moment dat am inteles cu groaza, pe care numai groaza de moarte o poate aproxima, ca mi-am pierdut sinele. Am inteles ca iubind avusese loc un transfer periculos. Imi daruisem sinele celui pe care il iubeam. E adevarat ca el nu mi-o ceruse. E adevarat si ca dragostea nu presupune cu necesitate instrainarea sinelui. Presupune o pierdere de sine, dar nu neaparat totala. Unii chiar spun ca dragostea adevarata nu poate avea loc decat in conditiile in care iti pastrezi autonomia. Eu cred ca e o exagerare, dar putem retine macar ideea ca dragostea nu presupune o fuziune care iti anuleaza total identitatea. Fair enough. Daca descoperi ingrozit ca mine, ca nu mai esti in posesia eului tau, ai doua variante posibile care ti se pot intampla. Una este aceea sa iti fi dat sinele unuia care te iubeste, care nu o sa profite de vulnerabilitatea in care te-ai instalat iar cealalta varianta posibila este sa iti fi dat sinele cuiva care nu te iubeste, caruia nu-i pasa si care o sa dea cu sinele tau de pamant cand nu ii va conveni ceva. Patapievici spunea “din dragoste nu ai cum sa iesi altfel decat jupuit.” Avea perfecta dreptate. A iubi este a fi sinucigas. Este a te juca cu un bat de chibrit langa o cisterna plina cu benzina. Nu te joci cu sentimentele tale, cu credintele tale, cu ideile romantioase, te joci cu ceva grav – cu eul tau. Il amanetezi. Daca esti un bun psiholog poti deveni constient de aceasta alienare, daca asta patesti, prin simpla introspectie. Daca nu esti, vei realiza oricum in timp, in negocierile de putere din interiorul relatiei tale. Mai devreme sau mai tarziu realizezi ca nu mai detii controlul eului tau. You are doomed. Fucked-up. E suficienta o cearta, e suficient un abuz caruia sa i te opui, e suficient sa intrezaresti astfel perspectiva pierderii celui iubit pentru a intelege groaza care te cuprinde. Haul deschis la marginea fiintei tale. Nu iti mai apartii. Gandul ca il pierzi, ca nu te mai iubeste, ca il prefera pe altul, ca va despartiti te face sa intri in sevraj, intr-o depresie adanca, intr-o teroare a sufletului neagra. Simti ca mori fara cel iubit. Literalmente nu metaforic.

Daca esti in prima varianta, miza recuperarii sinelui este nesemnificativa. Esti la adapost. Sinele tau e pe maini bune. Daca esti in a doua varianta insa, miza recuperarii sinelui este supravietuirea ta. Ti-ai dat sinele cuiva care ti-l va batjocori. Ti-ai dat iubirea cuiva care nu o merita. Realizezi ca iubesti un capcaun si vrei sa nu il mai iubesti. Dar Sinele nu inceteaza sa iubeasca doar pentru ca Superegoul tau ii spune ca iubeste ceva nedemn de iubirea lui. Vei trai schizoid un divort intre a iubi si a place. Continui sa-l iubesti dar nu il mai placi. Nu ai cum sa placi pe cineva care te abuzeaza si care iti va calca sinele in picioare. Poti ajunge pana la capat, dement, sa-l iubesti si sa-l detesti in acelasi timp. Cu un Sine schilodit care il iubeste, si cu un Supra-Eu neputincios, cu care te identifici, care il dispretuieste.

Eu am realizat cu groaza ca sunt in a doua categorie. Nu a fost o revelatie brusca ci un adevar care s-a impus cu forta unei confirmari continue. A trebuit sa ma uit adanc in sufletul lui si sa vad cat cantaresc in ochii lui. Puţin. Iubirea, atat cat era, era circumstanţiala. Pentru ca se intamplase. Inerţial. Nu pentru ca era inradacinata in valoarea fiintei mele. Nu eram cu nimic mai valoros decat altii, doar se intamplase sa fiu acolo cand trebuia. Sau cand nu trebuia. S-a trezit prins intr-un menuet fara sa fie intrebat daca vrea sa-l danseze pana la capat. Greseala lui fundamentala e ca nu a avut curajul sau inspiratia sa spuna ca nu. Greseala mea fundamentala a fost ca l-am crezut. Am realizat cu oroare ca la fel de usor cum s-a prins in dansul unei relatii, la fel de usor se va des-prinde din el. Iar finalul grotesc a confirmat ceea ce am inteles despre el. Cum poti trai cu cineva care iti spune ca te iubeste stiind ca in 5 minute poti deveni neant pentru el? Dovedind astfel contrariul. Neant. Nimic. Trecut. Ca si cum n-ai existat. Obsolete. Pana si o masa saracacioasa ar lasa urme mai adanci. Cum poti trai cu cineva care iti spune ca te iubeste stiind ca fiecare cearta majora pentru el este un motiv de legitimare a derapajului pe internet sau a rupturii defintive? Cum poti sa te bucuri deplin de prezenta lui odata ce-ai muscat din acest mar interzis al cunoasterii si ai aflat adevarul?

L-am intrebat odata, cand acceptase sa mancam ceva impreuna, pentru ca ne certasem si nu mai reuseam sa mananc nimic de cateva zile, daca are nevoie de mine, daca are nevoie de iubirea mea. Mi-a raspuns cinic: “te iubesc, dar nu am nevoie de tine”. Grotesc. Am simtit ca vomit putinul pe care reusisem sa-l inghit. Eram ca un pacient care avea nevoie de o perfuzie iar ceea ce primea era un pumn in stomac. Am stiut ca trebuie sa fug mancand pamantul, sa fac orice sa ma pun la adapost de barbaria pe care o traiesc.

Am avut odata o discutie de suflet cu el in care i-am cerut sa-mi explice ce se intampla in sufletul lui cand alege malitiozitatea in locul bunatatii. Era o discutie relativ calma si in care proiectul nu era judgmental. Accentul era pe intelegerea lui. Era mandrie? Era defensiv? Era reflex natural? Era habit? Era autoparare? Mi-a raspuns : “ma plictisesti”. Grotesc. Am simtit ca vomit. Violenţa gratuita a raspunsului confirma intrebarea. Am stiut ca trebuie sa fac orice sa ies din iubirea aceasta pe care i-o port.

L-am intrebat odata, fiind insurat, si nepunandu-se problema divortului, daca ar fi cu mine in cazul in care nu ar mai fi fost insurat. Mi-a raspuns, constient ca nu e raspunsul pe care il asteptam, dar avand curajul si onestitatea sa mi-o spuna: “Te iubesc dar raspunsul e … nu.” Grotesc. Am simtit ca vomit. Am stiut ca trebuie sa fac orice sa ies din laţul in care am intrat singur iubindu-l. (vezi aici 2008 closure )

Dupa zeci de astfel de experiente dureroase (le-as putea cu usurinta inventaria, atat de solide sunt inca urmele lor in sufletul meu) am stiut ca solutia supravietuirii este sa nu-l mai iubesc, sa distrug cu buna stiinta iubirea pe care i-o port. Iar in materie de supravietuire, nu exista alt dicton decat cel al lui Feyerabend: “anything goes”. De la un punct incolo nu m-a mai interesat decat sa supravietuiesc, sa fac orice sa imi recuperez sinele. Cele cateva tentative ale mele de a vindeca relatia s-au lovit de indaratnicia lui, prin urmare proiectul salvarii relatiei era inutil. Ramanea un singur proiect – cel al vindecarii, cel al distrugerii iubirii pe care i-o port. Singurul obiectiv valabil era sa nu imi mai pese. Sa ajung sa imi fie indiferent ce face, cu cine se duce, cand o sa plece. Singurul obiectiv era sa supravietuiesc momentului cand imi va schilodi sinele. Sa imi anestiez fiinta pana la punctul la care sa nu mai imi pese cand imi va batjocori sinele sau va hotari sa plece.

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Inchipuiti-va o planeta care datorita locatiei este expusa in permanenta loviturilor de meteoriti masivi. Cam asa ar arata relatia mea, meteoritii fiind curvasariile internetistice, conturile lui nesfarsite pe siteurile de dating. Daca cineva poate crede ca viata se poate dezvolta pe o astfel de planeta atunci este un tampit. N-ai cum sa te dezvolti inconjurat de cratere si traind cu frica de urmatorul meteorit. Atunci cand iei in serios o relatie si onorezi angajamentul sexual, cand celalalt nu o face realizezi un lucru: unul din motivele pentru care suferi este ca tu il onorezi. E o suferinta in plus. Daca nu l-ai onora nici tu, nu inseamna ca n-ai mai suferi cand el ar calca stramb dar ar dispare suferinta care vine din indreptatirea morala. Am povestit despre asta intr-un post vechi, din preajma primelor lui curvasarii internetistice (vezi aici 2005 viciul sfinteniei). E ca si cum te-ai prezenta la linia de start a unei curse iar celalalt fura startul si nu respecta regulile intrecerii. Cursa are sens doar daca regulile sunt respectate de catre amandoi. Daca unul respecta regulile iar celalalt triseaza atunci nu e vorba de o alergare in doi, ci de alt sport. Ce am avut eu de inteles din repetatele lui intoarceri in siajul libertatii internetistice a fost un adevar crud pe care l-am priceput greu, si anume ca eu ma aflam intr-o relatie cu cineva care nu se afla in relatie cu mine.

Acum cateva luni mi s-a spus ca ex-ul meu, cel care m-a tradat cu nerusinare de la inceputul relatiei pana la sfarsit, a fost informat cum ca eu l-as fi inselat. Este adevarat si am explicat in prima parte a textului meu. S-a intamplat o singura data, in primul an de relatie, si apoi nu s-a mai intamplat. S-a intamplat o singura data si, asa cum am explicat, nu s-a intamplat. L-am inselat, asa cum am spus, fara sa il insel. Dar nu pot pretinde ca nu se pune la socoteala, pe motiv ca actul sexual nu s-a consumat. Neconsumarea a fost un accident. Crima rezida in apasatul pe tragaci, in intentie. Circumstanta ca ai ramas fara gloante nu schimba criminalitatea gestului. In criminologie da, ai nevoie de un corp mort, in etica nu. In ceea ce ma priveste, intentia a fost suficienta sa valideze netrebnicia mea. In cantarul inselarii, pe taler sta fara sa o pot sterge vreodata fapta mea.

Daca se refera la a performa sexual, in afara unei relatii, atunci pot sa ii spun ca da, s-a intamplat si asta la un moment dat. Numai ca nu l-am inselat. De data asta, cantarul inselatului nu inregistreaza nimic. La data la care s-a intamplat acul cantarului nu mai avea cum sa se miste. Ce mi se pare mie scandalos este indignarea lui curenta, ca si cum l-ar fi lovit asa PE NEASTEPTATE o revelatie. Căuta infrigurat Graal-ul intelegerii de sine si l-a gasit. La mine. Deus ex machina. A avut un moment satori. Ce sa-ti spun! Indignarea lui are ca PREMIZA ideea ca eu sunt un PROST, ceea ce stie bine ca nu sunt! I’m anything BUT stupid. Cum isi poate inchipui un om normal ca poti insela pe cineva la nesfarsit si sa te ASTEPTI sa-l gasesti pe cel inselat NESCHIMBAT si in ACELASI PUNCT al relatiei unde l-ai lasat? Trebuie sa fii irational sa crezi asa ceva. Singura explicatie, cand un trisor se asteapta la asa ceva, este credinta ca cel pacalit este un PROST si va ramane acolo unde a fost pus. Ei bine, nu inteleg ce anume din comportamentul meu, din reactiile mele, din modul meu de gandire, din tot angrenajul meu de relationare cu el etc ar fi putut sa-l faca sa creada ca eu sunt un PROST. Si ca voi sta incremenit, nemiscat, submisiv, in acelasi loc al batjocurii. Nu inteleg si pace. Stie bine ca in ciuda sinelui pierdut, slabit, incapacitat, fiinta mea nu a fost niciodata colonizata. N-a reusit niciodata sa isi impuna suveranitatea peste Supra-Eul meu, asa cum s-a intamplat in cazul sotiei, ci doar asupra Sinelui. Vointa lui de putere s-a dovedit, in cazul meu, neputincioasa. Nu e ca si cum nu era constient de rezistenta Supra-Eului meu. Si atunci de unde asteptarea asta naiva sa iti mai fie fidel cineva dupa ce te-a prins de vreo 7-8 ori trisand? Si daca tot l-a palit enlightenmentul, cum de nu a avut un moment satori ca nu sunt prost, cand a fost prins exhibitionist, cu nadragii in vine pe siteurile de dating din Germania cand nici nu apucase sa plece din tara? Sau cu cateva luni inainte, de data asta pe un site de dating din Romania? Si tot asa, ca in rationamentele filozofice regresive ad infinitum. Sau mai bine spus ad nauseam. Pana la inceputul inceputurilor. Sa fim realisti. Poti fi dezamagit cand ti se confirma ca cel batjocorit nu a fost prost, dar nu surprins sau indignat. Asta nu.

Numai ca eu spun mai mult decat atat. Ceea ce descriem noi aici (partea mea de libertinaj) nu intra la ceea ce etica moderna ar numi “etica situationala”, nu intra la categoria “tu ai inceput”, “ba pe-a matii”, “culegi ce ai semanat”, “cum iti asterni asa traiesti”, “karma”, “what goes around comes around” etc Nu as fi avut o problema sa spun ca asta s-a intamplat, dupa ce increderea mea a fost terfelita in mod constant ca un pres de sters picioarele. Dupa ce promisiunile erau facute sa tina doar pana la urmatoarea tradare. Nimeni nu m-ar putea condamna daca asta era situatia! Intra la sexul ca razbunare, ca lehamite, sex reactiv, compensatoriu etc you name it. Asa cum am spus, nu am ramas nemodificat de constantele incalcari ale increderii. Doar ca intamplator nu despre asta a fost vorba. Putea fi, dar nu a fost. Daca in primul caz l-am inselat fara sa il insel, in cazul al doilea (cazurile) nu l-am inselat inselandu-l. Nu orice act sexual in afara unei relatii intra la inselat. Oricat de sofistic suna asta. Cazul extrem este violul. Cazul neextrem este sexul in afara relatiei cand relatia este deschisa. Pe mine nu m-a interesat sexul atunci cand am acceptat sa fac sex cu altcineva. Sexul nu mai era despre sex. Orizontul de semnificare nu se regaseste in prima categorie, a sexului pentru sex, ci in a doua, in care sexul nu este despre sex ci despre altceva. Daca cel care l-a informat despre performanta noastra sexuala era onest, ar fi trebuit sa-i spuna si care a fost subiectul nostru de discutie in permanenta. El nu era propriile noastre persoane, el nu era sexul posibil intre noi, subiectul era unul singur – relatia mea, tradarile recurente si in ceea ce il priveste, in oglinda, relatia lui, cu tribulatii asemanatoare (daca spunea adevarul). Daca am facut sex cu el s-a intamplat nu pentru ca m-a interesat sexual. Nu-mi displacea dar nu despre asta a fost vorba. Interesul meu nu era sexual ci simbolic. Atunci cand traiesti tot ce am trait eu, toate minciunile, tradarile, abuzurile, batjocorirea increderii, traumele constante, amestecate absurd cu afectiunea pe care ti-o poarta, daca celalalt nu te iubeste si nu vrea sa salveze relatia cu tine, atunci singurul lucru legitim de facut este sa iesi din grozavia respectiva, sa supravietuiesti. Si unul din putinele lucruri pe care poti sa le faci, cand ai un sine captiv pe care trebuie sa il recuperezi de sub hegemonia celuilalt si de sub batjocorirea constanta a inselatului, este sa UCIZI SIMBOLIC relatia. Aici intervine sexul. Dar nu pentru sexul in sine. Ci pentru ce semnifica sexul. Ori de cate ori am simtit nevoia sa distrug simbolic cel mai de pret lucru pe care l-am avut (dragostea pe care i-am purtat-o) nici nu s-a intamplat neaparat cu barbati aratosi. Ba dimpotriva, efectul a fost si mai puternic cand nu erau. Daca m-ar fi interesat sexul as fi cautat cu tot dinadinsul barbati dupa gustul meu. Daca m-ar fi interesat sexul poate as fi avut niste regrete. Atunci, sau macar acum. Nu am avut si nu am nici cel mai mic regret. Singurul meu regret a fost unul singur, ca a trebuit sa ucid copilul nascut – iubirea mea. Singurul regret a fost contorsionarea absurda la care a trebuit sa-mi supun sufletul. Parcursul impotriva naturii. Sexul? Ma umfla rasul. Metonimie. Indignarea lui tardiva, avand in vedere lipsa de caracter dovedita constant e demna de o cauza mai buna. Daca a iesit macar ceva bun din toata chestiunea asta cu “revelatia” este, desi recunosc ca sunt malitios simtind asta, impasul lui revizionist. Poate asa intelege si el cum e sa ti se stearga marsav cu buretele 8 ani din viata, pe care esti nevoit sa ii rescrii altfel decat cum i-ai trait.

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‘Everything in the world is about sex except sex. Sex is about power.’ (Oscar Wilde)

“A iubi înseamnă să-i dau celuilalt, cu propriul meu consimţământ, o putere infinită asupra mea.” (Pascal Bruckner)

“I’m anything but stupid.” (me, me, me, me fucking me, for a thousand times me)

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Dany Kovak

Prietene, esti victima propriului tau creier!

Genunchiul Lumii

blogolumea. strada sforii. poezie pierdută. crochiuri. cotidiene

literatura e efortul inepuizabil de a transforma viaţa în ceva real

The priest: Aren't you afraid of hell? J. Kerouac: No, no. I'm more concerned with heaven.

Dany Kovak

Prietene, esti victima propriului tau creier!

Genunchiul Lumii

blogolumea. strada sforii. poezie pierdută. crochiuri. cotidiene

literatura e efortul inepuizabil de a transforma viaţa în ceva real

The priest: Aren't you afraid of hell? J. Kerouac: No, no. I'm more concerned with heaven.