The soft underbelly of hedonism, exposed.

This Sunday I've had easily the best Sundae I ever had. That thing was spectacular.

And this goes out to los_pantalones. I got teh tickets yo!

She really does have spectacular tits, doesn't she.

« Vreau sa-mi spui, frumoasa Zaraza...

People! US Dollars are not worth a fifth of a Bitcent. STOP SELLING! »

Category: La pas prin lume

Monday, 16 June, Year 6 d.Tr.

The social lives of other people.

I was fully expecting Tyrone to show up, eventually. I never expected him to show up the way he did.

I got home to find my mother sleeping. Afternoon naps, very rare for her, but then she didn't get out of her room at all for the entire rest of the day. This never happened before, but honestly it suited me just fine. I spent the whole rest of the day in the shower, jacking off while pretending the drizzle's Tyrone's. I must have splurged twenty times or something, towards the end it was little more than a cramp.

The rest of the week passed uneventfully, Tyrone wouldn't as much as look towards me in school, but then again that was normal. Let's just say I took a whole lot of showers. I also snuck into my mom's bedroom while she was at school Friday evening and stole a couple of panties. One, lacy and very low cut, sorta-covered my balls while letting the dick out free, which was more comfortable. The other, with a sort of floral pattern and larger in front I couldn't really wear except by holding my dick between my legs, which made walking kinda dubious. Originally I was going to take just one but better safe than sorry!

I figured he probably wouldn't be coming by Friday, seeing how mom worked and he probably knew it. All of Saturday passed between the TV and jumping up to check on some car I heard passing by every ten minutes or so. Out of sheer sex-obsessed, craving boredom I painted my toenails a birght red. There was nothing else on TV, so I ended up watching this self-pedicure program and well... one thing led to another. I also snatched a pair of pinkish all-lace ankle socks with bows on the band to enrich my girly attire. I went to bed thinking that maybe he fucked her in school or in a motel or somewhere and he won't be coming at all. The thought was sickening, like a hole in my stomach. But no, he was definitely going to come!

Sunday noon, just about the time the damned tanga straps had rubbed me raw, Tyrone shows up at the door. I was spying from my room, the window overlooks the front door. With him, two dudes. Not schoolkids, either, these were burly, thirtysomething dudes covered in tattoos, with heavy chains around their necks, loads of tattoos... real jailbirds by the look of them. My mom went to open the door, and I went to the strategically cracked door to my room. I could see and definitely hear pretty well from there.

As my mom opened the door expectantly, Tyrone stepped in like he owned the place, pushed her aside towards the kitchen and dumped some bags in her face.

"Bitch, put this on and come wait on us" he said blankly, then moved into the livingroom and turned on the TV, the two dudes following right behind him while grinning and elbowing each other. My mom just stood there blank for a moment, then started going through the bags. The first thing that came out was a some strange sort of... actually, it was a set of bunny ears. Cheap plastic red and fake fur sort of things. The next thing out was a... well it was something. Like a nude bodice, basically. Some material here and there but nothing really covering her breasts or going in between her legs really. The next things were much heavier, metallic. One was a dog collar, plain and simple, with leash attached. The other was basically a pair of handcuffs, maybe a little larger, and with a longer chain between them. Turns out this goes on the ankles, and it's called a hobble.

My mom seemed completely hypnotized. She quickly stepped out of her jeans, pulled her blouse over her head, undid her bra, put the ears on, then the bodice, then put the dog collar around her neck, leash handle dangling around her knees. Then she paused for a moment, went for the cuffs but stopped, took off her shoes, scurried off as fast as she could go to her room, then emerged a minute later in her highest black heels and a very racy pair of red panties. Just as she was about to put the hobble on she stopped for a second, then took off her panties, hobbled her ankles and shuffled as fast as she could to the livingroom, where she was greeted by a barrage of hoots and hollers. As that died down I could hear her say

"Sir ?"

"Yeah" gave Tyrone.

"Do you want me to put these on too ?"

"Naw, you won't be needing panties tonight ho. But it's good to know you have some anyway."

The men laughed, then there were some indistinct sounds - I think they were groping her. After a bit she was sent to the kitchen to make them sandwiches and drinks. I could sort-of make out Tyrone bragging to the other two to their rapt admiration, but they were talking too fast to make much out.

Tyrone followed my mother in the kitchen soon after. I could hear her stop what she was doing.

"What are you doing to me Sir ?" she asked, meekly.

"Fuck you, of course."

"But..."

"Now listen here. Joel and Marduk are nice guys, they just had a bad wrap and had to go to jail for a while that's all. It's all up to you. If you want to be a good ho and give them all that sweet stuff you've got, they're going to have the best time after a long wait in the can, and you're going to have a lot of fun too, I'll see to that. If not, they'll just mess you up. They'll fuck you anyway, just, it won't be nearly as nice."

"You know, we could call the police" I said, cracking the door just a little.

"Yeah Andy, you could. And if you did, yo momma here'll have to explain why she's wearing rabbit ears and a god damned hobble around her ankles like some sort of fetish porn queen. They'll prolly send Jo an' Duk back to where they came from, and they're going to remember how they got there, and where you live. And they're eventually going to get out, too. That what you want ?"

I didn't know what to say. He continued

"Fuck, if that what you want, go right ahead. Not like I give a shit anyway. Nothing's gonna stick to me here, too many ways I can play this. She tricked me, they forced me, we're going to the same school for crying out loud. For all the cops know you had me over to play videogames when these two dudes jumped your mom. Right ?"

I was puzzled.

"Right ?" he bellowed at me.

"Yes..."

"Yes what!"

"Yes sir!" I said. He turned back to my mother.

"After this, things are gonna change around here. You're my ho now, and I'm gonna turn you out like any other ho. And like any other ho, you're gonna love it, and you're gonna shake that ass to make me a good buck, aren't you ?"

My mother nodded.

"You're going to have babies, lots and lots of babies, put those great milk jugs to good use. It's a damned shame to keep them in a bra all the damned time, they belong sucked on day in, day out. Heck, maybe you get lucky and get twins. That'd be a sight won't it ?"

My mother nodded again, pensively.

"So then, git in there an' get to work!" he said, and my mother beelined to the living room. I wanted to see what they'd be doing to her, but I didn't dare get that close. I just waited by the door of my room and listened, making out indistinct words and bits of phrases, "naw, I got some jell-o right here", "not like that, sit on his cock for an anchor while I fuck yo cunt! that's right, now take his in yo mouth!" all interspersed with fucking sounds, the occasional queef, rasped breath, my mother's orgasmic moans, the guy's screams and yelps, exactly what you'd expect. Eventually Tyrone extracted himself, and came over to my room. He pushed the door wide open and just stood there in the entryway for a moment, buck naked.

"How you doin' Andy ?"

"F...fine" I stammered. He frowned. "Sir!" I said.

"You know, that slut over there's all naked. Why are you still dressed ?"

"I... I don't know" I said, paralyzed.

"Strip, bitch!" he ordered. I started taking my clothes off, soon enough I was there in just my thong and ankle socks. He laughed, at me, at my antsy demeanor, at everything.

"What the fuck are those ?"

"Socks" I said quietly, looking down. "I thought you'd like them". I swallowed hard. "Sir".

"Damn right I do boy. They look great on you. Now come along."

I followed him to the main bathroom. He turned to face me, he had some sort of transparent plastic thing in his hand.

"How long since you've last been with a girl ?"

"I... I... "

"Speak up boy! What, are you a virgin ?"

"Yes sir!"

"Hahahaha that's great. Okay, do you know what this is ?"

I nodded no. I didn't have the slightest clue.

"Ok, panties around your ankles. I'll fix you up then I'll explain".

I did as he told me. He unhooked the thing in his hand somehow, put a ring around the base of my dick, then another between my balls and my dick, then placed a solid tube covering my dick completely. It all snapped into place, then he snapped a lock closed.

"It's called a chastity device, this thing" he explained. "Your cock can't get hard while you have it on, which means you can't cum, let alone fuck a girl. You'll be a virgin forever now boy!"

I looked at him, mesmerized. Really ?

"Now get in that tub. On your back."

Finally! I jumped in there, eager as all fuck.

"Plug the drain, and open your mouth a little, I want you to get a good taste this time."

My dick was struggling with its new cage, pulling on my balls in its hopeless quest to expand. It was like a dull ache deep inside of me. Tyrone pointed his snake at me and the stream just flowed and flowed, warm, lovely, perfect. I rubbed it all over myself, over my tits, over my face, into my hair. Eventually he said

"Let me get you in the eyes a little too."

Next thing I knew I could taste his piss inside my nose.

"Don't blink, hold them open. They'll get used to it soon enough." he said. I did. It was glorious.

Once he was done, I reached out to clean his cock again. He smiled. Then after a while,

"That's enough, boy."

"Please" I said. "Please sir. Let me have it."

He laughed as he was putting his cock away, an earthy, bellowy sort of laugh.

"Naw, you can't have it, what do you think ? You need sweet jiggly tits like your mother, you need a sweet bubble butt to have it. Just look at yourself, how do you think you're gonna have it like that ?! You could be sucking and licking on it all night and it still won't come out, not the way you look."

"Please" I cried.

"Naw, forget it. Just lay in there for a while. Turn on all sides, let my piss soak you through. Then turn on the water, and take a bath, but don't let the piss out. Just let the water thin it out. You hear ?"

And with that he left. I wallowed in his cold piss for a long time, and eventually a thought occured to me. He put some piss in my mouth, he put some in my eyes, some got into my nose of course, some even got into my ear. But there is a hole where I've not had any of his piss. So I hooked my ankles up on the sides of the tub and kept trying to push some in there while relaxing my asshole. It didn't go very far, but I kept trying, and eventually I started trying to force it in with my finger.

It felt great, and I spent a long time trying to put as much of his piss inside my butt as possible. Eventually I felt very strange, it was almost like jacking off. I was going to have an orgasm from Tyrone's pee! I stopped dead, not sure if I was allowed to have an orgasm with the dick dongle on or what it'd do, but eventually I thought what the hell, I'm just doing what he told me to do anyway.

It was fa-bu-lous. It was the best orgasm I ever had. You should try it sometime.

After that I drew a bath, washed, wiped, walked naked all the way to my room, got dressed and then went to the livingroom. The sun had already set, it was dark outside. My mom was there on her side on the couch, eyes glazed over. The soles of her feet were incredibly dirty, like she had been walking on asphalt. "Oh my god, they took her outside!" I thought to myself. I nuzzled into her.

"Mom ?"

"Hey there baby." she looked up at me.

"How are you ?"

"I think you're going to have a baby brother."

"Tyrone's ?"

"Maybe."

I thought about it for a while. She spoke again.

"Would you like a baby brother, Andy ?"

"Yeah mom." I said, absentmindedly. "I'd love a baby brother. I'd love any baby of yours."

She hugged me tightly, wiping tears from her eyes.

"Mom, are you crying ?"

"I'm just very happy, baby." she said. "I'm just very happy" she said again, after a pause.

I was thinking about the most important thing ever. Eventually I broke the silence again.

"Mom ?"

"Yeah ?"

"Mom... I don't think I want to be Andy anymore."

"What do you mean baby ?!"

"I want to be like you, mom! I want to be like you. I want to have tits. And I want men to fuck me long and hard."

"Oh, baby..."

"What!"

"It's not as great as it seems to you."

"Yeah, it is."

"But... you're not a woman, you're a ma... you're a boy, you'll be a man soon enough."

"But I don't want to be a man."

"Why not ?"

"It's not for me, anyway. Take say Tyrone". At this she sighed. "He's a man, right ?"

"Yeah."

"Well... I'm not."

"Not yet."

"Not anymore."

She just looked at me for a long time, and then cuddled me at her breast like she used to be when I was little.

"Okay baby, we'll see, we'll see."

We fell asleep hugging like that.

Tyrone kept to his word. He never went to college, but he never really needed to go to college, either. My mother was pregnant that year, and that's how Ishmael, my first brother was born. When my mother was five months in Tyrone brought Lucinda to live with us, "because we had plenty of space" he said. Lucinda was a year younger than me, but she was also pregnant, also in five months. She was a very nice girl, but Tyrone told me that she's like my mother to me now, and I have to obey and respect her and serve her like a slave. I didn't mind, really, I liked Lucinda.

She slept with my mom in her bed, they were to be like two sisters Tyrone said, and they were. Sometimes he'd come visit them and then they'd fuck all three together, they did all sorts of things. At first they didn't let me hang around, but I explained and explained that I want to be a girl too, and I need to learn what to do and so on. Eventually they relented, and kinda let me hang around.

My dick piece never came off, but I didn't want it to, either. I found a black boyfriend that year, and so I discovered that the cause of my orgasm wasn't actually Tyrone's pee. Nevertheless I kept begging and begging him - he had plenty of money, we didn't have anything because my mom wrote the house over to him, and quit her job to look after the kids. Meanwhile he kept all the social security checks, plus he turned her out for hundreds each time, and my mother was in great demand. So he had plenty of money and I kept begging him so eventually he took me to a clinic and I got a pair of tits! They weren't so big as mom's, but hey, we can't all have everything in life. The doctor didn't think cutting my dick off was such a great idea, and neither did Tyrone. I really wanted to be a girl all the way at first, but once they explained to me that it's not possible, and even if they made a sort-of vagina it wouldn't really work I kind-of forgot about it.

My mom had a baby every year after that, but she never had twins. Lucinda did, however, two years later. Our family was really big, we often got together with mom's and Lucinda's other sisters, there's Ameliah, she has seven, Darlene six, Niniveh and Mary who's also white like my mom with five each. It's really a great life.

You should try it sometime.

« The sex lives of other people

The Romanian language for other people. »

Category: Prz arhscrt

Wednesday, 03 December, Year 6 d.Tr.

The sins of the group of posers behind the so called "Bitcoin Foundation"

These are the same people going around pretending to be the Bitcoin "core developers", which is in point of fact incorrect. As best as anyone can currently discern, Bitcoin does not have a core group of developers. If you absolutely must, the closest group to that function would be the folks over at Conformal, completely unrelated to our subjects this evening and moreover a stretch anyway.

Also, the "Bitcoin Foundation" appellation is quite improper, much in the manner of calling the annual championship series of US-based baseball teams "the World Series". This stands on both legs : on one hand the people collected under that pompous name have precious little to do with Bitcoin at all, on the other hand that thing they run is in no sense a foundation of any sort. Instead, a bunch of none too bright scammers and conmen operate a rather transparent confidence game, in which they collect[ed] donations from the easily swayed forum muppet gallery, and supplemented that revenue with whatever any scam in need of shilling was willing to pay for their services.

So let's go, in no particular order :

I. The "Bitcoin Foundation" / "Core Devs" group of scammers have quite publicly, and repeatedly, promoted and vouched for Butterfly Labs, aka BFL, definitely one of the most organised scams in Bitcoin, certainly one of the longest running, likely operated by the US arm of the 'Ndrangheta, all that good stuff. Other than various investigations by various police forces, the entire thing is going up in flames on the civil circuit too these days. The damage to the community they're responsible for on this count easily exceeds 100`000 BTC.

II. The "Bitcoin Foundation" / "Core Devs" group of scammers have quite publicly, and repeatedly, promoted and vouched for MtGox, the exchange operated by ex-convict and currently fugitive Karpeles. As perhaps you know, there's something to the tune of 700`000 BTC missing there.

III. The "Bitcoin Foundation" / "Core Devs" group of scammers have quite publicly, and repeatedly, asked for "donations". Other than propping the Vessenes ycombinated businesses floating a little longer on free cashflow (which is definitely not beneficial to Bitcoin in any sense) there is exactly zero to show for all this, because no, allowing anon scammers to buy status is not a good thing to do. The damage to the community here is difficult to estimate, there's a few million dollars missing in direct donations that were never accounted for, but in terms of reputation and adoption slowdown it's quite incalculable, how much they've hurt us. Best I can say is "probably somewhere between a lot and lot more than that".

IV. The "Bitcoin Foundation" / "Core Devs" group of scammers have quite deliberately harmed Bitcoin technically, on at least three main avenues :

Systematically attempted to block, slow and hinder protocol specification and development, in a manner quite reminescent of Microsoft's (and later NSA's) behaviour on industry standards groups.

Deliberately and quite maliciously created a blockchain hardfork in March 2013, which allowed our enemies - whoever they may be - to effectually stress-test the entire project. Obviously this was going to happen sooner or later, with their help or without it. This however does not reduce their shame, nor should it reduce their due punishment. Your run of the mill druglord doesn't get off the hook in court by pleading "if I wasn't gonna do it someone else damn sure was!"

Deliberately and quite maliciously tried to meld the BleedingHeart openssl vulnerability into the Bitcoin code. The move seemed bizarre at the timei, seeing how there was exactly zero need and pretty much epsilon benefit of implementing such kludge, and given that everyone with a clue involved pretty much agreed PKI is broken beyond repair anyway. To properly understand the implications of this : NSA has had, for two years (ie, ever since their mole managed to plant the bug in openssl 1.0.1) the ability to read memory from both servers and clients. Before any handshake. Without leaving any log traces. All that was needed was a broken implementation of openssl, and in the case of Bitcoin such a thing could readily have exposed... all your private keys. All of them. So that the USG patrons of these disgusting pieces of slime could have had a backdoor to most if not exactly all Bitcoin in existence. How do you like that payout for trusting strangers on the web, dudes with no reputation and no accomplishments that claim they're "core devs" and "foundation blablabla" ?

Now these may all be things that don't interest you, or things you don't understand, or things you don't care about. That's fine.

But remember that someone can be rapist even if they didn't rape your own daughter/wife/mother. Someone can be a thief even if you didn't personally and with your very own two eyes see them steal. Raping and pillaging don't "just happen", raping is done, and pillaging is done. By people.

By people like Peter Vessenes, by people like Mike Hearn, by people like the entire group of scammers hiding under the pretense of "core developers" and the conceit of "Bitcoin Foundation".

All I want to say in closing is this : do not imagine that anyone involved is ever, for as long as they live, going to escape this tail. You're all marked men, and you will be remembered as such. You are the slime that tried - and failed - to fuck up Bitcoin. For personal profit, out of fear, because you had signed a pact with the bureaucratic devil in the past, whatever it may be. Why you did it and what you were aiming for instead... that you can save for the judge, if you get the luxury of such. What you did, that's on your head, and there it stays.

Permanently.

———Especially if you didn't know what time it is. Some did. [↩]

« Gotta love that negro speak

Fuck me ?! Fuck you!!! »

Category: Bitcoin

Tuesday, 08 April, Year 6 d.Tr.

The sharp friar and the golden jew discuss your options

Occam Aww! Well... super polite and honest, but sorry.

Goldberg

Well, while I do think calling what I had in mind product placement is a misrepresentation, I can definitely see the "we're not looking to make more friends" angle.

Best of luck,

Mircea Popescu

Occam Aww. You're unhappy about it, huh.

Goldberg Yes. Fucktards you know ? People somehow go to school developing this notion that this is an option in principle and by default, declining such things.

Occam Of course they do. And it IS their option.

Goldberg Hardly.

Occam It might not be a good one, it might lock them out of all sorts of shit...

Goldberg Think about it. A bird lands on your balcony.i Do you have the option of declining the bird landing on your balcony ?

Occam Yep.

Goldberg You can shoot it, yes. But that's not declining anything, that's shooting the bird. Unless you're willing and able to shoot it, you learn to love it.

Occam I can deck my balcony out in swinging wifters and scarecrows and spikes and whatnot.

Goldberg IE, passive-aggressive shooting it. There is not this space between things wherein you could "decline". Which is how Trudy ends up with a bunch of cats : they're the only ones willing to put up with the sort of fucktard that imagines they can go about declining reality.

Occam ;/ well that's pretty sad.

Goldberg 'Cause in school, right ? School is an artificial environment, like a hotel. And so this fictitious "declining" is instituted to compensate for the other problems of trying to implement fiction. It has to do it, in order to have a vague shot at even working. But reality is not like school. It's not a work of fiction, and as such it doesn't need the props, nor can it use them.

Occam Well here's something: if it's not an option, why ask? Is it that what you perceive as being polite they perceive as being a query? Something that gives them an option?

Goldberg Yes. It's literally that, I go "please pass the butter", they go "no ty" and I'm like... wait, what ?

Occam Aha. Well that's a pretty tough realization/lesson, I imagine most people'll never get it. Because yes, they absolutely perceive an option, and with something presented that'd linguistically facillitate this interpretation of reality there's little reason to suspect anything else is going on unless you happen to be very smart or lucky in retrospection.

Goldberg I'm sure they never will. They'll just be "raped". And now I'm fucking torn for a second, because this is a valuable discussion I'd like published for the benefit of said fucktards, but on the other hand it stems from a private conversation which is needed for context.ii 'Course it's only a second. Why am I trying to be polite again ? It obviously doesn't work in this context.

Occam Why the quotes?

Goldberg For the direct reason : if you're not willing to shoot the bird you can't be raped by the bird, because you can not rape the willing.

Occam And lack of violence works as an indication of consent?

Goldberg No.

Occam Then how is he who doesn't shoot the bird "willing"?

Goldberg He who isn't willing to shoot the bird is willing to have the bird on his balcony. You can be one or the other. There isn't a third.

Occam Metaphors are mixed by now. Is the bird being on the balcony a placemarker for rape? I mean, you can't rape the willing. I get that. But the other statement is that if you're not willing to shoot the bird you can't be raped by it. This makes me think that a conclusion could be that he who doesn't shoot is in essence offering himself up to be fucked.

Goldberg No. "Rape" is a misnomer.

Occam Oh I see, I was taking a very literal view of the term.

Goldberg When the average fucktard perceives that reality did not ask for his "option" in terms that he perceives adequate he misrepresents what just happened as "rape". This is never the case. First off, he has no such "option". Second off, reality isn't Mr Reality in Geography class.

Occam TBH I think the misuse of the word rape in that context at least subconsciously admits the speaker knows he hasn't quite been dealt the cards he's complaining of.

Goldberg Exactly.

Occam That not having an option bit is pure anathema by now, I think. Most'd rather rage against the notion that they don't have an option than actually look at what options they DO have left.

Goldberg And why ? Because they know it's the case, otherwise why bother with complex religious ritualsiii. Who the fuck asked you if you wanted tits, you know ? Or how big ? So they go whining to the modern priest, a man in a white coat still, to FIX reality. And this works, in their own mind.

Occam I don't think it even gets quite that far. There's a ready social concept for what happened there: she had to choose whether to "sell out" or not. There's no need to consult anyone to fix anything; the disadvantage of "selling out" (or moreover being seen as/called a sellout) is weighed against the imagined remuneration.

Goldberg Well that part is the misrepresentation. I am not looking to take her in as a slavegirl, and it's quite presumptious to imagine otherwise.

Occam Presumptious? It's not something she actually thought about to that degree.iv She had an available interpretation that's large and widespread enough to coax someone into not having to think about it. Someone offers you money for what they'd like to insert/change/have a say about in your "creative work", it's an offer to sell out. I doubt she knows how else to interpret the conversation.

Goldberg Yeah, your razor wins.

Occam (Except, of course, with the last exchange, she can now rest on some kind of "oh well, what an asshole" cloudy confusion of gratifying anger and the sense she made the right choice).

Goldberg Isn't it amusing how OFTEN that "option" is "available" ? The option of, "well done dear, he was an asshole, props for standing up for cunts/niggers/butterflies" ? I guess if one's Neo captive in the matrix, what he's well advised to do is look for so called options that are always available. They're probably fake.

Occam I think it's more or less always there for and when people fuck something up. The colloquial group-oriented recovery mechanism from failure.

Goldberg Suicide, the only actual option that's actually always available, doesn't quite present itself as such. On the contrary, while it may be generally and universally available, it is nevertheless practically impossible, or at least seems to at every single juncture.

Occam Lol good point.

Goldberg Anyway, so I got an article. I wonder what name goes with Occam. Goldberg ?

Occam Murphy.

Goldberg I like Goldberg!.

Occam manZIERE!

Goldberg Lol.

———A bird landed on her balcony and ate all her lovage. [↩]Turns out on closer examination that it actually isn't. [↩]Anathema is, of course, an orthodox thing. You can generally tell heretic terms from orthodox terms by how the former are derived from Latin and the later from Greek. [↩]Ironically, this is after a week spent thinking about it. But yes, this is a point, thinking long is not necessarily thinking a lot. It all depends on how good your thinking tools are. [↩]

« Hai sictir, Timisoaro!

The public burning of Bob Beck »

Category: Trilterviuri

Tuesday, 20 May, Year 6 d.Tr.

The Serious IPO, a moment in the life and times of forum investing

I apologize for not being able to find someone with real Comic MS fonts.

« F.MPIF, April 2014 Statement

The first trading day of F.MPIF »

Category: 3 ani experienta

Thursday, 01 May, Year 6 d.Tr.

The Romanian language for other people.

Motto: There's a 0.1 BTC prize for the first complete translation to English

of the Romanian text (87 words plus one letter)

along with an explanation of its entire subtext.

A young tigress is waiting in line at the bus station. Up on her high heels, eyes flashing blue far above the calvitious heads in the crowd, she appears somewhat out of place. A man passes the queue and in passing notices her. He's a good decade her senior, but well dressed and with a particular expression of disdain imprinted on his face. His eyes have a distinct glimmer that'd seem to suggest he's secretly laughing at anyone in front of them and everyone in general. Nevertheless, he turns around, and for a moment they face each other.

- Pisi, stai o tura ? he inquires with affable familiarity.

- Unde ?

- Am un loc aici, aproape.

- Haida.

He walks away, and she breaks out of the line and follows him. A couple of blocks up they turn into a hallway, and go inside. Some ottomans and low tables, a man behind a sort of a desk, a receptionist, a doorman maybe. His posture tightens as the two pass by his desk, but it's barely perceptible.

Up in a room on the second floor the two fuck for a while.

As he's putting his shirt back on, he turns to ask her, his bemusing expression a few accents stronger

- Cum stai cu banii ?

- Prost.

Her response is dry, plain, with no further indication. He fishes a roll out of his pocket, takes two bills off the top and places them on the armoire next to him. She blows him a burlesque kiss. He finishes dressing and leaves. She collects herself lazily, spends a while nude in the bathroom, eventually emerges. She dresses, watching herself in the mirror as she does it as if watching a stranger. Eventually she picks up the two bills, sticks them in her purse, takes out a stack of post-its, affixes one to the wooden surface and starts to write. She puts down her initial but stops suddenly, and doesn't continue. Instead, on a new line, she jots a string of numbers and with that she's out the door.

* * *

Phone ringing, close to a bed in which a pile of blond curls rests in disarray. A hand emerges from under the blanket and sucks the helpless receiver deep, deep under the downy depths.

- Hello, says the voice at the other end, a very professional young man. I am Mr ...'s assistant.

- Aham...

- Are you the lady that participated Monday morning at the event on Republicii 128b ?

- Yeah...

- Mr. ... would request the pleasure of your company at the Conference to be held tomorrow, Thursday the 16th, 5pm, in the Crystal Hall at the Intercontinental. This is a no press event, please do not break the embargo.

- Aha.

- Shall I confirm you then ?

- Alright.

- Do you need directions ?

- No.

- Okay, thank you very much.

And with that, the line clicks.

* * *

The gaze of the same man meets the gaze of the same woman in the lobby of the town's most pretentious hotel. He's with a bunch of people, but he leaves them and approaches her.

- Ma tii ? Her question is flat, neutral. He smiles warmly and nods.

- Unde ?

- Pai iti gasim ceva.

- Bine, da' mai spre Kogalniceanu asa.

- Mergi la scoala ?

- Da.

- Pentru ce ?

- Pentru ca sa sug pula de cetateni respectabili luata din drum.

- Bun, da' teoretic vorbind.

- Nu, ca rizi.

- De tine mai greu.

She's visibly flattered by the retort, she looks down coyly and then flashes at him.

- Afaceri.

He laughs heartily. She frowns. He smiles at her again.

- Bine pisi. Mergi pina la baie si-asteapta-m-acolo.

- La fete sau la baieti ?

- Pai dupa cum simti tu.

She ponders this a moment, but eventually

- Da' nu e clar.

- Ambiguitatea inseamna ca nu conteaza.

- A.

She stands up and heads towards the restrooms. He sits back in the chair and watches her go.

« The social lives of other people.

MPIF (F.MPIF) November 2014 Statement »

Category: Cuvinte Sfiinte

Thursday, 04 December, Year 6 d.Tr.

The results of the World Cup experiment.

First, how it all got startedi :

mircea_popescu Ok so here's a story : BitBet curently has 19 World Cup bets open. The average bet on these is .175 (excluding house and mpif), like so .79, .44, 0, .21, .60, .10, .54, .03, 0, 0, .01, 0, .05, .28, .01, .04, 0, .11, .11. Now, on top of these, there's no less than 30 bets pending approval on WC, pretty much "X country will advance from groups". Obviously mods wanted to consult. Now, in the spirit of being in Argentina and these people loving the WC, I ok'd the whole bulk. But, let me point out, this is pretty horrible business for BitBet, per seii. And obviously, I'll be using this data to inform further decisions on what to accept. So logically a) if you wonder later why your zeroconf sports bet got rejected by mods, the reason is probably here and b) if you want to see sport bets on BitBet, this is a bad time to sit and watch and a great time to get involved.

mike_c Sport bets do fine on bitbet (see nba finals bets). Soccer on the other hand... Bet created: "Much grass will grow while waiting for somebody to score a goal".iii You Argentines should be watching Manu Ginobli beat the crap out of Lebron.

mircea_popescu Obviously also a great time to affliate BitBet, but then again, I couldn't even find an affiliate manager at all. Apparently everyone wants to sit on his ass and derp on reddit about things, nobody wants to work anymore. What's a Manu Ginobli ?

mike_c An awesome Argentine basketball player currently winning the NBA finals.

mircea_popescu Aok.

mike_c There's a couple Frenchies winning too. Amazingly, after getting drilled in the ribs, one of the Frenchies did not immediately give up but played through!

What exactly is an affiliate manager, anyway.

mircea_popescu An affiliate manager is a guy who knows a lot of affiliate marketeers who trust him.

* asciilifeform only ever heard of 'affiliate marketeer' as euphemism for spammer

mircea_popescu I don't even know what the state of the industry is anymore. 20 years ago you had the legitimate folk and then the dumb noobs pretending, much like in Bitcoin. Maybe in the meanwhile it died, I dunno. Probable, judging by the fact that everyone I used to know back then is off the grid.

kakobrekla ascii has it.

asciilifeform If it was once alive - now dead, replaced by scar tissue.

mircea_popescu I guess so. Sad. Anyway, in 1994 a good affiliate could send you even 100k clicks which'd convert upwards of 10%. At an average sale of ~60, you do the math.

kakobrekla I think lots of such people moved to SEO and such. Which is also a scam.

mircea_popescu I'm pretty sure they were doing plenty of SEO whatever back then. Except back then it actually worked. mike_c you know NBA isn't doing SO much better. Basically this is the best proof bitcoin is populated by nerds : 0 interest in sports.

benkay Sports betting is a mass thing anyways, isn't it?

kakobrekla Well that kuka bet was kinda interesting until it was shown it's scripted.iv

mircea_popescu Right ? Nerdiest thing ever.

kakobrekla It's sports!

diametric I can't wait for the berkshire bet to resolve.

kakobrekla Ditch the other categories. New categories: difficulty, price action, stocks, arrests.

mircea_popescu Definitely sports don't merit their own category I'm thinking. The way I figure it, if the WC set fails to attract 500 btc total pool, we'll just ditch sports as a category and mostly reject all proposed sports bet without zeroconf.

kakobrekla But it helps to keep that part separated from the good part.

mircea_popescu Just put 'em all in misc.

asciilifeform For some reason I imagined sport bets were a 'major thing' (not for me personally, but for a mythical 'unwashed mass waiting to arise'). Turns out, no?

mircea_popescu Seems not. Unwashed masses wish to arise THOUGH WAITING. Not through anything else.

* asciilifeform recalls betting shop in Timis

mircea_popescu Yes, but that's the same bitcents they do here. TLPv actually has a good write-up for this.

kakobrekla Perhaps yea if it's presented circle like. Or whatever it's called.

mircea_popescu Do me a favour, calculate the sum pool over the sports bets past 365 days.

kakobrekla Kay.

asciilifeform One hypothesis: the sports aficionados are... broke.

mircea_popescu Maybe.

mike_c Another: they aren't used to betting on games parimutuel style.

mircea_popescu Prolly a large factor also. The other way to formulate this is, sports bettors are not motivated by the money. They expect specific sorts of services provided for which BitBet is poorly fitted.

los_pantalones As a sports betting person myself, I can say the BitBet contracts don't really do it for me because I need a very last secondvi bet and live betting during the event. Specific services like what ?

mircea_popescu Drinks, tits, streaming game, betting tips, a whole atmosphere such as it is. In exchange for which they don't mind -50% EV.vii

los_pantalones Nah nah, I do online. I need in game but I like trading vol. It's not a prediction game.

mircea_popescu Explain this trading vol thing.

los_pantalones We spoke briefly about this before, BitBet is well suited to get an accurate prediction. Did you ever use tradesports?

mircea_popescu I don't actually bet.viii

los_pantalones Back in the day. All binary bets. Live before and during event. Let's say event is MP vs PNTS trades 0 to 100.

mircea_popescu Line style ?

los_pantalones No. You are pummeling me early, look fat and out of shape.

mike_c Contract bets. With bids/asks.

los_pantalones Trades near 10. I come back in the second round, look better, moves to 20. There is constant volume. Works really well in basketball. Big halftime lead, line moves too far to the edge, just fade it. There is vol in the expectation of the outcome of the event during the event, the price moves. I enjoy that. I hate the sportsbook type trading where you can only bet one side, so BitBet already better in that regard. But still retains the fixed bet part.

mircea_popescu I'm not sure why you think what you're describing isn't already present on BitBet.

los_pantalones When do the sports bets close?

mircea_popescu At some point after the event.

mike_c It doesn't have fixed odds. Odds change.

mircea_popescu Let me translate what you just described in BitBet terms. So, on 1st of month bet MP vs LP is made. Game is set for 5th. Bet closes on 7th. At game start on 5th, weighted pots are 57k MP 33k LP and weight is whatever, 85k. One hour later, weight being 84,500 you decide to buy more LP. Pot moves 57k to 37k, so so odds went from 1.72727272727 to 1.54054054054. Then you want to push the other way ? Bet a little more on MP. So it's now 58k to 37k. Etc.

los_pantalones Ah, well, then I am absolutely wrong. I was under the impression the bet closed before the event. I will now promptly go bet.

mircea_popescu Which is why I need a bunch of fucking affiliates. To explain this to people, who otherwise would be betting. AND the beauty of parimutuel is that you can always adjust your exposure to a pot % so you never motherfucking get taken out of the game. You wish to have 1% of the pot, you can make sure you do no matter what happens.

mike_c *Provided infinite capital.

mircea_popescu Provided you own the % of total world capital that you wish your % of the pool to be. If you own 1% of all bitcoin, you're guaranteed a 1% slice of any bet pool you ever wish to have.

los_pantalones Looking at Bosnia will advance to group stage, the betting closes 23-06-2014, is that after the last potential match ? http://bitbet.us/bet/539/brazil-will-win-fifa-world-cup-2014/

assbot BitBet - Brazil will win FIFA World Cup 2014 :: 0.49 B (26%) on Yes, 1.41 B (74%) on No | closing in 1 day 6 hours | weight: 486 (100`000 to 1)

los_pantalones Why does this Brazil to win bet close in 30 hours ?

mircea_popescu Oh fuck. You bring a motherfucking VERY GOOD POINT don't you.

los_pantalones Ok, I'm not crazy!

mircea_popescu I broke the model in the implementation ;/

los_pantalones Yes! Say it!

mircea_popescu Jesus fuck.

los_pantalones Say "my bad". Here I was, feeling like a lazy asshole...

mircea_popescu My bad :D

los_pantalones Nice! I can die a happy man.ix

mircea_popescu Anyway, this bitchfest of mine has yielded quite actionable advice from the chan that's +IQ. Specifically, I'll make the mods put close dates for sports bets AFTER the event.

kakobrekla 258.82066273 satoshi over 166. Eh... satoshi = btc. ;;calc 258/166

gribble 1.55421686747

kakobrekla O_o

mircea_popescu Of which 201 are from the cointoss.x So 57 over 166.xi

benkay Too bad about that mircea_popescu bitbet, eh.

mircea_popescu I wonder if people's CVs will end up including links to ba logs where I go "my bad".

los_pantalones Great point. I will def list that!

benkay Mine has the links to my few good ideas.

asciilifeform Knuth's typo cheques.

mircea_popescu Yeah I was thinking that.

los_pantalones Oh come to think of it, I love the decay feature of the BitBet on a live event. Prevents all the last minute people glomming onto the trade.

mircea_popescu Yes but 100k to 1 is too much for sports. Consider our case : bet is made on 1st. Weight is 100k. If someone puts 10 btc on it then, it's sealed. But if the most it collects is the few bicents we mostly get currently, then a few bitcoin bets during the event make sense, even if they're 1/10 weight. But NOT if they're 1/100000.

los_pantalones Yeah, agreed, just hadn't even thought that through.

mircea_popescu So from now on, sports bets will end at 10k, and close after the event.

los_pantalones mircea_popescu, you are a gentleman and a scholar, tyvm.

mircea_popescu This should also work nicely with []bot's live streaming of bets. -assets will become this place to watch sports!

los_pantalones Just what we all wanted https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l7u9hP4r1S8&feature=kp

assbot Sports! | Tim and Eric Awesome Show, Great Job! | Adult Swim - YouTube

mircea_popescu No idea what I'll do with this entertainment section tho, it's even more fucked up than sports currently.

asciilifeform Potentially serious flaw: -assets cannot yet pour beer.

Apocalyptic Beer is overrated

mircea_popescu And with this little adventure, Confirmed bets: 10009. We crossed 10k. Confirmed total: 14820 BTC. So like 1.482 btc average pool. ;;ticker

gribble Bitstamp BTCUSD ticker | Best bid: 616.93, Best ask: 618.88, Bid-ask spread: 1.95000, Last trade: 616.93, 24 hour volume: 8565.07142918, 24 hour low: 613.71, 24 hour high: 640.79, 24 hour vwap: 623.452038028

mircea_popescu ;;calc 623.452038028 * 1.482

gribble 923.955920357

kakobrekla >Confirmed bets: 10044, thanks to sports spam. But hey, congrats mircea_popescu.

mircea_popescu no u

kakobrekla NO U!xii

This was on June 12th. Meanwhile we're in a position to know the results of this little experiment. To wit :

32 bets. all figures exclude house bets.

amts wagered per bet: .67, .29, .26, .22, 1.94, .53, 2.72, .32, .40, .64, 1.20, .45, .22, .35, .85, .41, .22, .32, .20, .51, 1.05, .77, .59, .85, .38, .30, 1.33, .53,

.20, .78, .78, .70

total 21.98 btc betxiii, avg per bet .69

number of wagers: 9, 6, 4, 7, 10, 8, 9, 5, 7, 7, 7, 7, 3, 5, 10, 5, 9, 4, 2, 6, 8, 5, 8, 5, 6, 4, 8, 7, 3, 5, 7, 3

total wagers made: 199, avg per bet 6

So, simply put : BitBet shareholders spent 3.2 BTC, and obtained in exchange about 0.3 BTC (rounded to the closest digit). That's a 90% loss. This is not even counting the extra effort which stretched the resources of the mod team, and which led to a few perfectly excusable mistakesxiv that cost me about half a Bitcoin.

While 90% loss is actually three times better results than the appalling 0.57 BTC over 16.6 BTC results of the past year's worth of sports betting, I can not in good conscience allow this bullshit to continue. Consequently, effective immediately :

Sport bets will be only accepted by BitBet if they have a zeroconf (initial wager) of no less than 2 BTC.

Sport bets will have to specifically mention the GMT time the game in question ends. Check if this time is accurate before you bet. BitBet will refund late bets as of that time, irrespective of any considerations, which includes the game being extended in any way for any reason.

Sport bets will not be accepted more than two weeks before the event in question.

Sport bets will not have an end weight inferior to 10k. If the bet is submitted with a lower end weight BitBet will just use 10k.

Rules iii and iv are waived if you fully fund your bet (10 BTC upfront).

That'd be it. If you want to make a particular game you care about fun, put some BTC down. I know from experience absolutely any exoticism will be covered - I famously threw away 1 BTC on Halep to win the Roland Garros and got covered at what I consider reasonable odds. What we can't do however is have this buffet style where we play with pennies and just dump empty plastic cups and cheap paper shoes everywhere. It's not what BitBet is all about, anyway, and I daresay it's not what Bitcoin is all about, either. We're a lot more ecologic than that consumerist mess.

Thanks for playing.

———On irc, of course. [↩]BitBet fronts 0.1 BTC on a new bet, and makes back 1% of the pool. So if a bet pool goes over 10 BTC, BitBet is in the green. If not, in the red. [↩]He has a point, soccer is possibly the dumbest sport on TV. At least tennis has bouncy tits and those wet yelps, squalls and sighs. Soccer is not unlike watching golf. [↩]We had to cancel it. Fucking fraudulent, scamming, despicable bastards. Anything for "exposure", right ? Fuck you. [↩]The Last Psychiatrist. Here. [↩]This is quite problematic in Bitcoin in the first place because of the nature of the blockchain, the possibility of double spends and so on. Bitcoin just isn't well adapted to rushed activity. [↩]Yes, line betting is a scam. But you don't really care, do you. You don't bet to make money any more than you "invest" to make money, do you. You bet&invest (really, the same thing) to have fun. [↩]I'm not much of a gambling man. I may throw money around with a shovel to prove a point, whatever that point may be - money is a tool after all, exactly like a well designed experiment is a tool. I'm not likely to actually care what the results come out as, certainly not in the deeply personal, emotional manner of the gambler. [↩]They have fucking BitBet bets about this and whatnot. [↩]Was a bet as to which side some coin toss will land, 100 btc each side. [↩]Any way you look at it this isn't enough, so over the past year maintaining the delusion that BitBet lists sport bets has cost the S.BBET shareholders at least 2.7 BTC. [↩]There, believe it or not, kako got the last word for once! [↩]Add 9.63 in 5 bets that came in right after this was completed. [↩]Girl refunded a bet that came in 7 minutes after the 90 minutes after the game start, not knowing that the game has a 15 minute break midway. [↩]

« What do you have for breakfast ?

The problem of enforcement »

Category: S.BBET

Wednesday, 25 June, Year 6 d.Tr.

The Public Pity, or Everyone's Charity

This is a translation of an older article, originally known as Mila Publica.

In the string of photos taken from dtngi and placed to the left you can find the depiction of an activity that's certainly important for the two participants, but I suspect even more important for society as a whore.ii

Let us also capture it in words, just in case the blind iii are reading : a man and a woman walk down the street, holding hands. Relatively young, relatively happy, relatively in love. She's wearing a light sundress and sandals, he's wearing a tshirt, breechesiv and the inevitable sport shoes. She's smoking, he's not. She's giddyv and can barely control her feelings, her excitement, her anticipation. He's at least as anxious as she is, except he lives his emotions in the manner of men rather than in the manner of women, and displays them idem, which might translate to "not at all", especially for observers innocent of earthling matters. They are going to do a big thing together!

What are they going to do ? Well now, a little patience. Measure your pace, still your breath and oh! the beating of the heart. Step regularly while I point out to you that couples are not made out of identical individuals, and are not made out of interchangeable individuals. Such are the fantasmagoric notions of Ford, the antichrist, reducing people to mechanicity for "better functioning in society", without bothering to mention that such a society in which balls obtained through milling humans "function" is not something worth living in. Because it can't be.

Couples are made out of different individuals, a woman and man, an active and a passive element, a being strong because she endures and another powerful because he can. Couples consume their existence jointly but in different manners, act upon the same springs and are acted upon by the same strings yet they vibrate differently, if not necessarily orthogonally (at least not always). Especially not when it's a matter of themselves.

So then, what are they going to do ? Well, here : they will take a few steps to a pole, and then she will rest her back against it and pass her wrists behind it. And he will handcuff her, and then put the keys around her neck, and then cut her clothes off, take her sandals and leave her, completely naked, barefoot on the sidewalkvi, hands tied behind her back, completely exposed to the public goodwill. Completely vulnerable, completely receptive, completely open and therefore completely woman.

Anything can happen to her. Literally, anything : a passing dog could decide to mark her territory on his knes, a passing bee could explore her breasts or navel or nasal passages at its leisure, a wasp could sting her to exhaustion, a meteor falling straight upon some random city, aimed to a certain pole would flatten her without even giving her a chance to put her hand up in a pointless defensvie gesture. Because her hand is tied to the other, and both together are fixed behind her, past a steel pole.

All this is in the end irrelevant, nobody's exempt from bee stings or the disinterested offerings of dogs, not to mention the blessings of meteorites, if it comes to it. But the plain confrontation of all these as such, unequivocally and without pretense gives the woman a human quality that the rest of the parties to the human anthill, running back and forth protected by imaginary shields do not reach, because they couldn't reach that far.

All that's irrelevant however for a much stronger reason than the simple blindness of fate. A reason called in Latin "homo homini lupus" : we are our own wolves. Man has no greater enemy than his fellow man. The woman so exposed can be abused, verbally or physically, she can be spit upon, humiliated in whatever manner, beaten, tortured, raped (and yes, contrary to the oh-so-valuable opinions of one Cetin Ametcea, underage rapistvii, it'd still be rape, in this case as in any other). She's completely exposed to public charity, and completely vulnerable to the worst inclinations of her brothers.

Thus she makes - with a courage that does not defy but exactly on the contrary enacts society - she makes the most beautiful gesture that a woman can ever make : she trusts. She trusts in a particular and very visible manner, she trusts she won't be beaten, that she won't be raped, that she won't be mistreated, she trusts that for a finite and for that matter rather short interval - in any case shorter than it'd take her to die of thirst tied to that pole - someone will do the tiny deed of removing the key from around her neck and releasing her wrists.

Women always trust, this is their functioning since the making of the world. It's true that generally they trust that the fruit of their belly will be born and live in a world where one can breathe, and rarely do they trust they won't meet mischief if tied to a pole. Still, in all times and in all places women trust that their vulnerability won't translate to abuse, it is what it means to be a woman. The particular form that vulnerability takes isn't nearly as important.

Somebody was saying at some point :

When you treat people as if they were human, they actually behave as if they were human. This is apparently a huge secret these days, for the majority of companies/groups. All the things you describe there happen strictly among people, and as such are rather closed to the experimental universe of modern man. But practically speaking, everyone [who actually participated, which is to say, openly and honestly] won a lot more than what was in the middle, because money comes and goes, but the opportunity of seeing yourself in the mirror held by your own mind is a rather rare thing indeed.

That somebody is usually right, and so the deed of the perfect woman (under this particular aspect, of her universal and definitive feminity, manifested flawlessly in the act) divides societies neatly in two types : those where her gesture is possible, and those where her gesture is not possible. It seems to me rather evident in which of these two I wish to live.

I believe with all my heart that adolescent womenviii should be encouraged to manifest thusly their own nascent feminity. I believe the exercise beneficial to them (provided it doesn't end too poorly) and for everyone else (provided of course we're not idiots). In any case when "sexual education" is being discussed, this is what I have in mind : class trips to the park, armed with scissors, keys and handcuffs. In the end, what could it possibly hurt ?

Ah, yes, perhaps it ruins the exceptional through banalisation, it perhaps "distruge corola de minuni a lumii"ix exactly in the manner that aberration called "universal education" managed to destroy both education and Universalism, until then very well represented in Europe. Okay, fine, let it remain exceptional then, I've nothing against it, but I wish to underscore that together with the other half, together with the benevolence to aliens described in the Alaptarium article, which is the empire of the adult womanx, the subjection to public pity of the adolescent female is a cornerstone of individual existence, and a necessary as well as unavoidable ingredient of any Cosmos capable of drawing breath.

Because in a world in which the deed of women is not possible one can at most vegetate, but certainly not live.

———A meanwhile defunct, Romanian language 4chan clone that I used to host, alongside a number of other leading projects in that market, back before Bitcoin forced me to notice that Romania in particular and Romanian things generally don't actually matter in any sense. [↩]Also known as the whole society. [↩]Yes, the blind can also read, yes, the blind also participate in the great social experiment called "Internet". There's special software that reads the screen aloud if they're blind entirely, there's a bevy of palliative solutions to enlarge fonts and so forth if they're merely illsighted, there's means and ways. And even if there's not so many of them, perhaps one reader out of a hundred or even a thousand, which for the majority of [Romanian] bloggers would make them "not matter", still it is worth noticing that once their computer is correctly configured for their needs, the Internet is the only place where they are truly whole, and as functional as anyone else. As such, even if they're not very important for it, nevertheless it is very very important for them.

This note is mostly due to the weird bordering on mentally deranged attitudes prevalent in Romania, and translated here for the sake of integrity even if no doubt kind of weird. [↩]Sorry, that's what knee pants are called in English. [↩]This was kept in English in the Romanian article, with an admonition to the "purists", ie the idiot subculture that fails to understand the workings of the Romanian language enough to imagine that there's any benefit or any point to translating such things. There's an entire polemic on this topic captured in a few articles on Trilema and lots of unarticled grunts and growls on other Romanian sites. [↩]Bare feet are a huge thing for Romanians, incidentally. Did you know that if you ever walk around barefoot on concrete you won't be able to have children anymore ?

Importantly enough, this didn't seem to work back when anticonceptional materials were illegal, and thousands of women died yearly trying to abort clandestinely. But nevertheless, the notion endures, even if so vividly falsified. Because Romanians, like all people, are simply fucking insane. [↩]And he's not the only festering asshole, in any case. [↩]Starting maybe not at fourteen, it may be too early and they may be still raw, but sixteen and onwards for sure. [↩]Term of art, see Lucian Blaga. [↩]The adult woman is the pregnant woman, just as the adult breast is the breast of the pregnant woman. [↩]

« Come see me dream math.

The elephant in the room »

Category: Cocietate si Sultura

Sunday, 21 December, Year 6 d.Tr.

The problem of ideal social systems - reprint

This article was orginally published in Romanian, as Problema sistemelor sociale ideale.

Man can desire two kinds of things. Firstly, he can desire things with a concrete reference. "I want a beer" or "I want a fast car". Man can also desire things without a concrete reference. "I wish to be happy" or "I want a beautiful woman".

In all the stories where the devil offers three wishes and things end up badly, saved in extremis by the third wish - "I want everything as before" - the mistake of the wisher is to wish for things without concrete reference.

The advantage of the concrete reference is large and important : it makes measurement possible. If I want two tons of potatoes I can readily know when I have them : when confronted with a pile of objects, all potatoes, which weighed comes to two tons. Simple.

Absent this, I can no longer measure. If I want a beautiful woman I can never know for sure whether I've found her or should still be looking, as you might have noticed yourself taking a stroll down the street. All those whose eyes run around in all directions are belabouring upon an unresolvable problem : have they found their beautiful woman, or not yet ?

Social systems being made by people, they're obviously not protected from the problems of the people. There can be devised and in practice applied social systems with a concrete reference, like "I want to have as many objects as possible" for instance. Capitalism resolves this problem, quantifiably so. As time goes by, the number of objects grows. The problem is being resolved, and this truth is verifiable and measurable.

Unfortunately, there can also be devised social systems devoid of a concrete reference. These can't obviously be also applied, but that has not so far stopped anyone from trying. "I want people to be generous" or "I want people to live equitably" or however you may try to introduce the socialist utopia, the problem grins again and again : fulfillment is unmeasurable.

Not having anything to measure, anyone in the position of taking a decision finds himself devoid of the point of work. Suppose there's a prime minister being proposed two sets of measures, set A and set B. His job is to choose exactly one of the two.

For a capitalist prime-minister, the problem reduces to finding out whether A will bring more objects than B or not. That's all. For a third party, the PM's choice carries meaning : if indeed the chosen measure brings more objects, the third party is in agreement. If it doesn't, he isn't. Either he believes him stupid, incompetent, corrupted or otherwise, the problem as far as the third party is concerned is localised, and therefore solvable : the prime-minister.

For a socialist prime-minister, the problem is quite inapproacheable. Which of the two measures is "more socialist" ? This is, en passant why "being socialist" is a theme recurring to obsession in the discourse of socialism, but "being capitalist" is rarely if ever heard in capitalism. The lack of reference induces a compensatory complex.

The quality of being socialist is in and of itself unmeasurable, and for that reason the problem is replaced by self-referential insanity : "Which measure do people believe to be more socialist ?" Since measurement now depends on interpretation, this immediately forces a splitting in the language : the social convention behind words evolves to reflect relationships of power, while the form of words remains anchored in the ideal.

"This is unprincipled"i will be used by the opponents of measure B to indicate their opposition to the measure's proponents, and, later on, by the opponents of measure F and L, X and Z to indicate their opposition to the respective proponents. The words themselves cease to mean anything in particular, following a merely relational game. To ask "how specifically is it unprincipled" does not yield an answer, at any rate not above and beyond identifying the party asking with the enemy.

Words and expressions thus become mere slogans, empty of notional content, or more properly they become recipients empited and refilled with dizzying speed, thus giving birth to the so called "wooden tongue".

Words become a simple magic wand. Standing up in the plenaryii and saying "this or that thing is unprincipled" does not mean something in particular, but merely denotes purely political opposition.iii In this situation where communication is impossible, the rational reaction of individuals is to form power groups : A promises that he won't use the weapon "unprincipled" against measures promoted by B, provided B similarly promises not to use it against A.iv

The problem rapidly degenerates into ever more complex negotiations among social actors ever more numerous, quickly paralyzing the organisation of labourv : before establishing what to say we must actualize the list of friends and the list of foes ; before building the offical discourse we must construct a plethora of behind the scenes discourses and so on.

A member of a board in a capitalist firm can at any time stand among the other members to give voice to a problem he himself sees. The understanding of the problem occurs immediately for all other members. Resolving the problem can be approached rationally if it in fact exists ; explaining the speaker's error can be approached rationally if the problem does not in fact exist.vi

In a socialist entity, standing up to voice a problem does not immediately mean anything to anyone. All that the others understand is that you do not agree. There isn't a way through which to also communicate why, or with what you do not agree. As such the immediate and pressing need for everyone is to understand what is, in fact, the problem. This can only be achieved through discussion with each of them individually.vii After you've just dropped the bomb you can't immediately start private discussions with dozens of different partiesviii and so it's the case that opposition will have to be preparedix, through discussion anterior to the meeting, with all the other participants.

This leads to the aberration that the meeting itself is a waste of time, during which the participants simply officiatex, a ritual is being satisfied, while decisions have already been taken through private negotiation previously. It is not necessarily a bad thing to take decisions through a private negotiation among the involved parties, but it is certainly stupid to turn a group of professional decision makers into a gaggle of priests singing in a chorus.

In particular soborurile de preoti din toate partile de dupa revolutie umplu, pentru politicieni, un gol. Golul lasat in viata lor de oficierea oficialului.xi

As time goes by, the cleavage between language and reality deepens, and the compensatory negotiation it entails becomes the very fundament of social life. Every individual in a position of power, no matter how minor, sees himself forced to negotiate with all the others, at all times, around the use of his magic wandlet. "Unless you broom the sidewalk in front of your house, I'll put you on the listxii of enemies of the state" ; "If I catch you sleeping I'll put you on the raport" etc.

The lack of a concrete reference quickly mixes things. "If you don't come to work my garden, I'll put you on the enemies of the state list" ; "If I catch you fucking my wife, I'll put you there too".

None of these unfortunate evolutions is necessarily the creation of the individual participants, but moreover fundamental and essential corruption induced by taking reality outside of the sphere of social preoccupation.

Be so kind then, to believe whatever you will, but never speak to anyone about something that can't be measured. They who provoke you to speak on such matters are ill intended, whether knowingly or just stupidly, and they who fall for it are damned, in the most moral sense of that term.

———This doesn't work as well in English, because the Romanians lived for fifty years under an oppressive, evil socialist regime which they have recognised as such. The English speakers aren't quite as smart, haven't really recognised it as such so far, and consequently saying "Mordor" doesn't yield that same immediate "burn it, burn it with fire!!" reaction as it does for Romanians.

But you know how they say, time fixes all. [↩]Another term of socialist art. This thing. [↩]Here's a famous scene of an old socialist standing up and telling Romania's dictator exactly what's wrong. The results are telling, in that while the old man is exactly correct, what difference does that make ? What difference can it make ?! Among the lazy and the stupid, words are merely a distraction, an elaborate waste of time. Barn animals across the world heartily agree. [↩]The US academia, forerunner of all the political problems of socialism, has already long had this exact standoff baked in as part of their process for splitting the fat lamb of public money. They've recently moved it into the very core of the intimate life of the novices, undergraduates today hold each other for ransom under the weight of an "unprincipled"-lite crafted just for them, the US born pseudo-rape. [↩]The USAF were the first group to be completely destroyed by this, fifty years ago - they've not won a single war since, in spite of an abundance of materiel, impressive headcounts and no significant problems in either rank-and-file discipline or individual galantry. [↩]As far as I currently know, the only English-language institution where this holds true is #bitcoin-assets. That it holds true there you don't have to take my word for : What I enjoy about #bitcoin-assets ; that it's the only one where it does I won't take your word for, please bring proof. [↩]And this explains why meetings where someone drops a bomb tend to be immediately adjourned. [↩]This, incidentally, is perhaps the most important advantage of IRC over a live meeting - here yes, you can. Writing is non-blocking to reading, whereas speaking is blocking to hearing. Major point, this. [↩]Review Lenin's own papers to see just how pervasive, just how utterly married to socialism itself, this problem actually is. [↩]What a priest does - empty following of a preordained form. [↩]Leaving this untranslatable bit as it is. [↩]Oh boy, the lists. You're young yet, you do not know what this is. You will. [↩]

« Jardin Botanico Carlos Thays - Buenos Aires

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Category: Politica si Prostie

Sunday, 02 November, Year 6 d.Tr.

The problem of enforcement

Once upon a time, some group or the otheri made an irc channel.

Now making an irc channel is quite the pleasant experience : you create something out of nothing, get to name it and are now the boss of it. For a generation devoid of proper "empire building" avenues, this is about as cool as it gets. So you can do anything you wish, right ? Your channel, your rules, that's the deal!

But all is perhaps not quite right in this world. Driven by a deep seated intuition that perhaps no, perhaps this isn't the deal, perhaps the whole charade's an illusion, the kids in question move compulsivelyii to test it. So they dump child porn or stolen bank credentials or whatever it is that's taboo in the larger society they fear they might have failed to individuate from.

Which obviously is the case : Hitler may have failed to conquer England, or Russia, or the United States with the force of arms. Nevertheless, Hitler has in fact managed to conquer the entire Western world with the incredible power of his witsiii, and between the legacy of Stalin (who lived for naught but to try and copy Hitler as much as possible) and the legacy of Western bureaucrats (who lived for naught but to try and copy Eichmann as much as possible) the kids today live in very much the logical, spiritual and factual continuation of the third Reich. A thousand years ? Quite likely, actually.

And so yes, the larger society which has prevented their individuation to date is in fact all encompassing, and all-"powerful", and ready to meddle some more. Their intuition is not exactly incorrect. In practice, this takes the very reasonable avenue that their irc channel as an abstraction nevertheless rests on the concrete fundament of some servers flipping bits somewhere. So it has an administrator, who is stuck enforcing the Reich's taboos, because if he does not then he clearly must have gone to the side of the "evil", ie, become independent. And so that server must also have an owner, who is stuck enforcing the Reich's taboos, because if he does not then he clearly must have gone to the side of the "evil", ie, independent. And so that server must have some peers, which in turn have owners, which in turn and so on and back and forth.

Sure, occasionally you may get rebellion to the degree where a whole country gives the whole system a middle finger, and you might even move there to support the principle. Nevertheless, even leaving aside the obvious point that no matter how bad the Reich is in the first place, simply supporting anyone and everyone giving it the finger is not necessarily such a good strategyiv, the fact still remains that Hitler's intuitions were largely correct and doubtlessly effective. It is in fact cheaper to run a Reich than it is to run an actual world with actual people in it, much like it's cheaper to watch women do things on a screen than go forth and make women do those very things in your very own living room ; it is in fact easier, and that's really all it takes.

So how did the story end ? Why, with the Freenode admin pointing out that no, you can't ban Freenode admins from your Freenode channel. Because while it is "yours", it is nevertheless... a Freenode channel. And so the adventure came to an end, the kids weren't interested in wasting time with the rotten foundation of pretend-ownership, and pretend-control and pretend-alodial, and Freenode wasn't interested in wasting time with some users that were inclined to verify the limits of "your" and "yours". Just like you know what else ?

Just like "your" phone, that nevertheless needs to be able and willing to receive software updates from its actual owner to continue to function. Just like "your" money, which isn't really yours in that sense, even if an... "antiquated" let's say legal system may lend some tenuous support to the otherwise warrantless contrary expectation. Just like your house, which is only yours for as long as you don't cook meth in there, or for that matter listen to the music too loud. Or have objectionable people over. Or too many of them. Or be on top of something or the other. Or near it. Or if the weather's bad. Or whatever elsev.

As you can see, the problems of the rambunctious youth aren't exactly its problems. They're more like our problems. So what's to do ?

Well, here's the beauty of it. Could you not have an irc system so designed that there isn't an actual administrator ? An irc system that works integrally as intended or not at all ? Hm.

For that matter, you know this can be true of money, because Bitcoin is exactly that : a financial system that is based on a set of rules (good, bad, whatever they may be) and the explicit and mathematically provable guarantee that the whole thing either works exactly as indicated or does not work at all.

That is the important point about Bitcoin : that for the first time in human society since that accursed carnage a couple hundred years agovi, there exists a method of organising one's affairs such that the Reich no longer is the easier, the cheaper, the simpler option.

So yes, because Bitcoin now I can have, if I feel like it, an irc network that works exactly the way those kids' didn't, a decade ago. They had no choice but to go home and cry about it, about their failure, about their dashed dreams and hopes, yet guess what : I do. I do have plenty of choice, up to and including killing any one of you, or the whole lot of you. And the fact that I have this choice makes the point as to whether I exercise it or not negligible, much like the broad enforcement of taboos in the Reich is not based on actual enforcing action, but on the so called "chilling effect", on the voluntary and personal submission of those falling under the shadow of my choice - much like the butchering of millions resulted not from the direct actions of society, but from the minute inactions of each individual mousevii. You don't have servers openly listing full movies for download today for the exact same reason you had half the population of Leningrad massacred one night last century, it's the same principle at work and the same thing working. You just don't think it's your place to meddle, and neither does your neighbour, and when it comes to it that's the end of things.

I can have, and you can have, and anyone can have control of their life again, and be a human being again, and be a person again and motherfucking breathe again because we've just figured out how to make this thing : a self enforcing set composed out of some rules and the firm guarantee that either the whole thing works or no part of it works at all. This arrangement happens to be cheaper, and this is the fundamental reason for which I was never particularly concerned : the thing wins by the same very logic, through the same exact process that allows the Reich to exist in the first place : it's cheaper. It's easier. That's it, really, and the question is not whether the body politic we're destroying could somehow catch on and destroy us instead. The very substance of its own life is what propels us, and just like you can't make cancer go away by being really, really angry about it you also can't make Bitcoin go away by being really, really angry about it.

So yes, there you go, two centuries of "progress" and "humanism" and general bullshit & assorted carnage undone fundamentally and in one fell swoop by the thinking of one anonymous schmuck somewhere. If that's not Nietzschean irony I have no idea what could be.

Provecho!

———Maybe it was 4chan, or Something Awful, or Encyclopedia Dramatica or whoever else. It makes little difference and, as annoying as it may sound to any of the children involved - or it might have sounded for the adults that were once involved, back when they were still children - it couldn't really make all that much difference, no matter what. There's just not much difference to make in the first place, in this field of infantile "rebellion". It's all about as impersonal as pubic hair. Consider :

There was also a small but significant minority of youths who held on to the values of War Communism and developed their own ideal Soviet youth. These militants were extremely upset by the NEP, seeing it as a betrayal of true Communism by the older revolutionaries. They also opposed the Komsomol, deeming it too theoretical and bureaucratic. In order to distinguish themselves from other young Soviet citizens, these militant Communists developed their own style of dress, speech, and style. They wore coarse clothing, deliberately cultivated bad manners, and had little concern for hygiene.

That's right : the Soviets had their Punk too. It was exactly the same, except "totally different, like". So yes, while every 16 year old "falling in love" misrepresents the process as highly personal and personally relevant, they might as well say the same of their neonatal icterus or deciduous teeth loss. The only difference is that the first happened "outside of memory" and so they don't remember it, whereas the latter was not particularly flattering their vanity and assorted delusions of identity and so... they don't remember it. [↩]It is compulsive. It's not that they want to, in the erotic, sensuous sense of pleasure and desire. It's that they perceive they have to, in the chthonic sense of compulsion : they fear their existence may be in doubt because of it, which could be stated as "without it life's not worth living". [↩]I'm entirely with Tolkien and the rest of the gang, being appalled at the short ignoramus' ignorance. Yet the incredible success of very flat, stupid ideas put forth by a very unintelligent, acultural schmuck through the very simple means of loudly butchering a lot of people should give everyone pause. How is it that the compatriots whom you profess to love, how is it that universal humanity which you pretend is universally good (the universal good, even!) is so disinterested in all your wit and instead prefers to follow the shit coming out of any random shithead provided it's a) easier and b) killed a lot of people ? But I mean truly a lot, a whole huge pile of a lot. And painfully, too! [↩]As Churchill - a fine representative of the same Reich ideals, for that matter - well knew all along. [↩]You'll get a thirty day notice. Maybe. Unless it's an emergency. Or whatever. [↩]Usually referenced by older and sorely misguided authors as "the french revolution". [↩]Originally, this read "mice". Editor protests. I say but no, I want it plural, it's a collective. And besides, mice rhymes with lice. Editor points out mouse rhymes with louse. Editor wins.

Never argue with the editor. [↩]

« The results of the World Cup experiment.

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Category: Bitcoin

Thursday, 26 June, Year 6 d.Tr.

The Private Lives of Pippa Lee, or What happens to the old whore ?

We usually see the other end of this life, the teenager / twentysomething taking a lot of random cock and washing it down with as much psychoactive anything as she can get her hands on. The nude & table dancing life of the party, the bane of any and all failed women, cowering on their couch in fear of their own feminity. "Anyone can be a woman", their whimpering goes, "what's really hard is failing to be a woman, spending your time doing anything but". Perhaps, but that's no good reason to be stupid. For that matter, [almost] anyone can drive a car sitting in the driver seat, what's really hard is to drive the car seated in the trunk. So what of it ?

So what happens to the whore after thirty ? Some don't make it, obviously, and perhaps they're the fondest memory of the whole lot. Some try to keep at it, forever, indefinitely. Sometimes this almost works, sometimes it veers into the ridiculous ditch, sometimes they slowly fade into a life of whore trainers, with a substitute family of sorts composed of their own youthful replicas. And sometimes they get married.

How does that go ? I told a story once, incidentally illustrated with Belluci's bosom. I know a few more. This filmi tells another passible possible story.

It glosses over the substance of the thing, the girl's previous profession, the actual high mark of her life under the flimsy pretext that "she doesn't remember anything". You know that old joke, "if you remember the 60s you weren't there" ? A cop out pareil, piously but fraudulently serving the expectations of a society decaying under barbarian pressure. To also satisfy the director-screenwriter's own ideological needs, there's some spurious lesbianism inserted in there, as if. But the viewer can always ignore the nonsense, wipe the slag and carry on.

The story as such is quite reasonable, except in that one part where she finds the towel. I was fully expecting a very sporting, and very curious "oh wow really ?! where is she ? let's see what you've hunted, bro" out of her, and for that matter the text and the situation did as well. Miller's too scared to deliver. Otherwise, yes, this is the life of the old whore. Provided she didn't manage to get herself killed, and she didn't get fixated on it, provided she found a good man, older than her of course, with money of course. And she can cook and she can raise children, of course (provided she didn't do monthly abortions for half a decade) and well... she can keep her calm, and understand a lot about the world around her.

Understand a lot about the world around her with that very peculiar slant of observation characteristic of the working girl, a specific, sweet mixture of practicality and sensuality. "That gentleman would be docile as a lamb if you just feed him", she says echoing the experience of Kim Novak's character with that gaggle of accountants ; "that other just needs to be praised and a finger in the rectum as he comes" she says of your average, run of the mill serious businessman, clearly belabouring to hide an inferiority complex under the too short coat of a superiority one. She knows things, a specific list of things, and I know how she knows them, the only way one gets to know them. But the producers figure you won't know, and so it's reasonably safe to show you something you otherwise shouldn't see.

Enjoy. It's you know... just one of those things.

———The Private Lives of Pippa Lee, 2009, by Rebecca Miller, with Monica Bellucci, Keanu Reeves, Winona Ryder and a bunch of Bs and nobodies that somehow crowd the billing for incomprehensible reasons. [↩]

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Category: Trilematograf

Tuesday, 09 September, Year 6 d.Tr.

The pregnant human female

I suspect you may be one of them agents trapped in an ideologically-driven labyrinth of representation cast over the substantive reality of the world, lacking any clearly marked exits and featuring no easy access to the fresh air outside. In which case, let us debunk :

Represented above, two young human females, in the wild. The one on the left is barren ; the one on the right is with child. This state of plenitude (or, if you prefer, finality) induces a wide array of changes in the normal metabolism of the individual, chiefly expressed as alterations of the hormonal balance, which in turn translate into visible changes of appearance. To wit :

The mature breast, as displayed by the girl on the right and as contrasted to the immature (or virginal) breast as displayed by the girl on the left. Alongside the whole breast, the areolae especially become engorged and in some cases quite tender as a result of physiological changes which ultimately will turn that organ into its functional, final form.

The vulvai, with the external labia also engorged and protruding in particular manner.

A reconfiguration of the lumbar spine, which prepares to support the extra weight of the foetus. And yes, in case you were wondering, this is the fundamental reason the lordosis behaviourii is sexually attractive : it is a honest signaliii signifiying that the woman is barren, which directly means that sexual attention lavished on it is not directly wasted.iv

I might further point out the sultry looks of the barren female and the happy grin of the pregnant one, but I won't be a gratuitous asshole quite to the degree. At least not on this occasion.

In the hope that I've served and instructed, adieu!

———No, the external part of the female genitalia is not the vagina. That's the internal canal the penis fits into. The labia, clitoris and so on form the vulva. [↩]That thing cats in heat and girls gone clubbing do where they twist their ass so the final part of the spine (and with it the vagina inside) is almost horizontal while standing is called the lordosis behaviour. [↩]Biology is all about signalling, even among species with apparently "nothing" in common. For instance, the alert prey that has spotted the stalking predator now shares a mutual interest with it : inasmuch as the predator would like to know it's been detected so as to avoid wasting some energy in pursuit of a very unlikely result, and the prey would like to avoid being pointlessly stalked, a simple "Hey, I see you!" communicated in some form furthers both their interests, and as such the bird has an incentive to develop some manner to emit the message, and the predator to develop some manner to decode it.

If the signal follows actual detection it is honest, but if the signal is simply spammed for general, blind safety and on the grounds that it may discourage predators whether they have been detected or not it becomes dishonest. Nature takes kindly to both kinds, at least until someone loses an eye. [↩]Pregnant women can't for the life of them do it, their spine just won't go that way. Amusingly enough, boring chicks are in the same situation, as their spine won't go that way either, whether they're pregnant or not. This is in part due to loss of flexibility with age, and in part due to loss of bodily flexibility with loss or absence of mental flexibility - the one quality most predictive of female mating success. [↩]

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"Business", whatever that may mean. »

Category: Trilenciclopedia

Sunday, 26 January, Year 6 d.Tr.

The practical sexuality cryptograph

Without further ado :

As a result of all the troubles encountered last time, dignork has now made a special bot. You can query puzzlomat on Freenodei, it looks something like this :

mircea_popescu trilema guess 1ii esteem

puzzlomat Your guess for puzzle #1 esteem, and You actually guessed correctly!

No more hashing or anything. Have fun now!

———First, join Freenode, using either your dedicated client or else webirc. Then, open a private session with puzzlomat, by typing /query puzzlomat in the bottom bar. Then, talk to it. [↩]Replace with the count of the current cryptograph, of course. You can get this from the name of the image, we're looking at cryptograph-2.jpg right now, for instance. [↩]

« What sound does a nuclear detonation make, if there's no nuclear scientist there to hear it ?

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Category: Criptograme

Tuesday, 13 May, Year 6 d.Tr.

The peeconomy

Washington, DC is a god forsaken Maryland county which houses a good chunk of the administrative apparatus and assorted bureaucracy of the US government.

As one'd expect, this makes it a prime magnet for all the good for nothing scum an entire continent produces : the honest, good looking teen-aged whore will flock to Las Vegas to suck cock and make a fortune (which she will indeed make) ; the dishonest yet good looking teen-aged whore will instead flock to Los Angeles, to "become a star", be it music or video but in any case cum sextape and obviously also make a fortune (which she will in general not make, except for the lottery-based extraction mechanismi) ; the dishonest, ugly teenager with delusions of intelligence will flock to New York instead to "become a writer". So what of the dishonest, ugly teenager that knows it's dumb as rocks ? Why! Washington, DC awaits.

There's about a million of them, collected over the decades, of which about half are employed at any given moment, from cocksucking Senatorial pages to mass-market pizza and garbage manipulators (the distinction being minute). A good chunk, perhaps as many as three quarters of those employed also have to pass drug tests as part of their employment. A good chunk, perhaps as many as three quarters of the population does drugs.

The average lifespan of the average whore is about ten years, after which either death or retirement scour her from the profession. So numerically speaking : about 375k heads of cattle need clean pee about four times a year ; about 750k heads of cattle actually do drugs. Obviously this means that no matter what at the very least 125k heads of cattle will need clean pee they don't have. Meanwhile about 100k heads of young cattle arrive into the city each year and for perhaps as long as on average two quarters can provide clean pee.

While this simple transfer of drugs for pee probably underpins the entire dating scene of Washington DC, you have to consider the beauty of the drug freebie.

The drug freebie is the ultimate in product sample : while the sorta-almost hot chicks in sorta-almost revealing garb passing out cheese cubes and tiny perfume bottles in supermarkets proceed on their masters' mostly vain hope that the general public may be so persuaded to in the future actually part with money in exchange for that particular cheese or perfume, the drug samples offer an absolute guarantee : of ten innocents trying them, at least nine will end up junkies. The average lifetime value of a junkie to his new owners is in the twenty to thirty thousand range (indicentally : the average college debt in the us is ~25k, figure that one out!) whereas the average cost for a sample is in the five to ten dollars range.

Consequently, drug samples are the best business idea ever (and actually the way that product does all its marketing : word of... mouth, so to speak), provided of course that they find their way in the hands of the innocent, rather than end up with the junkies (where they merely function as habit discounts). And what better means of virtually ensuring that the samples reach their intended destination than to trade them for clean pee ?

Obviously the only people who can provide clean pee are the exact people you want to be reached by your free samples, and so this'd be a match made in heaven if there ever was one.

My readers, who are probably a lot better connected than me, are cordially invited to inform in the comments section as to how well this economic theory maps on the economic reality in the field. Pee or no pee ?

———If you need one-in-a-million looks to make your movies work but can't afford to pay the whole million minimum wage, it's always a good idea to pay one in a million a million and spend another ten cents per capita on advertising the million. For $1.10 cents you will thus obtain the million heads of cattle that'd have normally cost minimum wage/hour and hated you for it. [↩]

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Category: Gandesc, deci gandesc

Tuesday, 11 March, Year 6 d.Tr.

The old woman and the well

Once upon a time there lived an old woman.

She didn't have any children anymore and her husband was long dead, but she had a parrot. And as the parrot flew around the household and settled down in various places, it reminded the old woman of her youthful days.

She saw before her very eyes scenes playing from times long past, when she was a young woman, and she had children. So she helpfully nagged at the bird, as if she were still upstream in the great river of time, still among her memories. "Don't jump in the well!" she'd say, and "Don't skewer yourself on the pitchfork!" and "Don't stick your hand in the fire" and so on, all day long. The bird took careful notice and life in the old woman's household moved on.

Until one day, when the old woman died. They held a funeral for her, and once that was done her little old house was, at least for a while, left empty and alone.

One day, a young woman walking by the mossy fence noticed, up on its perch, the parrot. He didn't have any grains in his little feeder, and looked sad at the house now with an eye, now with the other...

The woman figured that indeed, they had slaughtered some animals for the funeral, and then relatives split the rest, but nobody knew how to cook parrot and so they paid the poor bird no notice. It must have hid away in all the commotion, but now here it was, all by itself. And so she decided to take the poor orphaned parrot to her own house.

Now this woman, she was young and her husband still living, and a lot of children all over the place. She knew the brackish nature of the old woman, and so on the way over she had a very serious talk with the parrot. She explained to the bird that there's no need to deny everything all the time, and perpetually "don't this" and "don't that", it's not really what people are all about nor how their language works and functions. And the bird paid her a lot of attention, and perhaps understood.

They gave it a nice new perch just like the old one, and all day long the parrot could be seen flowing to different parts of the household, as it could be heard giving useful indications to the children playing and jumping and climbing : "Jump in the well!, Jump in the well!" or "Skewer yourself on the pitchfork!" or "Stick your hand in the fire! Stick your hand in the fire!"

The end.

« The Comehack

Georg Ritter von Flondor, and what his unhappy life can teach us »

Category: Cuvinte Sfiinte

Sunday, 09 March, Year 6 d.Tr.

The myth of the US social mobility.

Her Aww. Poor him.

Me I imagine for a number of the Romanian ppl who you know, met me while I was visiting Timisoara a few years ago and formed the immediate assumption that I'm Romanian just like them, live in a Romanian town just like them, I'm basically just like them. Then five years pass, and it becomes obvious that no, I wasn't a Romanian in the sense they gave to the term, but a Romanian in the sense I give to the term, as the one who actually has the authority to define what being Romanian means. Which is exactly what I said at the time, too, but they happily ignored it because what! WHAT!!! could one do with something like that ??? And so there they are and here I am and... wow. This is possible ?

Her Mhm.

This article has nothing to do with me and everything to do with football teams. Consider a town that really cares about whatever dumbass competitive sport, soccer or baseball or whatever. Some people working in that town, employed at the business of making money, spend some of that money to make more back. Specifically, they buy three guys from Africa, a couple Russians and an Armenian, make a "team" which "represents" the "city" and "win". Every redneck for miles around is beyond thrilled "their" team won. How is it theirs ?

In what sense is Shaw an English playwright and economist ? Is he an Irish playwright and economist ? What does either of those mean ? Shaw born in Scotland'd have not been Shaw, on the grounds of Scotland being so very different from England (or Ireland), and that difference somehow fundamentally important ? If you've made a Shaw, you've not made that Shaw, said no Shaw ever ?

In fact Shaw is neither English nor Irish not anything other than Shaw-ish, in that sense. Sure he happens to use some tools, and the tools in question should be extremely flattered that he does them the honor, in the plain knowledge that he could just as well use some other tools. Countries are not things, they're hotels, groups don't matter when human achievement is concerned. Collectivism has no power here. Which brings us to the point : the US "social mobility" is a myth. The people who appear socially mobile are geographically mobile in the first place. They come from China and Rwanda and wherever else. I spent some time in a small Massachusetts town that Kerouac lived in. Does this make me an "upwards mobile American" ? Why not, it improves the look of the data, right ?

More importantly, the people who appear socially mobile are socially mobile in and of themselves. Their mobility is not a characteristic of whatever place they happen to at any point bless with their presence, but of them themselves. There's nothing about a place that helps social mobility. Herr Wernher Magnus Maximilian, Freiherr von Braun was just as "socially mobile" - which is to say successful - in Nazi Germany and in pre-Nazi US, and while Ovid still wrote mostly Latin in Rome and on the Pontus, he nevertheless wrote most of his better material outside of the very "socially mobile" Republic.

Living in a neighbourhood with rich people doesn't make you any richer. Going through a gender change operation won't give you a better life expectancy, even if "women" live longer than men. All these pseudo-statistical considerations are exactly two things :

A way for people to create jobs for themselves out of the pretense they're doing "scientific research" while outputting pseudoscientific but politically relevant goop. This is an antisocial activity.

A way for people that really want to have the wool pulled over their eyes to have that wool pulled over their eyes. Is it better to be an office drone on a dead track in a company where 30% of employees end up a VP at some point in their career, rather than another company where only 28% of employees end up a VP eventually ? It doesn't matter. Not because the meaning of "VP" has been diluted to cater to HR considerations, but because office drones on dead tracks aren't in the demo for that dog and pony show anyway.

Change is not in and of itself improvement, social sciences are anything but scientific and statistics have much less impact on your actual life than you tend to imagine.

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Category: SUA care este

Friday, 25 July, Year 6 d.Tr.

The Lovely Bones

This filmi is an exquisite retelling of a story that generally doesn't deserve tellingii, from a perspective that generally doesn't deserve attention.iii

Nevertheless, it's exquisite. Delicate, for one thing, which is difficult to do. How do you delicately discuss the rape and murder of a 13 year old girl ? Over two hours ? Please, try, two minutes. Write two delicate phrases on this topic, and mind that cribbing's a paragon of indelicacy. And then, elegant. How do you do elegant delicacy ? Because that's the problem, anyone can make something small, if they practice, and anyone can make something sweet (doesn't even need that much practice : just dump sugar). But elegant delicacy is a contradiction in termsiv and yet Saoirse Ronan typifies it in this film. By now of course the nuttery has run its course and the puhavv mental collective identifies this as "innocence", specifically the sort that's definitely headed to a gory slaughter. This identification is demeaning, its automatic nature even more so, and the fact that the film does not pander to it refreshing, not to mention enchanting.vi

The avoided pitfalls do not stop there, either. In fact, this film systematically avoided every conceivable pitfall, so that I never got my usual "oh fuck this stupid shit, what am I doing here" impulse that makes me close notebooks and walk out of cinemas. You'd think it was made by someone well familiar with the lashing that I usually pass off as criticism upon unfortunate artsy spirits - one can scarcely imagine the hells the poor screenwritersvii must have walked to manage such performance. Good for them.

Anyway, go see it, well worth it.

———The Lovely Bones, 2009, by Peter Jackson, with an absolutely delicious Saoirse Ronan, a tip top Susan Sarandon and some other people. [↩]I know the culturally-defunct Western world is obsessed with crime, transgression and the slaughter of innocence as artistic motifs these days, these years, these decades. They're still minor themes, and the entire thing eerily symptomatic of the fascination with its own belly button lint that sinking world displays. [↩]The entire life of spirits, the spirits are among us and assorted New Age dumbassery is currently living a second youth through the advent of very cheap CGI. Tools gotta be used, and this perspective is a good match - a situation much like the case of the guy holding a hammer that hammers a nail which didn't really need hammering rather than pick up a saw. It's easier - but once that exploring's done... oblivion still awaits. Where else is a spirit to go ? [↩]A slavegirl once said in a poem about me "and the hells that have forged you balance". She didn't know me very well, certainly nothing specific on the topic, but nevertheless it appeared obvious to her that only the unrelenting fire of hell itself could forge steel this fine. This is a point, elegance results from crushing blows and scalding heat, it's not to be found on the grassy knolls cute fluffy rabbits play on, but underneath. [↩]This is a Serbo-Croat word, originally, buhav. Untranslatable, but it denotes exactly what you mentally represent when you think of the physical aspect of the most disgusting rapist you could imagine. [↩]Yes, this ultimately reduces to me stating that adding nudity to a film'd have ruined it. Go fig. [↩]It's an Alice Sebold novel, done for the screen by Jackson, his gf and their Au au-pair at the time, or something like that. (No, seriously, they're hobbit/lord of the rings specialists. [↩]

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Category: Trilematograf

Wednesday, 02 July, Year 6 d.Tr.

The Lorax

With the auspicious help of the most competent hanbot.

Right across a few cracks where some fickle grass grows and the wind smells slow-and-sour when it blows,

Where no bird would sing nor doorbells could ring is the Street of the Old Lifted Lorax.

And deep in that grass, some people say, if you look close enough you can still see, today!

Where the Lorax once stood just as long as it could before somebody lifted old Lorax away.

What was the Lorax? Any why was it there? And why was it lifted and taken somewhere ?

The crippled Ef-deer still lives there. Ask him. He knows.

You won't see the Ef-deer. Don't visit his cove. He stays in his Rosekim on top of his stove.

He stays in his Rosekim, buried under his trove, his clothes made of moldy old muffles he wove.

But on special dank midnights in April he peeks out of the shutters, and sometimes he mutters.

That's when he'll tell how it all went to hell.

He'll tell you, perhaps... if you're willing to pay.

On the end of a rope he lets down a pail, wherein you must toss fifteen cents. And a nail.

And the shell of a great-great-great-grandfather snail.

Then he pulls up the pail, makes a most careful count, to see if you've paid him the proper amount.

Then he makes a note, and files it by rote, and constructs an elaborate Shrine of the Mote

Then he hides what you paid him away in his Flue, his secret strange hole in his dubious pew.

Then he grunts: I will call you by Whisper-ma-Phone, for the secrets I'll tell are for your ears alone.

SCHLEP!

While the Whisper-ma-Phone schleps red files in your ear and the old Ef-deer's whispers are not very clear,

Since they have to come down through a synergy hose, and he sounds as if he put things up in his nose.

Now I'll tell you, he'd say, with his teeth sounding gay, how the Lorax got lifted and taken away...

It all started way back... such a long time ago... back when Queen Clover still had her chateau

When the turf was still green and the pond was still wet and the clouds were still clean, and when men could still bet.

The morning I came to this glorious place and I first saw the trees! The Insurgency Trees! The bright campy fuzz of the Tammany Bees!

Pile after pile in the fresh morning breeze - out of piles of sleaze I made newspaper cheese

While frisking about in their Bar-bar-loot suits spinstery codgers admired their boots

As they swayed in the shade eating suede and grassroots.

From the purplulous pond came the comfortable sound of that menacing walrus named Wallace who drowned.

But those trees! Those trees! Those tremulent trees! All my life I'd been searching for spirals like these.

The touch of their tufts was much softer than silk and they had the sweet smell of fresh butterfly milk.

I felt a great leaping of joy in my heart. I knew just what I'd do! I unloaded my cart, let out a great fart,

In no time at all, I had built a small shop. Then I chopped down the unions in one single chop.

And with great skillful skill and with great speedy speed, I knitted myself a mechanical steed.

The instant I'd finished, I heard a ga-Zump! I looked. I saw something pop out of my rump!

It was... sort-of a mustardy Hun in a bun. How shall I describe him? That's hard, can't be done.

He was shortish. And borish. And brownish. And mossy.

And he spoke with a voice that was sharpish and bossy.

Mister! he said with a sawdusty sneeze, I came as the Lorax. I'll eat all your cheese.

I speak for the trees. Well... some trees that could be. Maybe. I guess. Who's to say certainly ?

And I'm asking you, sir, at the top of my lungs-- he was very upset as he shouted in tongues--

What's this THING you've made from the Insurgency spiel? Is it some sort of dubious, nutty new deal ?

Look! Lorax! I said. T'was no cause for alarm, just the tree I had chopped but that did no-one harm.

I'm quite the utili-titarian tool, I keep all my nerves on this titty shaped spool.

I've knitted myself a mechanical steed! A Very-Fine-Something-That-All-People-Need!

It's a shirt. It's a sock. It's a glove. It's a hat. It's a finely knit humectorheum at that!

But it has other uses. Yes, far beyond that. You can use it for carpets. For pillows! For sheets!

Or curtains! Or covers of bicycle seats! Or women, or even a new soundly beat.

The faux Lorax said, "Come then, hear the creed of the crazy, the lazy, the hastily freed :

Hurr durr hurr, hurr durr jerbs! Hurr durr hurr, hurr durr weed!

There is no one on earth who would buy that fool's steed!"

But the very next minute I proved he was wrong, for as it so happened a chap came along,

And he thought that the steed I had knitted was great so he greedily bought it for three ninety-eight.

I laughed at the Lorax, at his faux feeble cry. For as clearly shown by one well chosen lie

There's always a fool and there's no telling why or what any one fool might yet readily buy.

I repeat, cried the Lorax, -- I'm busy, I'm queasy, I'd much rather have a warm serving of peasy

I rushed 'cross the room, and in no time at all knit a radio-phone. I put in a quick call.

I called all my brothers and uncles and aunts and I said, what the time and the country now wants

Is the whole Ef-deer Family to get filthy rich! Get over here fast! Take the road to Ditch Nitch.

Turn left at Weehawken! Sharp right at South Stich!

So in no time at all, in the factory I built, the whole Ef-deer Family was working full tilt.

We were all knitting steeds, just as busy as bees, to the sound of the chopping of astroturfed trees.

Then... Oh! Baby! Oh! How my business did grow!

Now, chopping one tree at a time was too slow. So I quickly invented my Super-Axe-Hacker which whacked off four various trees at one smacker.

We were making steeds four times as fast as before! And that true or faux Lorax?... Never saw him no more.

But the next week he knocked on my new office door. He snapped, I'm the Lorax who conjures the bees!

Which you seem to be mixing up into your peas.

You remember the bees ? The once mighty Tammany bees ?

But I'm also in charge of the Brown Bar-bar-loots who played in the shade in their Bar-bar-loot suits

Who are one and the same with the bees but distinct as a matter of law and district and precinct

Now...thanks to your hacking my trees to the ground, there's not enough fluffers and hash to go 'round.

And my poor Bar-bar-loots are all getting the crummies because they have gas, 'stead o'food, in their tummies!

They loved living here. But I can't let them stay. They'll have to find food. And I hope that they may.

Good luck, boys, he cried. And he sent them away. I, the Ef-deer, felt sad as I watched them all go.

BUT... business is business! And gubmint must grow! Regardless of crummies in tummies, you know.

I meant no harm. I most truly did not. But I had to grow bigger. So bigger I grought.

I biggered my factory. I biggered my roads. I biggered my wagons. I buggered the toads

All the steeds I shipped out, I was shipping them forth to the South! To the East! To the West! To the North!

I went right on biggering...selling more steeds. And I biggered my money, which everyone needs.

Then again he came back! I was fixing some pipes when that old nuisance Lorax came back with more gripes.

I am the Lorax, he coughed and he whiffed. He sneezed and he snuffled. He snarggled. He sniffed.

Ef-deer! he cried with a cruffulous croak. Ef-deer! You're making such smogulous smoke!

My poor Swomee-Swans...why, they can't sing a note! No one can sing who has smog in his throat.

And so, said the Lorax, --please pardon my cough-- they cannot live here. So I'm sending them off.

Where will they go?... I don't hopefully know. They may have to fly for a month...or a year...

To escape from the smog you've smogged-up around here. What's more, snapped the Lorax. (His dander was up.)

Let me say a few words about Gluppity-Glupp. Your machinery chugs on, day and night without stop

making Gluppity-Glup. Also Schloppity-Schlopp. And what do you do with this leftover goo?...

I'll show you. You dirty old Ef-deer man, you! You're glumping the pond where the Humming-Fish hummed!

No more can they hum, for their gills are all gummed. So I'm sending them off. Oh, their future is dreary.

They'll walk on their fins and get woefully weary in search of some water that isn't so smeary.

And then I got mad. I got terribly mad. I yelled at the Lorax, Now listen here, Dad!

All you do is yap-yap and say, Bad! Bad! Bad! Bad! Well, I have my rights, sir, and I'm telling you

I intend to go on doing just what I do! And, for your information, you Lorax, I'm figgering

on biggering and BIGGERING and BIGGERING and BIGGERING,

turning MORE various Trees into steeds which everyone, EVERYONE, EVERYONE needs!

And at that very moment, we heard a loud whack!

From outside in the fields came a sickening smack of an axe on a tree. Then we heard the tree fall.

The very last various Tree of them all!

No more trees. No more steeds. No more work to be done. So, in no time, my uncles and aunts, every one,

All waved me good-bye. They jumped into my cars and drove away under the smoke-smuggered stars.

Now all that was left 'neath the bad-smelling sky was my big empty factory...

the Lorax...

and I.

The Lorax said nothing. Just gave me a glance... just gave me a very sad, sad backward glance... as he lifted himself by the seat of his pants.

And I'll never forget the grim look on his face when he heisted himself and took leave of this place, through a hole in the smog, without leaving a trace.

And all that the Lorax left here in this mess was a small pile of rocks, with one word...

UNLESS.

Whatever that meant, well, I just couldn't guess. That was long, long ago. But each day since that day I've sat here and worried and worried away.

Through the years, while my buildings have fallen apart, I've worried about it with all of my heart.

But now, says the Ef-deer, now that you're here, the word of the Lorax seems perfectly clear.

UNLESS someone like you dies a whole awful lot, nothing's gonna get better.

It's not.

That's the end, said the Ef-deer, regarding askew all those piles of goop of the one thing he knew.

And so here it ends, and that's that, and fuck you.

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Category: Cuvinte Sfiinte

Tuesday, 07 October, Year 6 d.Tr.

The logical impossibility, and the moral untenability, of forgiveness

There's an older Romanian quotei which goes like this :

I've never forgiven anyone. I have no intention to start. I punished always, destructively, humiliatingly, with specific cruelty. It is true that in some cases I had to wait months, years, decades until such was convenient, but I honestly tell you, for a Scorpio this interval is pure joy and no sort of inconvenient.

The punishment part has a whole article dedicated to it, published a year later, October 26th 2011ii. Let's translate it :

Me : so basically tonight is eu summit. teh germanz are threatening to invade greece

Her : srsly? wow

Me : sort of. im kinda in favour.

Her : were you ever not in favor of an invasion?

Me : i think the best thing for the present crisis is the wholesale arrest of all greeks and forced labour for a year. dispersed all over europe. that'll solve problems for at least 50 years.

Her : just greeks?

Me : yea.

Her : they fucked up, everyone else did right?

Me : yea. effective punishment is impredictible, disproportionate and visible.

Her : a principle i recognize in practice if not verbiage

The miss knows what I'm talking of, given that she's been the teary eyed beneficiary of the principle in question a number of times. In order to be efficient, punishment must be unpredictable, so as to always take the guilty party unprepared, disproportionate, so as to always overrun his compensatory resources, making insurance against punishment impractical, and visibile, to serve as well for all the others, the guilty unpunished this time, as a clear point of proof that a) their turn will come ; b) it will be in most inconvenient circumstances and c) will be more expensive than it's worth.iii

The aberrations of the humanitaro-socialistoid state, with punishment "that fits the crime", "civilised" treatment of infractors and so on and so forth do nothing but create antisocial behaviour in society, because they encourage the apparition and sustain the development of a class of individuals who perpetually negotiate the moment and the degree of their punishment so as for it to be tolerable.iv The Gypsyv steals not because that's what he is, a thief, but because that's what he is, clever. As such, he considers the risks and the benefits of theft. Will he be forced to play the gay whore two years on a dry bread and warm water diet ? O, no ? Are they cutting his hand off ? A, neither ? But what ? A, he'll be politely asked to go further down the streetvi ? O noes! Well... it's worth it innit ?

Yes, it's worth it. And then, this'd be the problem : a society incapable of introducing and managing a punishment distribution system that is unpredictable, disproportionate and visible can't possibly function.vii

A, on short intervals, for as long as an economic boom lasts making everyone too busy to make money of course the farmersviii making a killing can tolerate "being suckers". For as long as that suckery consists in nothing much it's not even worth bothering with ; the pennies the guys in question are stealing while you're getting the heavy pounds rolling in don't manage to register. But once the boom is over, reality comes back to haunt : either unpredictable, disproportionate and visible punishment, or the dissolution of society.

I'm for the former. It remains to be seen if the "leaders" of various descriptions will have enough blood in circulation to save their own construction.

Now thus armed, let's consider some practical matters. First off, it is entirely irrelevant how guilt is defined.

Let that sink in for a minute, because it's no small matter. You may subscribe to a system of thought which creates guilt out of forcing a woman into sexual relations. This on the face of it increases the probability of your skin being white, and decreases the probability of you speaking Arabic. That's all it does. Alternatively, you may subscribe to a system which creates guilt out of having sex at all. This increases the chances of your sporting having that sexy Irish accent, and decreases the chances of your being capable to give a passible definition of Kali. You could be a Five Family boss, seeing guilt where people speak out of line, or a beach bum creating guilt out of "that's not cool, man". Regardless of any of that, and regardless of the perceived validity or the objective consistency of the moral system you put forth, guilt is still the same thing all through. For an easy analogy, an Abrams tank is an Abrams tank, whether the US army, the US puppet government's in Iraq army or ISIS uses it. The tank is what it is, a mechanism, working in certain ways upon certain inputs. Guilt is exactly the same, pecunia non olet, culpa non identificat. That's that.

Second off, the mechanism of punishment, properly defined, is whatever happens after guilt. That's it.

Let that also sink in for a minute, because it's also no small matterix. Punishment doesn't "aim to" anything and is not "intended to" anything anymore than the car aims to take you to McDonalds and is intended to make you fat. Items are incapable of agency, and as such necessarily incapable of either goal or purpose. Items just are, that's all.

To put the matter in perspective : reality is a succession of phenomena. This phenomenologic chain started long long ago, through supposedly an explosion, and will keep going for a long long time, until it ends through supposedly the realisation of universal peace and happinessx. Guilt is the process through which some of these phenomena are selected for attention, for whatever reason, through whatever criteria, we don't care nor does it make a whit of difference. Punishment is what happens after that.

And now armed with this powerful intellectual framework, let's imagine what forgiveness might be.

A. Forgiveness as divine intervention. Supposedly, after an agent starts a chain of phenomena, that same agent starts a different chain of phenomena which has as a result manifest activity of the divinity. Leaving aside the sheer ridiculousness of this proposition on the face of it, the practice of Bitcoin gives the common man direct access to a tool that'd help him understand why reality can't work this way. Specifically, what's the difference between this sort of forgiveness and a doublespend oracle (ie, some authority that arbitrarily decides which doublespent transaction to confirm) ? If you understand why Bitcoin couldn't work with a doublespend oracle present, you also understand why reality can't work with a forgiving god present. Congratulations, you've finally made it to the level of goat herders in the golden crescent circa three millenia ago. Well done!

B. Forgiveness as an act of will. So Billy hits you one across the head. And you forgive him, as an act of will, which means you sit down and think really hard about how what happened didn't really happen and its effects don't really exist. I suppose it's a grandiose pastime, if you swing that way, but it leaves the public wondering why someone as great as yourself and beset by delusions of divinity to boot would bother with anything whatsoever. Why learn to read in the first place, just sit down and think really hard about how you can read already. And all the consequences of you thinking you can read when you can't didn't really happen nor will they ever. What's the problem ?xi

All the multiple facets of this naive, infantile approach to reality work exactly the same way and fail for exactly the same reason : because they're infantile derpage. Oh, so you sit down and think really hard not about how what happened didn't actually happen, but about how you don't care that it did happen ? Bully for you, so same about learning to read. Why learn to read when you could just not care you can't read ? Why eat when you could just not care you're hungry ?

Oh, you're a special divine agent and as such you get to arbitrarily pick and choose your way out of logical impossibility ? Good for you and welcome to moral hazard, if you simply pick and choose what to forgive rather than applying some sort of rule you're Billy. And while punishment disguised as forgiveness on a purely linguistic level has an ancient history with many great moments, from Arbeit Macht Frei to Fantozzi riassunto come parafulmine, we're not here to talk words, we're here to talk things.

C. Forgiveness as a transaction. This is the most common use of the term. The way it works is that whenever any agent starts a chain of phenomena, all other agents get a token named for the block index where the chain started. Then as the unidirectional flow of time as a proxy for entropy as a proxy for blockchain height progresses, the effects of the agent's activity on all other agents is calculated by some sort of utility function, creating the simultaneous obligation on the part of the agent to compensate the others for lost value, and on the part of the others to give the agent their gained value, as per a mute doctrine of "absolute agency", wherein the agent is assigned all the effects of his activity irrespective upon whom they may fall.

This is nonsense of the first degree, because the agent (being an agent, rather than a puppet of the entire system's designer) will only play when there's a benefit to be had. Take the case dearest to the heart of the puritan, the repenting sinner. So, at point A the sinner not yet repentant, went and I dunno, fornicated. For which he had some trouble, taking him to point B, where he honestly no longer wishes to fornicate. At this point he wants to offer in token his present nature - the him no longer inclined to fornicate - as an exchange for something else : the fornication of him so inclined. Well what sort of a bullshit deal is this, you trade something you no longer want for something you wanted ?! Fuck you, how about that! The guy that steals a hundred for you, bets it at the track and wins through this process ten grand doesn't owe you a hundred and interest. He'd have owed you a hundred and interest had he lost, but since he won he owes you ten grand. And interest.xii

That much for the exchange initiated by the guilty : no sale. As far as the exchange initiated from outside, it could either be initiated by another agent directly interested (sometimes called "the victim"), in which case forgiveness as a transaction becomes punishment and we're playing with words again, or else by a third party interested in some third goal (such as preserving "the decorum"), in which case we're simply seeing a further act initiating further guilt, for which the third party will sooner or later hang, either at the hands of the original guilty agent, or of his victim, or them both, or if not a further third party, interested in preserving a different definition of decorum.xiii

The only possible resolution to the problem of guilt has absolutely nothing to do with an imaginary "forgiveness". The only possible resolution of the problem of guilt is merging agency, which is fundamentally why marriagexiv is the proposed solution to rape in more philosophically advanced if technologically backward societies, whereas murder of the victim is the practiced solution to rape in more legally advanced if politically backward societies. Just as long as the difference of agency is extinguished somehow, the problem is resolved.

In conclusion : only sin against your food, you'll be fine. Which, if you're paying attention, is exactly what animals have been doing, since forever.

———in Eu nu, which works like a joint "I've never" and "I wouldn't" and so forth. [↩]Arta Pedepsirii, The Art Of Punishment. The date is only relevant to anchor political discussions in the text. [↩]Complementary reading for this principle : Georg Ritter von Flondor, and what his unhappy life can teach us and remember : you are more than free to treat your life as if it were a joke. If you do, it probably will end up being a joke. I promise I'll laugh at the end. [↩]For a good example, if only theoretical, of this concept, review Un prophete. Some kid gets six years for brawling, serves four and comes out of prison a criminal king pin. Herp. [↩]As the text was originally in Romanian, the Gypsy gets to be the universal spook. You probably wish to replace with whatever group is identified as the official scapegoat in your own community - in the end it makes little difference. [↩]The original reference is an article discussing that famous case of home invasion in the UK back in 2011 when some woman working for their immigration office came home from vacationing to find a family had taken over her house. No arrests were made. The pics are pretty lol. [↩]Not that the alternative necessarily can. To put this in perspective, a car trying to burn incombustible liquids can't possibly ever work. This doesn't mean every fuel bomb is actually a car. [↩]Jaful si Economia was linked for details [↩]Not because of anything to do with them, either in the case of guilt or punishment, but strictly because of all the gunk you've collected on your brain listening to various people parroting various other people's agendas, and by people I mostly mean old women in this context. Odds are by the time you're capable to read you've had so many layers of shit on your eyes, drying and caking and being replenished out of crinkly old assholes doing doodoo all over your face it's not even funny. [↩]Kelvin's idea of the thermic death of the universe neatly fits with the only viable representation of universal peace and happiness, an observation closely mirroring Poincarre's point that "the best, most direct way to prevent human suffering is to just kill everyone". Various religious representation of the same thing fail to differ significantly, even if they employ masses of words for that uninspiring effect. [↩]One sees so much of this in the various Bitcoin experts out there it's almost an in joke by now. [↩]Unless he can satisfactory prove you'd never have bet it yourself had he not stolen it from you, in which case, he gets agency rate, 15%. [↩]Which brings us straight back to the Georg Flondor discussion, doesn't it. [↩]Understood, of course, as female slavery. [↩]

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Category: Cocietate si Sultura

Wednesday, 17 September, Year 6 d.Tr.

The Internet race gap.

Among the strange properties either revealed or inventedi by the Quantcast report for Qntra published alongside its monthly report for November, the incredible African American index stands out :

The naive interpretation upon first seeing that thing would be that you know, thirty black people saw the site for each 108 white guys or 168 azns. As Quantcast itself explainsii, this is not actually correct. The values represent "indexes", whatever that actually, mathematically means (Quantcast does not bother to explain, because whatever, we live in Disney stupid world, there's no need to expose the actual underpinnings of any mechanism, just make some vague claims, wave hands a lot and everyone's happy) and a value of 100 is representative of some sort of an Internet Average!

To understand each other : if 100 pink people and 30 purple people live somewhere on an island, upon which island there exists also an icecream shop, which then hires Quantcast to do racial profiling for itiii, should ten pink people and three purple people consume icecream in some interval the indexes of both would come out as 100. They would not come out as 10 and 3 respectively, as the naive approach above suggested, they're not absolute values. They would also not come out as 10 and 10, ie, 10% of the population in each case. They would come out as pure 100s, ie, "out of the 10 pink people consuming icecream, 10 consumed icecream ; whereas out of the 3 purple people consuming icecream, 3 consumed icecream". "All", aka 100, is both the average, the maximum and the minimum for both groups in this simplified example of ours.

If we go deeper to consider icecream flavours, and if it so happens that out of the ten pink people, six had chocolate and four vanilla, whereas out of the three purple people, one had chocolate and two vanilla, it is entirely unclear how the Quantcast reports would look, but I am quite warrantlessly assuming that they would come out as 120 / 66 for chocolate and 80 / 133 for vanilla. Because the "Internet average" is 5 pink and 1.5 purple people per flavour, and then proportionally 6 is 120% of 5 and 2 is 133% of 1.5. This is at least what seems to be implied by the "Very High Indexes" thing.

So equipped with this highly speculative understanding of the statistical processing involved, we can now proceed to look at the Internet. For instance : maybe Qntra being "independent" in its political leanings discourages black people, more likely to congregate on democratic-leaning bastions of thought, either because of Ms. Walker or for any other reason. But then, Gawker looks like this :

Check out all the big boned, great-sense-of-humor, respectful friendzone-fodder grouped up on gawker, while the 20% of women that actually matter aren't even there! Who knew, seriously. But, and this is the truly strange part, black people at only 73% ? On the largest siteiv on the Internets catering to what white asocial asexual aspie boys think black people want ?

The mystery continues : linkedin 70 ; ijreview.com 28(!) ; topix 77 ; whitepages 82 ; thoughtcatalog.com whatever that is 65 ; nbcnews also 65 ; examiner 78 ; drugs.com gets close at 99 but still no cigar ; sbnation 98 ; diply.com 71 ; comcast 60 ; legacy.com 63 ; stackexchange.com 74 (meanwhile azn ? 239 yo! record breaking) ; goodreads.com 88 ; hubpages 99 ; sportly.tv 63 ; photobucket 91 ; guff.com 50 ; eonline.com 77 ; vox.com 90 ; nbcsports 92.

Amusingly enough bleacherreport.com (which apparently is a big thing I never heard of) shows a slight overaverage : 108. Cheap lulz aside, there are also a few more substantial overperformers : nydailynews 137 ; urbandictionary 126 ; tmz 120 (and pretty much the only place where blacks and blacks only are over average) ; quizlet.com 127 (very popular with all minorities, this thing) ; babycenter.com 113 ; inquisitr.com 106 ; anchorfree.us 109 ; uproxx.com 103.

Count it : 21 under, 9 over. On average, the 21 under are at 70.5 (ie, 29.5 under) while the 9 over are at 116.5 (ie, about half that over). On top of which : these are those sites among the 100 most viewed on the Internet that chose to publish their demographics. A larger chunk chose not to publish their demographics, and given the race hysteria that's been going on in the US for a while now I suspect this decision is not independent of the fact that their demographics show underaverage representation of black people.

So to sum up : the average number of black people on the Internet is, on average, about 15% lower than the average numer of black people on the Internet as far as we can see - and it's probably even worse as far as we can't see.

Doesn't this give you pause ? Where's my niggers at, yo!

———It's still unclear exactly what part rand() plays in there. [↩]Reading Demographic Graphs

1. Index. This compares audience composition of the site or mobile app to each platform population. The higher the index number, the more concentrated the property is in a particular demographic. As an example, if a property indexes 100 for age 18-24, that means a given visitor to it is as likely to be 18-24 as any internet user chosen at random. An index of 200 means the visitor is twice as likely to be 18-24, 50 means half as likely, and so on.

2. Segments are represented with icons. Segments include gender, age, household income, and education.

3. Very High Indexes (over 200) are denoted with a plus symbol.

4. Internet Average is represented by the dotted vertical line. [↩]Hey, it works for da police, right ? Why wouldn't it work for the Internet fictitious icecream parlours on fictitious islands. [↩]It's really the whole conglomerate, 25 different "properties", 10 allegedly different sites (gizmodo, lifehacker, gawker itself, deadspin, io9, jezebel, kotaku, jalopnik and of course everyone's favourite spamsource, kinja.com). Oh, what, you thought gawker & jezebel could survive on their own, if they didn't have gizmodo and lifehacker to push the numbers ? Think again.

In fact, the whole charade looks so exactly alike the cheapo Romanian spamrings I was taking apart and mocking all the way to their grave a few years ago it's not even funny. [↩]

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Category: Meta psihoza

Sunday, 07 December, Year 6 d.Tr.