Fatalité

Πόσος χώρος υπάρχει σε μία σχέση Κ/υ για τη μοιραία γυναίκα; Εκείνη που γοητεύει, ξελογιάζει, χρησιμοποιεί με μαεστρία το βασικό ένστικτο, εκπλήσσει. Πολλές φορές ο Κ επιδιώκει τον απόλυτο έλεγχο. Η τράπουλα μοιάζει σημαδεμένη. Τα περιθώρια μέσα στα οποία μπορεί να κινηθεί η υ στενά. Είναι όμως έτσι; Η μοιραία γυναίκα διαφέρει από το χαριτωμένο brat που ζουζουνίζει πεισματικά, δίνοντας μια εσάνς ατίθασου παιδιού, (η χαρά του daddy Dom). Mία femme fatal παίρνει πρωτοβουλία, έχει κρυφή ερωτική ατζέντα, δεν ανοίγει όλα της τα χαρτιά.

Μπορεί ένας Κ να ανεχτεί και να καλωσορίσει τη fatalité της υ του;

 

Ο Κυρίαρχος κάνει την μοιραία γυναίκα χαλάκι.
Αν δεν το κάνει δεν Κυριαρχεί.

 

Αν την κάνει χαλάκι, δεν είναι μοιραία.

 

Η "μοιραία γυναίκα" είναι βιομηχανικό κατασκεύασμα, που πρωτοπερπάτησε ως "εικόνα"/αντίλημα πριν καμιά εκατοπενηνταριά χρόνια...
Στην αρχή ως χαρακτηρισμός και μετά ως εικόνα/μοντέλο της βιομηχανίας του θεάματος/ακροάματος σε διάφορες παραλλαγές (vamp, femme fatale, diva, spider woman/γυνναίκα αράχνη κλπ).
Ως "προϊόν" είναι σχεδιασμένο να ακροβατεί μεταξύ του ανικανοποίητου της αγοράς που απαυθύνεται, του άπιαστου -κάτι σαν ιερό δισκοπότηρο, ένα πράμα- επενδύοντας στο φαντασιακό με απόλυτη επιτυχία και στα φετιχιστικά έκδοχα που κατά συνέπεια ακολουθούν το όποιο φαντασιακό, από έναν βαθμό και μετά. Ως έννοια είναι πάντα συνυφασμένη με ένα περιβάλλον -τουλάχιστον- επάρκειας, ως το ελάχιστον προαπαιτούμενο για συμμετοχή στον καταναλωτικό χορό που υπαγορεύει στο κοινό της ως έννοια, τροδοδοτώντας ευρύτατο φάσμα της αγοράς.
Οι αφελέστεροι οπαδοί της "έννοιας" μένουν στα "μπλιμπλίκια" για την υποθετική προσέγγισή της, οι "τελειωμένοι" φτάνουν να δημιουργούν "σενάρια" για την όποια γουστάρουν να χαρακτηρίσουν ως τέτοια, ακόμα και αγνοώντας την "μοιραία" γυναίκα που συζούν ή έχουν συζήσει...
Παλιότερα η "μοιραία γυναίκα" (και οι παραλλαγές της) λεγόταν και προσδιοριζόταν διαφορετικά για πάνω-κάτω τους ίδιους λόγους, αλλά με πιο προσγειωμένο περιεχόμενο...

 

Μα φυσικά παύει να είναι μοιραία.
Τι να την κάνει την μοιραία ο Κυρίαρχος, η μόνη περίπτωση να την κρατήσει κοντά του είναι να του υποταχτεί.
Ο Κυρίαρχος δεν είναι γκόμενος.

 

Για τη μικρη ιστορια που ακολουθει λυπαμαι που δεν εχω το χρονο να τη μεταφρασω και ζηταω προκαταβολικα συγνωμη.

Μοιραια γυναικα? Σουιτσομπρατ για σκουποξυλο?
Topping from the bottom? Femme spasarchide?
Αδεσποτο υ υπο εξημερωση? Αρχετυπο Λολιτας? Εγχειριδιο αποπλανησης (η χειραγωγησης) Κ? Κατι αλλο?
Τα συμπερασματα δικα σας




One hot summer afternoon in 1894, Don Mateo Díaz, a thirty-eightyear- old resident of Seville, decided to visit a local tobacco factory Because of his connections Don Mateo was allowed to tour the place, but his interest was not in the business side. Don Mateo liked young girls, and hundreds of them worked in the factory. Just as he had expected, that day many of them were in a state of near undress because of the heat—it was quite a spectacle. He enjoyed the sights for a while, but the noise and the temperature soon got to him. As he was heading for the door, though, a worker of no more than sixteen called out to him: "Caballero, if you will give me a penny I will sing you a little song." The girl's name was Conchita Pérez, and she looked young and innocent, in fact beautiful, with a sparkle in her eye that suggested a taste for adventure. The perfect prey. He listened to her song (which seemed vaguely suggestive), tossed her a coin that was equal to a month's salary, tipped his hat, then left. It was never good to come on too strong too early. As he walked along the street, he plotted how he would lure her into an affair. Suddenly he felt a hand on his arm and he turned to see her walking alongside him. It was too hot to work—would he be a gentleman and escort her home? Of course. Do you have a lover? he asked her. No, she said, "I am mozita"—pure, a virgin. Conchita lived with her mother in a rundown part of town. Don Mateo exchanged pleasantries, slipped the mother some money (he knew from experience how important it was to keep the mother happy), then left. He considered waiting a few days, but he was impatient, and returned the following morning. The mother was out. He and Conchita resumed their playful banter from the day before, and to his surprise she suddenly sat in his lap, put her arms around him, and kissed him. His strategy flying out the window, he took hold of her and returned the kiss. She immediately jumped up, her eyes flashing with anger: you are trifling with me, she said, using me for a quick thrill. Don Mateo denied having any such intentions, and apologized for going too far. When he left, he felt confused: she had started it all; why should he feel guilty? And yet he did. Young girls can be so unpredictable; it is best to break them in slowly Over the next few days Don Mateo was the perfect gentleman. He visited every day, showered mother and daughter with gifts, made no advances—at least not at first. The damned girl had become so familiar with him that she would dress in front of him, or greet him in her nightgown. These glimpses of her body drove him crazy, and he would sometimes try to steal a kiss or caress, only to have her push him away and scold him. Weeks went by; clearly he had shown that his was not a passing fancy. Tired of the endless courtship, he took Conchita's mother aside one day and proposed that he set the girl up in a house of her own. He would treat her like a queen; she would have everything she wanted. (So, of course, would her mother.) Surely his proposal would satisfy the two women—but the next day, a note came from Conchita, expressing not gratitude but recrimination: he was trying to buy her love. "You shall never see me again," she concluded. He hurried to the house only to discover that the women had moved out that very morning, without leaving word where they were going. Don Mateo felt terrible. Yes, he had acted like a boor. Next time he would wait months, or years if need be, before being so bold. Soon, however, another thought assailed him: he would never see Conchita again. Only then did he realize how much he loved her. The winter passed, the worst of Mateo's life. One spring day he was walking down the street when he heard someone calling his name. He looked up: Conchita was standing in an open window, beaming with excitement. She bent down toward him and he kissed her hand, beside himself with joy. Why had she disappeared so suddenly? It was all going too quickly, she said. She had been afraid—of his intentions, and of her own feelings. But seeing him again, she was certain that she loved him. Yes, she was ready to be his mistress. She would prove it, she would come to him. Being apart had changed them both, he thought. A few nights later, as promised, she appeared at his house. They kissed and began to undress. He wanted to savor every minute, to take it slowly, but he felt like a caged bull finally set free. He followed her into bed, his hands all over her. He started to take off her underwear but it was laced up in some complicated way. Eventually he had to sit up and take a look: she was wearing some elaborate canvas contraption, of a kind he had never seen. No matter how hard he tugged and pulled, it would not come off. He felt like hitting Conchita, he was so distraught, but instead he started to cry. She explained: she wanted to do everything with him, yet to remain a mozita. This was her protection. Exasperated, he sent her home. Over the next few weeks, Don Mateo began to reassess his opinion of Conchita. He saw her flirting with other men, and dancing a suggestive flamenco in a bar: she was not a mozita, he decided, she was playing him for money. And yet he could not leave her. Another man would take his place—an unbearable thought. She would invite him to spend the night in her bed, as long as he promised not to force himself on her; and then, as if to torture him beyond reason, she would get into bed naked (supposedly because of the heat). All this he put up with on the grounds that no other man had such privileges. But one night, pushed to the limits of frustration, he exploded with anger, and issued an ultimatum: either give me what I want or you will never see me again. Suddenly Conchita started to cry. He had never seen her cry, and it moved him. She too was tired of all this, she said, her voice trembling; if it was not too late, she was ready to accept the proposal she had once turned down. Set her up in a house, and he would see what a devoted mistress she would be. Don Mateo wasted no time. He bought her a villa, gave her plenty of money to decorate it. After eight days the house was ready. She would receive him there at midnight. What joys awaited him. Don Mateo showed up at the appointed hour. The barred door to the courtyard was closed. He rang the bell. She came to the other side of the door. "Kiss my hands," she said through the bars. "Now kiss the hem of my skirt, and the tip of my foot in its slipper." He did as she requested. "That is good," she said. "Now you may go." His shocked expression just made her laugh. She ridiculed him, then made a confession: she was repulsed by him. Now that she had a villa in her name, she was free of him at last. She called out, and a young man appeared from the shadows of the courtyard. As Don Mateo watched, too stunned to move, they began to make love on the floor, right before his eyes. The next morning Conchita appeared at Don Mateo's house, supposedly to see if he had committed suicide. To her surprise, he hadn't—in fact he slapped her so hard she fell to the ground. "Conchita," he said, "you have made me suffer beyond all human strength. You have invented moral tortures to try them on the only man who loved you passionately. I now declare that I am going to possess you by force." Conchita screamed she would never be his, but he hit her again and again. Finally, moved by her tears, he stopped. Now she looked up at him lovingly. Forget the past, she said, forget all that I have done. Now that he hit her, now that she could see his pain, she felt certain he truly loved her. She was still a mozita—the affair with the young man the night before had been only for show, ending as soon as he had left—and she still belonged to him. "You are not going to take me by force. I await you in my arms." Finally she was sincere. To his supreme delight, he discovered that she was indeed still a virgin.

 

Κλέβοντας λίγο από Σοπενχάουερ:

Διεύρυνση​

Με το τέχνασμα αυτό διευρύνετε τη θέση του αντιπά
λου πέρα από τα γνήσια όριά της, προσδίδοντάς της
τη γενικότερη δυνατή έννοια και την ευρύτερη δυνα
τή σημασία, οδηγώντας την έτσι στην υπερβολή. Από
την άλλη, περιορίζετε όσο μπορείτε το εύρος της δικής
σας θέσης και συστέλλετε τα όριά της, διότι όσο πιο
γενική είναι μια άποψη τόσο πιο εύκολα μπορεί κανείς
να την αντικρούσει.
Η υπεράσπιση έγκειται στον ακριβή προσδιορισμό
του βασικού σημείου όπου εστιάζεται η αντιπαράθεση.​

 

Στα ύψη οι "μπουχάρες" της Μοιραράκη, τι να σού κάνει κι αυτός..;
Φτιάχνει "χειροποίητα" μόνος του, o έρμος ο χειροτέχνης στην ανάγκη και κανά ποδόμακτρον, door mat που λέμε και στα "ρομέικα"...
Τι; Χαλιά από τα Lidl και τα ΙΚΕΑ θα ψωνάει κοτζαμάν κους..;

 

Έχω ένα χαλάκι φτιαγμένο από femme fatale ντυμένη με κόκινο μπουφανάκι και μαύρο κολάν, τύφλα να έχουν οι μπουχάρες.  

 

Ό.ε.δ...

 

παίρνω το θάρρος να δώσω μία σύνοψη για τους φίλους που κουράζονται εύκολα

 

Γεννημενος επιμελητης εκδοσεων.