Loading...

English / 26.02.2020 / 1308

Toxic?!

Nikolay Mokhov, author from the Dark Side of Business

...And the complaints started coming in from all over the Internet. We heard a quacking from the Facebook swamp:

— And my mum used to tell me: haven't you eaten too much? My mum's toxic!

"Toxes will never admit their mistakes!" the second frog answered her.

— My friend is in a toxic relationship. Her husband beats her, but she doesn't want to leave. I don't know, how do I save her? — was wondering an experienced toad.

People have learned new words: "toxic relationships" and "tox", that is, someone who humiliates friends and relatives. To begin with, they attached the label "tox" on their mothers. Who if not them is to blame for all this? And indeed, it's our mothers who gave birth to us in this world.

"Mummy, get me back in your tummy!" — begged the daughter, faced with another injustice in life. The mother just laughed in return...

I wrote this book to glorify myself, not you

When the mothers were dealt with, people's attention shifted to others.

— He's a "tox" and an abuser! It was a toxic relationship, that's what the therapist told me...

In short, it is difficult to find a companion who can't be blamed for toxic relationships. People, in general, are very unpleasant creatures, I knew that from childhood. So they also don't want to get any nicer. They don't set foot on the path of correction. Oh, those bitches!...

For any social phenomenon, the authors of the Dark Side have a story, like an experienced cheat has an ace up his sleeve. And today we have a story about Salvador Dali. He was a champion in toxic relations. Two-part and yet singular: both the victim and the rapist. Well, the fact that Dali humiliated others with his genius is intuitive to many. And the guy not only produced the paintings, that bastard also published a couple of books. In his autobiographies, he gladly trained in wit on his friends. The genius spared neither colors nor words. A ruthless tox.

— Dali, why did you put me in the book like that? — a famous comrade once couldn't stand it.

— I wrote this book to glorify myself, not you, — succinctly formulated the Spaniard.

But Dali also had the love of his life. Her name was Gala. Or rather, Elena Ivanovna Diakonova. For fans of numbers and those who are lazy to google — Gala was eleven years older than Dali. And this marriage wasn't approved by Salvador's parents or acquaintances.

— This lustful Russian needs only money from a genius!

And they were right. You can't argue with that. Dali gave money to Gala. Gala used this money to buy gifts and apartments for her younger lovers. She was in her fifties, and the age of her admirers was approaching eighteen. Her husband grew old, and freshmen of art academies are always young, drunk, and hardy in bed.

— It's a pity I can't satisfy more than four men at once! — Gala was sad.

The apogee was buying a castle for his beloved wife. That's where she had the orgies. Dali knew. He could only show up by invitation. Scandals, humiliations... It was all there, too. And by current standards, Salvador Dali had a terrible toxic relationship with his wife. It wasn't until she died that Salvador started to fade. When she was alive, no one believed Gala was a muse to him. After she died, it became obvious. Such a toxic muse.

The master wasn't looking for peace. That's why it's hard for me to imagine him complaining to a psychoanalyst:

— I can't do anything because I have a toxic relationship. It's a life-long psychological trauma...

Dali wasn't smoothing out the sharp one. He was making it even sharper... Maybe that's why he's earned the recognition of his genius during his lifetime.

Some people who like to speculate about energy will certainly ask:

— Why didn't Gala eat the energy of Salvador? Why didn't he turn into a sad cuckold?...

I'll answer that. Any relationship will hurt us, and any relationship (even the sweetest) can eat us up if we don't follow the two simple rules:

1. We live or just communicate with someone who is clearly not "ours". We have no common interests with him or her.
2. We don't control our time and our space.

More on the second one. Any substance beyond measure becomes poison. Communication beyond measure, even with a loving mother, can also take away power.

— My mother is coming to see me tomorrow. For a week... And I can already imagine how hard this week will be for me... What should I do? — the girl asks. It's very simple. That is what you say to the beloved mother:

— Mummy, I've set aside a whole day for you. You and I will go wherever you say. And we'll talk as much as we can.

And then you really talk and have fun all day. And the next day, you're quietly doing your thing.

— But she'll stay home. I mean, she's gonna complain about it...

So in this case, you can respond politely:

— Mummy, it's nice to come to my place, isn't it? And it's so nice to welcome you... And to have such a place to come, I have to work out my own business.

— Well, she's gonna purse up her lips. She'll chew on her lips and sit at home resentfully.

And this is her, mother's, choice. Our choice is to separate our time from public time. And to control that time and space. Salvador Dali was always in the studio, Gala was having fun in her castle. They'd meet in case there was a mutual desire. That's why Gala was Salvador's muse, a lover and a loyal friend, and not "the bitch who screwed up his whole life". Remember how it was in the old joke? She wanted to say to him at dinner: "Sweetie, pass the salt, please" and it turned out: "You, bastard, have ruined my whole life!"



The destructive energy of creation...

Philips and Sony unveiled their invention, the CD, in the ’80s. Owners of music studios tried the novelty out. How can one make a music lover buy a Beatle album again? Release it on a new medium.

The production costs of the CD were lower than those of vinyl, and yet the invention was being sold for more money. Music producers destroyed the vinyl market and set revenue records. The ’90s were the platinum time for studios.

Read more...

Leonardo’s Notes

“The problem is, Nikolai, that you never finish anything you start. You don’t even have a degree,” my girlfriend scolded me. We were on the subway.
She had just received some money to make a website, where she would eventually put up some boring local news. The site had dramatically less subscribers than even her Facebook page. In a couple years, the project went bankrupt. But she never lost her faith in the magical formula:

“You need closure. Every beginning has an end…”

Read more...

The thought of eternal life

Neuroscientists say that the bigger the brain, the longer a mammal lives. And there is also a commonplace observation: people who are engaged in research, teaching, and theoretical science live long. You can count straight from Plato, who died at the age of eighty. His colleague Newton at 84, Mendeleev at 72, Einstein at 76, physicist Niels Bohr at 77, and so on. And the other day I was walking around Cyprus with a PhD, so she told me:

Read more...

The Teacher's Label

A fat writer Dima Bykov in poor health with his head held high has distinguished himself. He has decided to rank in descending order the passed away colleagues. Some of them has been ranked first, others take second and even third places. Sergei Dovlatov has been taken down a peg next to his classmates. The teacher Bykov gave him a satisfactory grade. He even didn’t hide that he wanted to give him a poor grade.

Dima Bykov has unleashed a war on social media by his ranking. Somebody noticed that the teacher is not good even at his own domain. Someone replied that he have been aware of Dovlatov’s bad marks... I was astonished by the desire to make value judgements about literature and even the literary characters. This approach reeks of the judgments of school teachers. It's not the most pleasant aroma...

Read more...

By remain on the site, you agree to use by us of cookies. It's necessary for the optimal functioning of the site and help to save your settings.
Agree