Masturbation and athletes

Masturbation and athletes
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Devils stab him in the heart. He goes to a cash-point and withdraws all the money – 20 million and he descends into the sewer. There are only women at the entrance. I hardly advanced a couple of steps and I had already given away 5 million to the people around me. I started sweating, a kind of panic attack.
He encourages himself and moves on, through the syringes, all the way to the end, to the counter with the powders. He takes a sachet and empties it into himself to sooth his demons. There’s a guy in there with a shamanic look . The guy’s quite trippy. He covers himself from head to toe in Aurolac silver paint, he identifies with the drug. He has visions. He was peaceful with me, even his lieutenants were ok with me.
Stefan is hooked on injecting substances. He loved a homeless guy for many years whom he took home. He’s now doing a PHD in Public Policies on drug issues. When I use Pure I’m extremely dominated by my sexual side and it’s difficult for me to get it out of my head. I think about sex in public – in that moment everything becomes real. You are under the impression that you can fully love anyone. But I couldn’t do it with them, they are pathetic, finished. They are very dirty; they have syringes. When I was younger – maybe! Then I could have fucked anyone. Then I could have fucked anyone.
With his demons on a leash, Stefan sits sweating on a hot pipe, leaning against the counter filled with powders and syringes. The first feeling is a sort of awareness that everything you think of and all your mental processes are not exclusively yours. You’re not the only one who has access to them. They’re public. It’s purely an impression that someone else, a presence, participates in what happens within you. This is exactly the main impression. It’s both euphoric and like stepping away from your own self. Physically, your entire body gets mobilized. You feel relief, you can escape, you run, you can do anything you want. You’re like Superman.
But in the sewer Stefan is a wreck. He can’t stop until he’s run out of money – which doesn’t take longer than a couple of hours. The price of the powder varies depending on who you are. If they see that you’re better dressed they will sell you a quarter of a gram for a million and a half.
When he emerges he feels that his lungs are collapsing because of the heat and heavy air in the sewer. I’m amazed they can sleep in that place. When you’re hooked on legal drugs, you are schizophrenic. To have 20 people around you, limbs intertwined like snakes, some cutting themselves… How can they sleep, eat?
A man built like a boxer, with the mannerism of a petty dealer, smokes a cigarette on the steps in front of the Station. He comes here daily and stays until late at night..
Marius swindled foreign currency and other banned stuff during communism. Prison turned him around. He has a family and now he volunteers for an organisation that feeds the homeless.
He knows Bruce Lee for 23 years now. He lived in the sewer as well, around Dristor-Unirii. Even back then he had a clean sewer, all made up, with many children and elderly. Now, it is the same – he is surrounded by vulnerable people: children, elderly people, women and stray dogs. He’s like the God of the homeless.
No one calls him boss or big guy, everyone calls him father , says Marius. People come and ask him for money to pay their rent or bank loans. I swear to god he helps them! He doesn’t necessarily agree with Bruce Lee’s businesses, but these kids in the sewers need him.
Marius thinks that the society is responsible for the poor ones living in the sewers. The programmes that the NGOs and the town hall came up with to integrate these poor creatures are useless. Everybody comes here and says oh, we tried to take them to some social center or whatnot. Take a stray dog that has lived all its life on the streets, put him in a cage and see what happens to him.
T wo gendarmes approach a young man who hangs around the entrance to the sewer.
– Where’s your boss Bruce Lee?
– Bruce Lee is my father, and father is at home! says Viorel staring at the ground. Bruce Lee’s house is this entire world, as far as you can see. Only that you’ll never find him home. He lives only underground.
A pensioner near by crosses herself. God have mercy on us… Viorel takes out a bag from his chest pocket, breathes deeply into it, then cimbs down the hole. His feet slide between slabs of steel concrete. He pushes his body forward with his arms and back and disappears underground.
His home is underneath the Gara de Nord since he escaped a humanitarian organisation. Under Bruce Lee’s protection he’s in a better mood. Thanks to him, it doesn’t rain over our heads. He is the father of the homeless. He gives his heart and soul for us.
The father of the homeless comes in through a crack in the wall holdinga bag filled with liquid in his teeth. He is barefoot and has chains around his wrists and ankles secured with metal locks. A patched vest crowded with war medals and brooches of semi-precious stones covers him. He crawls to a stereo, he turns it on to a commercial station and sits down cross-legged near Viorel. Some dogs curl up behind him and press, as if they would like to lift and carry him around on their backs.

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