Thursday, 15 August 2013

A big fat ass lie.

I do not need remorse to write poetry
nor i need sorrow to make a story.
I only need tranquility.
So, please stop imagining 
that you are nourishing
me in becoming a great poet.

3 comments:

  1. Through poetry I fish out the unconscious
    Small fishes, those tiny ones, which
    Taste like chips when fried.

    The desire is to finally
    Catch the big whale

    She thought I wanted to be a poet.
    All I wanted was to talk to her.

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  2. "To really love someone is to believe that by loving them you’ll get to a truth about yourself. We love the one that harbours the response, or a response, to our question: ‘Who am I?’"

    "To love, you have to admit your lack, and recognise that you need the other, that you miss him or her. Those that think they’re complete on their own, or want to be, don’t know how to love. And sometimes, they ascertain this painfully. They manipulate, pull strings, but of love they know neither the risk nor the delights."

    "Even a man in love has flashes of pride, bursts of aggressiveness against the object of his love, because this love puts him in a position of incompleteness, of dependence. That’s why he can desire women he doesn’t love, so as to get back to the virile position he suspends when he loves. Freud called this principle the ‘debasement of love life’ in men: the split between love and sexual desire."

    "‘If I love you, it’s because you’re loveable. I’m the one that loves, but you’re also mixed up in this, because there’s something in you that makes me love you. It’s reciprocal because there’s a to and fro: the love I have for you is the return effect of the cause of love that you are for me. So, you’re implicated. My love for you isn’t just my affair, it’s yours too. My love says something about you that maybe you yourself don’t know.’ This doesn’t guarantee in the least that the love of one will be responded to by the love of the other: when that happens it’s always of the order of a miracle, it’s not calculable in advance."

    "People in love are in fact condemned to go on learning the other’s language indefinitely, groping around, seeking out the keys – keys that are always revocable. Love is a labyrinth of misunderstandings whose way out doesn’t exist."

    (http://www.lacan.com/symptom/?page_id=263)

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