“Jacques Lacan reminds us, that in sex, each individual is to a large extent on their own, if I can put it that way. Naturally, the other’s body has to be mediated, but at the end of the day, the pleasure will be always your pleasure. Sex separates, doesn’t unite. The fact you are naked and pressing against the other is an image, an imaginary representation. What is real is that pleasure takes you a long way away, very far from the other. What is real is narcissistic, what binds is imaginary. So there is no such thing as a sexual relationship, concludes Lacan. His proposition shocked people since at the time everybody was talking about nothing else but “sexual relationships”. If there is no sexual relationship in sexuality, love is what fills
the absence of a sexual relationship.
Lacan doesn’t say that love is a disguise for sexual relationships; he says that sexual relationships don’t exist, that love is what comes to replace that non-relationship. That’s much more interesting. This idea leads him to say that in love the other tries to approach “the being of the other”. In love the individual goes beyond himself, beyond the narcissistic. In sex, you are really in a relationship with yourself via the mediation of the other. The other helps you to discover the reality of pleasure. In love, on the contrary the mediation of the other is enough in itself. Such is the nature of the amorous encounter: you go to take on the other, to make him or her exist with you, as he or she is. It is a much more profound conception of love than the entirely banal view that love is no more than an imaginary canvas painted over the reality of sex.”—Alain Badiou, In Praise of Love (via ounu)
Amo: volo ut sis.” (I love you: I want you to be.)
— Martin Heidegger, quoting Augustine, in a letter to Hannah Arendt, 1925
"This mere existence, that is, all that which is mysteriously given to us by birth and which includes the shape of our bodies and the talents of our minds, can be adequately dealt with only by the unpredictable hazards of friendship and sympathy, or by the great and incalculable grace of love, which says with Augustine, ‘Volo ut sis (I want you to be),’ without being able to give any particular reason for such supreme and unsurpassable affirmation.
”—Hannah Arendt, The Origins of Totalitarianism, 1951 (via ounu)
How can you enjoy diving so deep into pretentious topics like that while you know that everything is indeed meaningless? Why don't you do drugs all day and fuck around and enjoy life? It's has more to offer than dusty books.
If everything is indeed meaningless that also suggests that everything has completely equal value (or non-value) given the act of valuing is arbitrarily privileging one action, thought, concept over another. There is nothing inherently more or less valuable about anything I choose to study or read than there is “doing drugs all day,” “fucking around,” “enjoying life.” Though the idea that existence should be enjoyed is already giving a false sense of meaning to one’s life that it seems you don’t prescribe to. Yes, life is meaningless, yes everything is for naught, but regardless I happen to choose these dusty books, these concepts, over another outlet. I suppose (drugs, books, sleep, alcohol, whatever you arbitrarily choose) it’s all just a coping mechanism for the cognizance of our meaninglessness and inevitable death.
“Of course I’ll hurt you. Of course you’ll hurt me. Of course we will hurt each other. But this is the very condition of existence. To become spring, means accepting the risk of winter. To become presence, means accepting the risk of absence.”—The Little Prince (via thepussykitten)
Je te tiens, Chaudement dans mes bras. Écoute la pluie qui frappe Sur les fenêtres. J’ai perdu La puissance de la solitude, L’invincibilité de l’homme sans coeur. Maintenant j’ai peur. À cause de toi, Je suis faible comme dans un rêve De la douceur de mon avenir Avec toi. Je te tiens, Chaudement, C’est mieux, n’est-ce pas? Et au dehors il fait froid. Pourquoi tu pars?
“I want a trouble-maker for a lover,
Blood spiller, blood drinker, a heart of flame,
Who quarrels with the sky and fights with fate,
Who burns like fire on the rushing sea.”—From Rumi’s Kolliyaat-e Shams-e Tabrizi
“I know only that “guilty pleasures” exist, but I have never understood the point of feeling guilty about pleasure. Rather, I see plenty of reasons for feeling guilty about failing to take pleasure in things.”—Nigella Lawson (via exoticwild)
“And I, infinitesimal being,
drunk with the great starry
likeness, image of
I felt myself a pure part
of the abyss,
I wheeled with the stars,
my heart broke loose on the wind.”—Pablo Neruda, 100 Love Sonnets (via vertebraiile)
Thoughts on our government shutdown and a few other related things…
Don’t get caught up in the plot twists inherent to the partisan puppet show. The elite are managing the decline of the United States by way of the Hegelian dialectic. It’s not status they’re after, it’s control, and this desire isn’t limited to one party.
It’ll become harder and harder to escape the command and control apparatus statists built. Soon it’ll be too hard for even the most ardent collectivist to deny the creeping fascism they enabled. The people get the government they deserve and I don’t feel bad for anyone involved or affected by it.
A character from my “second life” is on my proverbial doorstep. Threatening to reenter my life once more.
If you have been following this blog for awhile now, you may be familiar with ”P”. And no internet detectives, that’s not her initial. Its been since about February (?) since I have written about her I believe.
We got brunch today. If our eyes were not locked together at any point, I don’t remember it. To my surprise, still electricity. Her every mannerism. They way everyone stares at her when she only had eyes for me.
Our conversations were fluid. Effortless. Injected with intelligence, depth and great humor. At one point she mentioned that she was in that awful Hansel and Gretel movie that came our earlier in the year and we had a laugh. “P” has not changed a bit. We spoke about anything and everything but the burning questions I could tell we both had for each other.
She’s been living in LA for awhile now. I’ve done my best to ignore the calls and pretend she does not exist, but I can’t do it anymore. Dammit, I swear I see glimpses of Sara every time I look in those green eyes.
“Because the world is so full of death and horror, I try again and again to console my heart and pick the flowers that grow in the midst of hell.”—Hermann Hesse, Narcissus and Goldmund (via memoriastoica)