Love Dares The Self To Leave Itself

They Were Two Superior Eels At The Bottom Of The Tank And They Recognized Each Other Like Italics.

I Emphasize The Distinction Between Brackets And No Brackets Because It Will Affect Your Reading Experience, If You Will Allow It. Brackets Are Exciting. Even Though You Are Approaching Sappho In Translation, That Is No Reason You Should Miss The Drama Of Trying To Read A Papyrus Torn In Half Or Riddled With Holes Or Smaller Than A Postage Stamp--brackets Imply A Free Space Of Imaginal Adventure.

Novels Institutionalize The Ruse Of Eros. It Becomes A Narrative Texture Of Sustained Incongruence, Emotional And Cognitive. It Permits The Reader To Stand In Triangular Relation To The Characters In The Story And Reach Into The Text After The Objects Of Their Desire, Sharing Their Longing But Also Detached From It, Seeing Their View Of Reality But Also Its Mistakenness. It Is Almost Like Being In Love.

Everything Depends On Liking The People And Trusting The People. You Have To Assume That Whatever They Do Will Be As Good As You Want The Thing To Be And Just Go Ahead With That.

Pleasure And Pain At Once Register Upon The Lover, Inasmuch As The Desirability Of The Love Object Derives, In Part, From Its Lack. To Whom Is It Lacking? To The Lover. If We Follow The Trajectory Of Eros We Consistently Find It Tracing Out This Same Route: It Moves Out From The Lover Toward The Beloved, Then Ricochets Back To The Lover Himself And The Hole In Him, Unnoticed Before. Who Is The Subject Of Most Love Poems? Not The Beloved. It Is That Hole.