Words, In Their Distant Past, Have The

The Night Dreamer Cannot Articulate A Cogito. The Night Dream Is A Dream Without A Dreamer.

Of Course, Thanks To The House, A Great Many Of Our Memories Are Housed, And If The House Is A Bit Elaborate, If It Has A Cellar And A Garret, Nooks And Corridors, Our Memories Have Refuges That Are All The More Clearly Delineated. All Our Lives We Come Back To Them In Our Daydreams. A Psychoanalyst Should, Therefore, Turn His Attention To This Simple Localization Of Our Memories. I Should Like To Give The Name Of Topoanalysis To This Auxiliary Of Pyschoanalysis. Topoanalysis, Then Would Be The Systematic Psychological Study Of The Sites Of Our Intimate Lives.

In Contrast To A Dream A Reverie Cannot Be Recounted. To Be Communicated, It Must Be Written, Written With Emotion And Taste, Being Relived All The More Strongly Because It Is Being Written Down. Here, We Are Touching The Realm Of Written Love. It Is Going Out Of Fashion, But The Benefits Remain. There Are Still Souls For Whom Love Is The Contact Of Two Poetries, The Fusion Of Two Reveries.

Air Is The Very Substance Of Our Freedom, The Substance Of Superhuman Joy.... Aerial Joy Is Freedom.

It Is Not A Question Of Observation Which Propels Mankind Forward As If Toward A Looking Glass Of Great Magnitude; It Is An Instance Of Aggrandized Reflection That Insinuates The Human Psyche To The Inhuman.