Disrupting the boundaries of your self-hood as such, that’s love. I mutilate you. The word lacks the thing, linguistic castration. Human reality is a montage of the symbolic. The instance of the letter — read Freud as if he had access to Saussure, read Lacan as if he wrote for Hitchcock. What’s in the word? à la lettre. What I desire is predetermined…Althusser was a Stalinist, Adorno called the police on his own students occupying their university, Heidegger was a Nazi. We’re all bodies without organs, humanitieszombies eating the flesh of the radical French and the German romantics. The traumatic Real of sex
Tagged as: this sounds like something I wrote drunk.
Reblogged from: spatiotemporalcookies
Originally posted by: syeda
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