PSYCHOANALYTIC COMMENTS
OCCASIONAL COMMENTS ON PSCHO-ANALYTIC MATTERS + CONTIBUTIONS fromMICHAEL ROLOFF Member Seattle Psychoanalytic Institute and Society this LYNX will LEAP you to all my HANDKE project sites and BLOGS: http://www.roloff.freehosting.net/index.html "MAY THE FOGGY DEW BEDIAMONDIZE YOUR HOOSPRINGS!" {J. Joyce} "Sryde Lyde Myde Vorworde Vorhorde Vorborde" [von Alvensleben]
Thursday, March 30, 2017
Sunday, March 5, 2017
A COMMENT ON NAGELS BENNETT REVIEW
Dear Professor Dennett,
Dear Professor Dennett,
you cannot imagine my surprise,
the surprise of the once
I will have the son of an OSS father know,
immedidate post-WW-II
“Pet of the Bremen OSS”
[and fine hard drinking and dancing fellows they all were!]
at coming on Professor Nagel’s review of your work in the NYRB
and discovering that you claim that human [thus all kinds of mammalian consciousness, including my dreaming hunting dog’s] is a delusion - and not just, perhaps, a misnomer.
How is that feasible in the instance of someone who performs such a fine two-step process prior to reaching a decision, knowing, it seems, that he may have missed one or the other element that ought to have been part of his consideration, who perhaps factors in the inevitability of such a mishap since he appears to acknowledge the existence of an unconscious - no matter whether your concept, of what I regard a truly vast realm, coincides with mine.
Why oh why deny consciousness when it can be shown to operate in dreams while part of us is asleep & unconscious, say in the form of what is termed “secondary revision” , one of the last if not the last step in the dreamwork
But perhaps I am missing something,
it would not be the first time.
With kind regards nonetheless
Michael Roloff
*http://moravian-nights-discus sion.blogspot.com/2016/08/main -moravian-night-discussion- page.html
<http://moravian-nights-discus sion.blogspot.com/2016/08/main -moravian-night-discussion- page.html>*
*http://www.facebook.com/mike. roloff1?ref=name
<http://www.facebook.com/mike. roloff1?ref=name>*
*https://twitter.com/mikerol69 <https://twitter.com/mikerol69 >*
http://artscritic.blogspot.co m/2015/12/provisional-obituary -on-reaching-eighty.html
<http://artscritic.blogspot.co m/2015/12/provisional-obituary -on-reaching-eighty.html>*
*http://handke-magazin.blogspo t.com/2014/03/the-hub-navel-to -todos-handke.html/magazin.blo gspot.com/2014/03/the-hub-nave l-to-todos-handke.html/>*
*http:/ <http://artscritic.blogspot.co m/>**/
<http://artscritic.blogspot.co m/>**artscritic.blogspot.com/
<http://artscritic.blogspot.co m/>*
*http://crosscut.com/2011/07/2 1/crosscut-blog/20410/A-privat e-bower-wildness-in-Seattle/?p age=2
<http://crosscut.com/2011/07/2 1/crosscut-blog/20410/A-privat e-bower-wildness-in-Seattle/?p age=2>*
*http://www.workliterarymagazi ne.com/submission/michael-rolo ff-6302014/
<http://www.workliterarymagazi ne.com/submission/michael-rolo ff-6302014/>*
*http://analytic-comments.blog spot.com/
<http://analytic-comments.blog spot.com/>*
*Member Seattle Psychoanalytic Institute and Society*
*"MAY THE FOGGY DEW BEDIAMONDIZE YOUR HOOSPRINGS! +* *THE FIREPLUG OF
FILIALITY REINSURE YOUR BUNGHOLE!" **{J. Joyce}*
<http://moravian-nights-discus
*http://www.facebook.com/mike.
<http://www.facebook.com/mike.
*https://twitter.com/mikerol69 <https://twitter.com/mikerol69
http://artscritic.blogspot.co
<http://artscritic.blogspot.co
*http://handke-magazin.blogspo
*http:/ <http://artscritic.blogspot.co
<http://artscritic.blogspot.co
<http://artscritic.blogspot.co
*http://crosscut.com/2011/07/2
<http://crosscut.com/2011/07/2
*http://www.workliterarymagazi
<http://www.workliterarymagazi
*http://analytic-comments.blog
<http://analytic-comments.blog
*Member Seattle Psychoanalytic Institute and Society*
*"MAY THE FOGGY DEW BEDIAMONDIZE YOUR HOOSPRINGS! +* *THE FIREPLUG OF
FILIALITY REINSURE YOUR BUNGHOLE!" **{J. Joyce}*
*http://moravian-nights-discussion.blogspot.com/2016/08/main-moravian-night-discussion-page.html
<http://moravian-nights-discussion.blogspot.com/2016/08/main-moravian-night-discussion-page.html>*
*http://www.facebook.com/mike.roloff1?ref=name
<http://www.facebook.com/mike.roloff1?ref=name>*
*https://twitter.com/mikerol69 <https://twitter.com/mikerol69>*
http://artscritic.blogspot.com/2015/12/provisional-obituary-on-reaching-eighty.html
<http://artscritic.blogspot.com/2015/12/provisional-obituary-on-reaching-eighty.html>*
*http://handke-magazin.blogspot.com/2014/03/the-hub-navel-to-todos-handke.html/magazin.blogspot.com/2014/03/the-hub-navel-to-todos-handke.html/>*
*http:/ <http://artscritic.blogspot.com/>**/
<http://artscritic.blogspot.com/>**artscritic.blogspot.com/
<http://artscritic.blogspot.com/>*
*http://crosscut.com/2011/07/21/crosscut-blog/20410/A-private-bower-wildness-in-Seattle/?page=2
<http://crosscut.com/2011/07/21/crosscut-blog/20410/A-private-bower-wildness-in-Seattle/?page=2>*
*http://www.workliterarymagazine.com/submission/michael-roloff-6302014/
<http://www.workliterarymagazine.com/submission/michael-roloff-6302014/>*
*http://analytic-comments.blogspot.com/
<http://analytic-comments.blogspot.com/>*
*Member Seattle Psychoanalytic Institute and Society*
*"MAY THE FOGGY DEW BEDIAMONDIZE YOUR HOOSPRINGS! +* *THE FIREPLUG OF
FILIALITY REINSURE YOUR BUNGHOLE!" **{J. Joyce}*
Dear Professor Nagel,
I suspect that my suggestion that consciousness, and its various manifestations, is an essential necessity, a necessity for minds to function and be able to think in the many ways that mind and mind bodies think or think they think, also from a developmental perspective, and therefore is no more of an illusion or less than other mental acts must be a position you have encountered previously. About Mr. Bennett’s approach Nietzche commented that “we are lived” is really all that needs to be said, and the good man ought not to have wasted his mind, and zillions of interesting observations about the innumerable being being lived can be made, including their mental functioning.
One feature of human minds is that they have consciences, which implies that there must be a consciousness to produce a conscience, whatever it is that makes me feel guilty, makes me aware of that guilt, deserves the name consciousness within the language game that we are a part of. Conscience even operates within dreams as most obviously demonstrated by the dream feature of “secondary revision” where an element of the dream is altered at the final stage of the dreamwork, to make it more fitting appropriate to the conscience, to the lying superego and its vanities and fears of pain! That all this has an electro-chemical and biological parallel is proved I suppose most definitely by psychosomatic events. There also exist fine and useful concepts as “pre-conscious” where you sense matters becoming conscious, which sometimes get suppressed or repressed again by the feature called denial or “attack on linking.”
Alas for poor Bennett, a wasted life, like certain theologians, brilliance wasted on a dead star.
Sincerely, Michael Roloff
Friday, May 15, 2015
SCREEN MEMORY # 2 – FIRST BOMBS
SCREEN MEMORY TWO – “FIRST BOMBS”
By Michael Roloff
An unfamiliar roar, like
continuous thunder, is waking me and I rear up in bed as two lightning bolts flash
and strike, near simultaneously, followed near instant by peals of thunder,
window glass shatters – had I been clutching the Steif monkey that I then let
go off? or toss. At any event, I leap out of bed and rush to the window that
looks out on the woods, open its two panels, shards all around, and hear Mara, the
German Shepherd yowling hysterically in her enclosure, a yowling that turns
into a keening, more and more high pitched and then ceases, throttled: the roar
of planes disappearing in a north-westerly direction – Ah that’s what that was.
I had heard talk of bombers.
Der erste Luftangriff auf Bremen erfolgte in der Nacht
vom 18. zum 19. Mai 1940.
It took me a long time to fall back
asleep, hugging my Steif Monkey that my parent had brought
back from one of their travels, I recall hanging on to it until one of its pink
ears became moth-eaten.
When
I awake earlier than usual the following morning, earlier than anyone else, I
sneak down the staircase and walk out onto the veranda and notice that the
glass of all the large windows has shattered, the shards of glass looking like
tear drops in the flower heads in the sun.
Walking down the few steps of the veranda and turning
right, out to Mara’s Zwinger [enforcer] enclosure on a section of
the lawn not visible from the veranda - a square 100 by 100 foot shady area
adjacent to the woods which bore the name “croquet” playing ground - I am
shocked: Mara is hanging by her collar
from the highest part of the fence; she
committed suicide is a remembered thought of that moment.
Klinner, our
foreman, came by about the same time and told me that two bombs had
fallen near the riding rink, about 150 yards off, leaving two craters in the
ground, “like graves” he said, that large and deep, right next to each other.
The story went, so Klinner said, that the British bombers were afraid to
actually penetrate the air-space over Bremen which was defended by dirigibles
with razor wire sharp enough to cut the bomber wings, which is why they dropped
their bombs at the outskirts of town.”
This event is the inception of what I
call my “Expulsion from Paradise,” in Spring 1940. As compared to
the first screen memory, in this instance, of the first bombs, I realize
that memory has edited the events, compounded them and rearranged them. I was
indeed wakened by two bombs that fell simultaneously 100 some yards off in
the Fir Place woods, but lightning strikes and simultaneous thunder derive from
other experience, were projections of that moment to make sense of it, and
signify the shock of the totality of this experience – the shattered windows,
the suicidal dog, the expulsion from Paradise which
the bombs elicited - the next day I and my governess were sent
packing to an allegedly safer venue.
Moreover, the flash of two 500 pound bombs exploding
on the ground, at least one hundred yards away, in the woods, is not visible
through a thick fir forest; no doubt the sound of thunder elicited a
hallucinated lightning flash in my mind ex post facto. Fantasy has added its
components, the most serious being m five-year-Old's assumption that the German
shepherd Mara had committed suicide – leaving Fir Place elicited suicidal
impulses in me, I hated leaving. The next time I recall feeling suicidal was
when my father spanked me for being disobedient and going with Klinner to pick
up coal in the horse and wagon during impending air raids in July 1944. {The 19th
of July Section]
The terrified, hysterical shepherd dog indeed
strangled herself with her collar at an upper part of the fence of her
enclosure [The Zwinger] but “Enforcer” also refers to my governess
whose orders whose numerous “nos” elicited my resistance and fury; say, the
fury of a stubborn Billy-goat; the dog’s fury also signified my near suicidal
fury at having to leave paradise in company of my enforcer, my governess. In
other words, the details have been, in the long meanwhile, over-emphasized,
compacted, over-determined, and that is why these details most likely have been
remembered all these many years, whereas other less emotionally determined
recollections are not, or do not seem as accessible.
The drops of dew in the flowers, not just
the shattered shards of glass, also signify my tears; however, since I can be
said to have been crying inside since I was taken from my mother at age
nine months, those tears too are over-determined. Loss loss loss. There was a
time during the many years that I carried this book with me that I was going to
call the memoir “Irretrievable Losses.” This commentary, in other words,
appears to be necessary in telling this event which elicited hectic activity of
the inhabitants of the villa with the result that within a day my father’s
chauffeur Schmidt and Maybach automobile takes me and my governess to the St.
Magnus suburban station, a five-year-old, sad-looking boy and a dowdy spinster
- image for a film!
However, before
departing from my paradise it appears that I took one more 4 & ½ years old’s
amble through the forest. If the clearing that you could see from my
bedroom window was the first section of Fir Place to become laden
with dream imagery - for the Billy goat chasing me up to the clearing in
my first nightmare - the croquet area where Mara strangled herself in
her terror, then became the second area to acquire an extra charge.
Soon after,
the enclosure was dismantled as were the last remnants of playing croquet – the
mallet, the wire goals, the colored balls – a big chopping block was placed
there, and as “chopping block area” it would serve for a second huge event in
my life a few years hence: the spot whence I witnessed the arrival of
the first wagon load of refugees in Spring 1945 – the inception of a
few idyllic years that ended with the inception of the Cold War in 1947.
Forgetting momentarily about the significance
of the pond and the willow-lined path between the pond and marshy meadow to the
left - the third areas to be specifically laden with memories and fears - were the two bomb craters near the
riding rink, well on the other side of the road that skirted the pond before the
road leads back up the chestnut alley to the house. It appears I made an
expedition to the bomb site and looked at the two
grave-length bomb beds is what they looked like more than funnels or
craters, as though the two-some had landed as a pair, sideways. When I made
my first awkward colored pencil drawings – in another year or so - it
was of the most awkward bombers tossing sausage-like bombs. By then I was
secreted away in the far south-eastern part of the then still expanding Reich
and must have got heard r or even seen in that Bavarian village what village
boys did by throwing shit at each other which is what bombers appeared to do in
my drawing, long sausages filled with brown! at the stage of sadist anality for
sure, or is it monkeydom that village boys reside in at that stage of their
life. So if bombers threw shit, the two bomb craters or graves were
what??? I kept thinking of them, and that they were so near to the fox holes
the side of the riding rink that had been cut out of the slope.
Bombs, bombers, sirens and bombing traumas
of various kinds - bomb and ack ack
shrapnel - marked the remainder of WW II as well as man subsequent experiences.
The
“Otis Media” {Middle Ear Infection-Tonsillitis] section plays in May 1944 while
I am having my tonsils removed in an above-ground bunker hospital in Bremen while
the city is under attack and this beton bunker as well as everything inside is
tremoring. During a visit to my parent’s Budapester Strasse apartment in 1943 I
either fantasize or hear the animals in the near-by zoo screaming during a
night time raid – I tend to think this is a hysteri- induced fantasy, but it pursued
me for years and into a story I wrote in 1955. The final, the Alaska chapter of
Screen Memories, features my
first night forest fire-fighting near the Yukon with P-38s bombing fire retardant
onto the line-fighters! Terror creates the most distinct memories it seems. I hear
sirens from the greatest distances!
Wednesday, May 13, 2015
FIRST SCREEN MEMORY FROM "screen memories"
=C=
I always loved the ingenuity with which Freud solved some conundrums, such as "A Child is Being Beaten" or the Mystical Experience of the Wriging Pad & the Acropolis and here I am laboring with a major screen memory!
The
Catastrophe Explicated
A: The
scene is the following: a four year old child is ploppped into the
middle of an oval electric toy railway network. At one end sits the
child's father who manipulates the electric controls; at the other
end, adjacent the toy railway tunnel, the child's maternal
grandfather, stretched out on the floor all seven feet of him in
leather hunting knickers with black splotches of dried blood. The
object of the exercise, the exhibition demonstration - the wish - is
to get two trains to pass through the tunnel in opposite directions
simultaneously.
B: Let
me be methodical and take the items one by one. Let me recount the
sequence of events once more in detail & since a screen memory is
like a frozen dream each detail refers to the dreamer, to me, and the
possibility that the memory changes in my telling of it, dwelling on
it, is an entanglement whose consequences I will not be able to
control or to fathom. I know I will be projecting into the
interpretation - memories of earlier traumas will be discovered
which are not necessarily all that prominently evident here. (1)
C-Father
announces that he will send two train in the opposite direction in
that they pass under and through a tunnel simultaneously. My father
really crouches, squats, an intense expression on his face, at the
controls, at the knobs that control the electricity that powers the
toy engines that buzz like hornets or bumble bees on the large oval
network, and later, at moments of intense involvement, I, too,
assume a similar intense expression.
D: The
intention is to impress, a feat is to be performed! The
grandfather is stretched out near the tunnel's opposite end. (As I
myself will later in life, prefer to be.)
The
women hover around.
However,
this big generous Christmas gift, is my father’s toy more than it
is mine who has been placed into the center of the oval, I don’t
have a photo of what I look like in the oval, but looking at photos
of myself at that age, sniffing flowers, in my sandbox I imagine
myself dressed in the same kind of toddler wool pants, whose
scratchiness I can more than imagine, they still scratch the memory
of my baby thighs.
E: My
father has taken command of the gift and does not even have his son
participate in his engineering feats. Single-minded. This
first element of the memory also appears to contain the message that
I am envious of being a mere spectator, that I was not in control,
but that my father was of the knobs, the flow of electricity.
E-The
trains start forth on the oval. As the train that passes nearest to
my grandfather passes him he reaches for a switch near the tunnel,
his index finger flicks the switch and the two trains crash inside
the tunnel, do not pass through it, producing the angry noise of
frustrated electric motors. The result is the catastrophe of two
toy-trains colliding head-on inside a make-believe papier-mache green
and grey alpine tunnel; two angry toy train engines sparking,
hissing, growling inside a tunnel, heat followed by cold.
F: The
father exclaims "Oh Werner, look at what you have done,"
knowing at once it appears that it had been the famous joker, his
father in law - in his leather hunting knickers with the laugh-lines
around his eyes and the verschmiztes, the mischievous
expression - who is responsible for the industrial mishap, the ruin
of his best-laid plans and demonstration of his engineering skills.
The tunnel is lifted, the two locs are on top of each other, the rest
of the trains are an entangled mess.
G: Yes,
it really happened like that, and it happened at Christmas 1940. The
war had begun, the western half of it. The other half, the German,
Hitler’s perfidious 1941 attack on the Soviet Union, is still to
come. 1940 would be my most memorable Christmas, it became the
exemplary one, because the whole family was present, especially my
grandfather, on vacation from a concentration camp (a brief Christmas
visit during which grandfather and grandchild link up; as I was, at
the moment of being in the oval, apparentently freed from my
governess, Ms. No's supervision while in the oval observing these
events, yet the oval is also a fence, a further ambiguous detail.), a
matter that was neither told nor explained to me, because if I had
been told... there would have to have been an explanation, a long
series of explanations. How do you explain politics to a four year
old? Family situations: yes - but you don’t even need to explain
those, children’s antennae pick them up, mine certainly were
attuned, I seem to have picked up my mother’s disappointment in her
successful husband - the general manager, that Christmas, of an
extensive toy railway network; and her preference for her father. Was
I disappointed in this father, too? Well, based on the first
nightmare (2) and the screen memory, which includes that head-on
crash of two locomotives, he and I were at loggerheads from early on
- and we remained so throughout his life and through my memory of
him. Ancient animal stuff, inexorable, biologically based. I even
became more unrelenting, or at least as unrelenting as I grew older
as he had been during my childhood while he softened. Yet there
remained something missing, the unhappy fighting relationship left a
gap, the gap expressed itself occasionally in a longing to rest upon
the breast of a big solid reliable man who might back me up - this aspect is a
comparatively straightforward component of this otherwise, I think,
complex screen memory.
H: Perhaps
the most important matter to keep in mind is that there is the actual
occurrence and then what use it has been put intra-psychically to create a plausible story - the secondary revision as it were. After
all, this is one of the two memories of that fourth year of my life extra-uterine. They are both extreme concentrations of my life then.
There are the surface events that fit a psychic event, or a series
of psychic events, and that is why the surface becomes symbolic,
surface and psychic events, traumas seem to mesh. Even then fated to
be the translator of Handke's Innerworld of the Outerworld of the
Innerworld? - That is a joke of course.
I: Although
the actual scene is sociologically and historically interesting I am
more interested, right now, in the intra-psychic projections, on the
details and events of the railway accident.
J:-A toy railroad, an oval. I find myself in the center of that oval, the
center of my self, my grandiosity split off from what I am
observing, eyes darting back and forth between father and
grandfather. The collision in the tunnel constitutes a breach in that
circle, a narcissistic injury.
K-There
is the control knob or knobs, for the juice, the electricity, that
makes the locomotives run. That indicates to me that I masturbated, a
fervent early childhood masturbator - but not only for the sake of
pleasure but to assuage fears, while engaging in what fantasies?
Train fantasies perhaps, tunnel fantasies? The tunnel is a
representation of the anal cavity.
L: The
switch, which is flicked, an act that hurts my penis even now when I
think of it - I am reminded of my Mexican village and kids and
adults instantly, instinctively shielding their genitals when they
are afraid, and are not yet socially trained not to do so.
M: The flicking of the switch is what leads to the crash, the head-on
collision; the presumption is that if it had not been flicked the two
locomotives would pass each other in the tunnel without colliding -
after all, that was my father's (my) plan, which was sabotaged.
So
what actually switches intra-psychically? Well, my affection switches
to my grandfather. But I am prevented from being a switch hitter, the
bi-sexual wishes, tendency is disrupted - I recall that during
analysis my left arm and hand and foot became as powerful as my right
side! The homophobia, as well as associated fear of being dominated,
like a woman, is as evident here as in the first nightmare.
After
my grandfather's conspiratorial glance catches my attention he will
lead my glance to his hand that flicks a switch just as one of the
two trains is about to enter the tunnel: a switch is a Weiche
in German, a softness is its other meaning, it also means to
avoid, as in ausweichen, to avoid, Eiche weiche, Buche
suche is a German proverb that advocates seeking out Beech trees
during thunderstorms and avoiding Oaks - who knows whether there is
any truth to it, whether lightning prefers Oak trees to Beech trees
if given a choice! Step aside, don’t confront, whereas what
happened within seconds was that crash of two toy locomotives
crashing head-on inside the tunnel, and sparks, short
circuiting, the furious sound of electrical motors grinding in utter
frustration, until there is deathly silence, and my father William
speaks up: “Oh Werner look at what you have done.” What a mess
you have made, what a Bescherung!
N: What
is most puzzling in many ways is not why that evening is so
memorable, the evening of the “Bescherung” as it is called
in German, of the “big mess”, but that no other evenings of that
period are recalled! or whole days, which is yet another reason why
it was, is, became so memorable? What is puzzling is that nothing
else of that day, but my mother gifting the mystic writing pad, is
directly memorable, nor of the day before, or of the day after, even
though I can provide a general idea of my life as a four year old,
how he got about in the woods, that I was in a harness leads to the
supposition that young I was an Ausreisser (an escape
artist) as of early on, possibly I had explored the entire woods,
all 100 + acres of them by age four? Trundled down to the pond and
meadow and clambered up the clearing in the woods on the other side?
It appears I knew the clearing - it appears in my first nightmare: I
has been told not to be “bockig”, not to be like a Billy
goat, also I had been told not to play with the Billy goat that was
used to trim the lawns. In the nightmare a Billy goat transformed
into the Unicorn of fables that have been read to me and whose
picture I have been shown, pursues me down the path towards the pond
and meadow, I rush across the path - inter urinam and feces - the
pond on the left, the marshy meadow on the right, and up into the
grassy clearing, the slit, I a little would-be mother-ficker at age
four, and that theme is re-iterated when I am chased to the
inter-section of two fences - to the V - the Billy goat unicorn pins,
seeks to pinion me from behind and I wakes in terror.
O: There
is the bi-sexual conflict: on the one hand I am a would be
mother-fucker, on the other I also am terrified of being fucked, in
the behind, dominated, emasculated. In the screen memory the locs pile on top of each other,
smash-up. That is why that Christmas became a screen memory from
which the major fault lines, as in an earthquake, can be traced. It
is a mother lode, a magnet for memories that I have carried with me
all these years, a precious, deeply intriguing yet crude gemstone, an
object that has not been smoothed out, no matter how much it has been
worked over, this event - even after an analysis & an analysis of
the anlysis, still produces associations, it is the richest of mines.
So all this really happened and this sequence of events is one of the
two events that I remember from that entire year, the other is of the
bombs that will crash into the forest a few months hence, but for my
first nightmare, and the smell of the flowers, but for the memories
that those photos of me and my mother elicit. I recall this event as
though it had occurred just now. From it I can reconstruct the house, the orchards, the lawns, the fir forest; all entirely idyllic,
but what transpired that evening is not. It is a screen memory, or
rather: it is a memory each of whose details are drenched, laden with
significance. The details have been arranged into a story, a
configuration, an event has accumulated significant details, which,
once they are analyzed, tell a very different story, or stories. The
event impressed itself... it itself was a minor mishap that was
quickly repaired. What transpired intra-psychically in in me, and
found its expression in the story of the railway catastrophe is
catastrophic, irreparable.
P: I
had not been in a railway crash. My railway adventures lay ahead of
me, although not by too many months. Whenever given the opportunity
to go near a locomotive when a train is halted inside the numerous
stations that my trains stops at, or if the train is halted outside a
city, waiting for the green light, I will do so. The locomotives
hissing, their steaming, their impatience to go to work, so animate
despite its inanimate steel hulk were infinitely fascinating.
Machines yet organic, like horses in some way the way they snorted
and heaved and were rearing to go, steel steeds. LOKOMOTIV SVERDLOSK/
DYNAMO DRESDEN!
Whenever
one of the many trains that I took with my overseer governess had to
stop outside a city and wait for the all clear to be able to proceed,
or for other, less dire reasons, I leaned out the window to keep an
eye on the loc. Locomotives were the embodiment of power, of
potency and of impatience, of frustration released; the future
experiences with locomotives, steam locomotives was projected
backwards onto my experience at Christmas 1940/1941. But what
collided psychically inside me so that the collision of two toy
locomotives would become so memorable? so representative? So
concretely symbolic?
What
if there had been no gift of a toy railroad and demonstation? Might
there have been such a great summary of the essence of the earliest
major events in my life?
1)
ABORGINAL TRAUMA:
Let
me hark back to my then two majo traumas. The first was the transfer
at age nine months from my mother’s face and breast to the dried up
teats and grizzled face of my governess. Perhaps other infants would
not have been so wounded, so traumatized as I was at an experience
that changed from heaven to hell in one day. It was a crushing
event. I did not take it well, I
became so feverish
that I started to waste away; then I turned ice
cold, the absence of the mother, of
her beautiful young breast with the face superimposed on it. - It was
an incomprehensible event - how does a mother tell her infant that
there are things she has to do for which she must be free? Nine
months of love did not suffice for me especially since the surrogate
was experienced as ugly: not only was she experienced as ugly, from
the very beginning she was experienced as Ms. No - everything was no:
I could no longer shit into my diapers! I was being potty trained;
that warmth was gone too. Not only was she Ms. No, she was also
experienced as someone who took charge of my life; she wanted to put
on my socks, comb my hair, I became the possession of someone who
sought to tried to thwart the charging locomotive; although whether
she actually flicked at my “little one” when I masturbated I
cannot tell, it might be a projection of the psychic onto the
physical, but is one reason why I object so strongly to the idea of
circumcising infants. It certainly was not my grandfather who did:
his flicking flipping the switch is what might be called a
displacement, a switching from what the governess did onto him, even
the idea of displacement is illustrated, someone also had to “turn
the knob”, and that idea was then transferred onto my father: you
can regard the sequence of events as an attempt to regulate my
infantile sexuality, my bi-sexual nature. What a beautiful sequence
of events, isn’ it? What a perfect sequence of events to acquire a
load of current! To be charged with analogies and significance! It is
as though I dreamed up the story to tell all kinds of matters
simultaneously. Is that all there is? As with most dreams there is no
way of telling whether you have comprehended everything that
transpire in it, there is no way of telling whether I have coaxed
every bit of meaning, every analogy from this story of a railway
crash, of this aborted bi-sexual wish.
2)
Aboriginal Nightmare (ctd from main text): The clearing
is the brightest spot in the woods, at all times of day and night,
from my room on the second floor of our house I could look down the
path and up to the clearing, which is called a “Schneise” in
German, a word that sounds a lot like schneiden,
to cut. And that is the feeling I
had that morning, as though a knife had cut into my brain, benumbed.
My entire life, I will periodically be cut down in that fashion. It
is the kind of dream from which you might never recover, like the
dream of the three wolves that cut down the Wolfman: A billy goat in
the form of a unicorn chases me to the Scheise
and beyond to the interesection
where the Fir Place fences form a V - I am pinned, there is no escape
in that ambiguous V, and I wake up in terror. That dream respeats
itself about a year or two later after I have seen a dancing bear in
Vornbach am Inn, and it is a bear who chases me into a spot of no
escape. Living in Billy the Kid country in the mid-eighties, in the
Sacramentoes, with a black bear in a nearby cave I buy myself a Bear
tag, but the bear is frightened off by some Texas bear hunters before
I can excercise the license that the tag provides; however, I manage
to wrestle my two darling milk goats to the ground when they become
too ornery, and am frightened to death to for them at the sight of
the Billy Goat at the goat farm where I have taken them to be
"serviced".
3)
Asking myself the question
whether the toy railroad was the only gift I received that Christmas
it occurs to me that it must have been the same Christmas at which I
received the magic reading tablet from my mother. After all, it is
the last Christmas the family spends together for many years, and I,
I will be a reader by springtime when I and my governess set out on
our travels... There is that pensive moment when my mother introduces
me to the magic of reading.
4)
I found himself to be in cahoots with his grandfather, a famously
conspiratorial person I would read his being described later in life,
I found out early what complicity could be, The seductiveness of a
gleam in an eye!
5)
I clamber around the woods, around the flower beds, I have photos,
and sniffing flowers has been a constant throughout life, what he
looked like in his sandbox I know from photos: I can extrapolate from
that magnet: I am with my governess, I is wearing a kind of
wide-brimmed, floppy child’s sun-hat and look miserable... I
assume because I am with my governess, an assumption I make based on
my recollection that not for a single moment was I happy in her
company during the seven years that she was in charge of me, into
whose charge I kept being abandoned, only of her absence.
Saturday, May 2, 2015
THE Charlie Hebdo CONTROVERSY & P.E.N.
http://www.understandingcharliehebdo.com/
http://tabletmag.com/jewish-news-and-politics/190694/pen-boycott#BHyTUrBWcleJEZQb.01
http://tabletmag.com/jewish-arts-and-culture/books/190749/paris-pen-boycott
http://www.newstatesman.com/politics/2015/04/if-you-don-t-speak-french-how-can-you-judge-if-charlie-hebdo-racist
http://www.lexpress.fr/culture/livre/alain-mabanckou-remettra-le-prix-liberte-d-expression-de-pen-a-charlie-hebdo_1676505.html
http://www.wsj.com/articles/charlie-hebdo-is-heir-to-the-french-tradition-of-religious-mockery-1420842456
http://www.steamthing.com/2015/04/charlie-hebdo-and-the-previous-question.html
http://www.lemonde.fr/actualite-medias/twitter/2015/05/06/liberte-d-expression-le-pen-american-center-recompense-charlie-hebdo_4628309_3236.html
http://tabletmag.com/jewish-news-and-politics/190694/pen-boycott#BHyTUrBWcleJEZQb.01
http://tabletmag.com/jewish-arts-and-culture/books/190749/paris-pen-boycott
http://www.newstatesman.com/politics/2015/04/if-you-don-t-speak-french-how-can-you-judge-if-charlie-hebdo-racist
http://www.lexpress.fr/culture/livre/alain-mabanckou-remettra-le-prix-liberte-d-expression-de-pen-a-charlie-hebdo_1676505.html
http://www.wsj.com/articles/charlie-hebdo-is-heir-to-the-french-tradition-of-religious-mockery-1420842456
http://www.steamthing.com/2015/04/charlie-hebdo-and-the-previous-question.html
http://www.lemonde.fr/actualite-medias/twitter/2015/05/06/liberte-d-expression-le-pen-american-center-recompense-charlie-hebdo_4628309_3236.html
http://www.vice.com/read/we-spoke-to-seven-french-muslims-about-the-pencharlie-hebdo-controversy-535
http://www.france24.com/fr/20150506-charlie-hebdo-new-york-prix-liberte-expression-gala-pen-recompense
https://firstlook.org/theintercept/2015/04/27/read-letters-comments-pen-writers-protesting-charlie-hebdo-award/
http://america.aljazeera.com/opinions/2015/5/pen-america-charlie-hebdo-and-the-virtue-of-self-restraint.html
La lotta continua
https://firstlook.org/theintercept/2015/04/27/read-letters-comments-pen-writers-protesting-charlie-hebdo-award/
http://america.aljazeera.com/opinions/2015/5/pen-america-charlie-hebdo-and-the-virtue-of-self-restraint.html
La lotta continua
http://www.slate.com/articles/news_and_politics/foreigners/2015/01/europe_s_confused_debate_about_islam_and_terrorism_europeans_are_both_too.html
https://firstlook.org/theintercept/2015/04/27/read-letters-comments-pen-writers-protesting-charlie-hebdo-award/
http://www.thenation.com/blog/205897/charlie-hebdo-deserves-its-award-courage-free-expression-heres-why
https://nplusonemag.com/online-only/online-only/on-pen-and-charlie-hebdo/
https://nplusonemag.com/online-only/online-only/against-cosmo-conscientiousness/
http://www.npr.org/blogs/thetwo-way/2015/04/30/403266819/more-than-90-writers-join-protest-of-free-speech-award-for-charlie-hebdo
http://www.vulture.com/2015/04/how-and-why-6-writers-denounced-pen.html
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2015/04/27/pen-writer-protest-charlie-hebdo-award_n_7149656.html
http://www.newyorker.com/news/ daily-comment/pen-has-every- right-to-honor-charlie-hebdo
http://www.newrepublic.com/article/121748/arrested-development-and-aesthetic-failure-charlie-hebdo?utm_source=Sailthru&utm_medium=email&utm_term=TNR%20Daily%20Newsletter&utm_campaign=Daily%20Newsletter%20-%205%2F8%2F15
http://www.thenation.com/blog/205897/charlie-hebdo-deserves-its-award-courage-free-expression-heres-why
https://nplusonemag.com/online-only/online-only/on-pen-and-charlie-hebdo/
https://nplusonemag.com/online-only/online-only/against-cosmo-conscientiousness/
http://www.npr.org/blogs/thetwo-way/2015/04/30/403266819/more-than-90-writers-join-protest-of-free-speech-award-for-charlie-hebdo
http://www.vulture.com/2015/04/how-and-why-6-writers-denounced-pen.html
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2015/04/27/pen-writer-protest-charlie-hebdo-award_n_7149656.html
http://www.newyorker.com/news/
http://www.newrepublic.com/article/121748/arrested-development-and-aesthetic-failure-charlie-hebdo?utm_source=Sailthru&utm_medium=email&utm_term=TNR%20Daily%20Newsletter&utm_campaign=Daily%20Newsletter%20-%205%2F8%2F15
Jesusl I find the HEBDO cartoons so over the top that I consider anyone who cannot laugh their head off at them to be he worst of dunces. So the question of dissonance between intent and effect does not arise for me. And if they changed as Jeff suggests they do the way Crumb & other American cartoonists changed I think they would lose the ability to make me laugh., The question of political correctness - HEBDO is beyond that! Well, as to senstitivities: what makes Islamists so hyper-sensitive to the slightest of slights? Perhaps HEBDO has not done a good enough job in getting them to laugh at themselves?
They ought to be got to laugh so hard that they implode instead of massacre cartoonits etc.
http://artsbeat.blogs.nytimes. com/2015/04/29/charlie-hebdo- cartoonist-to-stop-drawing- muhammed/?_r=0
http://artsbeat.blogs.nytimes.com/2015/05/06/new-charlie-hebdo-issue-skewers-pen-critics/?hp&action=click&pgtype=Homepage&module=second-column-region®ion=top-news&WT.nav=top-news&_r=0
Charlie Hebdo
Religion has been defined as “the opium of the masses” & it appears and it has been said that within the context of homo {allegedly) sapiens's development from the dawning questioning of the whys and wherefores of existence religion served a palliative narrative function, and it did so, invariably by elevating immediate, family relations into a godly status, into supernal realms. That stage allegedly constituted the infancy of reason and it produced priests who served to maintain the various truth claims & ensure obedience to various rules and rituals, and did so for the powerful who had and continue to have vested interests in uniformity of belief.
(The need for “belief” in this context can be regarded as a form of “addiction.”)
Retrospectively, these elevations, in the form of revered images & architecture & music & texts & practices are regarded as having artistic value, enticements, embellishments – i.e. attend Mass at the Cathedral of Burgos on Todos Santos and how can you not be (at least secretly) an addict to Catholicism for the rest of your life!
Focusing on the three sectarian-prone major strains of the Abrahamic religions – Judaism, Christianity & Islam – it becomes evident that no matter their common ancestry (and what commonalities they continue to share) each of them makes the claim to be the only true and valid one; indoctrinate their children in their beliefs & oppose any divergence from these norms, and tend to be vengeful when its claims are attacked, and when a split occurs, most famously currently the one between Shiites & Sunnis: in other words each religion exhibits certain all too human-beastly qualities, one of which is narcissistic sensitivity. Judaism, except until very recently, until the founding of Israel (that is within the time span of intra-religious warfare of these three strains) has not been in the position to commit the kinds of conversion slaughter that, historically, marks the spread of Christianity & of Islam and of the sectarian warfare within Christianity and Islam, although Judaism, too, is marked by differentiations into sects.
Recent history would make one believe that the adherents of Islam are especially hyper-sensitive to any form of disrespect of their beliefs, and indeed it seems to takes little to get masses of them to mount outraged demonstrations, let us just think back to the split that produced the states of India and Pakistan; historically, Christianity & Hinduism, however, have proved equally sensitive. So it is not a matter of which or what religion but of human identification with one or the other of them that appears to be at stake, and critique, lack of respect, of the slightest kind can elicit the most violent response by those whose apparently fragile identity is threatened. The volatility of the issue is evident from the reaction of the one LIVING expansionist religion within secularized Europe (and of course a hundredfold more in the region that stretched from the Far to the Near East and farther West). Nationalism can serve the same identity-forming purposes and critiques of it elicit the same ferocious responses; fundamentalisms of various kinds are as tetchy as ever to burn witches.
Within that historical context and within the context of French history the very existence of an equal opportunity offender satirical magazine like Charlie Hebdo & its marvelously puerile ENTIRELY OVER THE TOP caricatures is unique: after all, you can be formally sentenced to death for far lesser forms of lack of respect in many an Islamic state and, informally, murdered en masse by ISIL & its LARGE variety of similar manifestations of fundamentalist Islam.
The Islamist reactions to the Charlie Hebdo cartoons thus show deadly humorlessness, although I wonder whether certain sitting Israeli ducks, subjected to the same treatment, would be welcomed with the same laughter.
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- MICHAEL ROLOFF http://www.facebook.com/mike.roloff1?ref=name exMember Seattle Psychoanalytic Institute and Society this LYNX will LEAP you to all my HANDKE project sites and BLOGS: http://www.roloff.freehosting.net/index.html "MAY THE FOGGY DEW BEDIAMONDIZE YOUR HOOSPRINGS!" {J. Joyce} "Sryde Lyde Myde Vorworde Vorhorde Vorborde" [von Alvensleben] contact via my website http://www.roloff.freehosting.net/index.html