kristeva-superego

September 19, 2024

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To each ego its object, to each superego its abject. It is not the white expanse or slack boredom of repression, not the translations and transformations of desire that wrench bodies, nights, and discourse; rather it is a brutish suffering that, “I” puts up with, sublime and devastated… I endure it, for I imagine that such is the desire of the other.

Thought:

“Love is when you suddenly wake up as a cannibal, and not just any old cannibal, or else wake up destined for devourment.”

Hélène Cixous

Christian Molenaar

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