This is the last post that will be related to this issue for a long time. That's a promise.
I don't read psychology books necessarily to help me understand better the people and world that are around me, but mostly to understand myself,and why exactly I make certain bad decisions... but oh well... my next post will be definitely on the book I'm now reading, on Freud. Maybe I misjudged the dude. The book, or more an essay, is called ”Death and us” and I must admit it was quite extraordinarily well written.
To be honest, I am not sure I do believe in love anymore... I tend to believe in a lot of things, but this one, precisely, really makes me often doubt. If someone tells me,”Oh, I think I love that person”, I think I'm able to find you a reason why, without implying anything emotional, but more of a psychological one. It often saddens me, but either from a shield I have created, either because of something that lies in my ”Superego”, as some would call it, it does not depend on me anymore.
Yet, I enjoy listening and reading romances, and love poetry or letters, or to listen to how Ville is talking about the promise of love, until death and beyond... maybe it's because of my girly DNA, but I somehow doubt it's only that. I am myself a big fool for romanticism and dreams. A little too big of a fool.
How would it be if there would still exist, those letters, with a few lines written, but so full of meaning and sharing, that carry the perfume of the person you love, in which you can read respect and an absolute passion. I will end up like Madame Bovary. Or even worse. Pitiful me.
The point is that I do not want to believe it anymore. I do not want to hear about it anymore. I do not want to see it anymore. But how do you manage, in this world, to totally ignore it?
I do not need to be someone's object of revenge for a past relationship, or someone's play-toy. I do not wish to waste my ephemeral feelings, to the point to be forever finished and well locked.
I cannot describe my... (no word is good enough), therefore I chose to describe it through someone else's words, that maybe understood it far much better than me, and that truly believed it.
One day, my Beethoven...
”Though still in bed, my thoughts go out to you, my Immortal Beloved, now and then joyfully, then sadly, waiting to learn whether or not fate will hear us - My angel, my all, my very self - Love demands everything and that very justly - thus it is to me with you, and to your with me. But you forget so easily that I must live for me and for you; if we were wholly united you would feel the pain of it as little as I - My heart is full of so many things to say to you - ah - there are moments when I feel that speech amounts to nothing at all - Cheer up - remain my true, my only treasure, my all as I am yours. No one else can ever possess my heart - never - never - Oh God, why must one be parted from one whom one so loves.
Be calm - love me - today - yesterday - what tearful longings for you - you - you - my life - my all - farewell. Oh continue to love me - never misjudge the most faithful heart of your beloved.
ever thine
ever mine
ever ours”
P.S.: One day...
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Sunday, January 16, 2011
...and yet the air passes coldly and indifferent near me, carrying your scent no more...
I hate it when I'm right. I don't understand why it has to be this way... every time.
As scientists would say, the heart is only an organ that pumps blood and keeps us alive, therefore it is merely impossible that immaterial sensations could rise from it. Now I say, if that is so... why does it hurt so much exactly where the heart is situated, and no meds can calm that pain?... why do I feel like I want to rip my heart out?...
“I don’t know what to do. I only know that it’s taken me years to understand that life was pushing me in a direction I didn’t want to go in.”
‘You say people create their own reality,’ said Veronika, ‘but what is reality?’
Dr. Igor answered:
‘ It’s not necessarily the best or the most logical, but it’s the one that has become adapted to the desires of society as a whole. You see this thing I’ve got round my neck?’
‘You mean your tie?’
‘Exactly. A madman, however, would say that what I have round my neck is a ridiculous, useless bit of colored cloth tied in a very complicated way, and which makes it harder to get air into your lungs and difficult to turn your neck.
‘If a mad person were to ask me what this tie is for, I would have to say, absolutely nothing. The only really useful function a tie serves is the sense of relief when you get home and take it off; you feel as if you’ve freed yourself from something, though quite what you don’t know.
‘But if you answer ” a tie is a symbol of social status” you are normal. If you answer “a tie is a useless bit of colored cloth” you are mad’.
“You are someone who is different, but who wants to be the same as everyone else. And that in my view is a serious illness.” (Paul Coelho)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PZ4iuDQAw5I
I hate it when I'm right. I don't understand why it has to be this way... every time.
As scientists would say, the heart is only an organ that pumps blood and keeps us alive, therefore it is merely impossible that immaterial sensations could rise from it. Now I say, if that is so... why does it hurt so much exactly where the heart is situated, and no meds can calm that pain?... why do I feel like I want to rip my heart out?...
“I don’t know what to do. I only know that it’s taken me years to understand that life was pushing me in a direction I didn’t want to go in.”
‘You say people create their own reality,’ said Veronika, ‘but what is reality?’
Dr. Igor answered:
‘ It’s not necessarily the best or the most logical, but it’s the one that has become adapted to the desires of society as a whole. You see this thing I’ve got round my neck?’
‘You mean your tie?’
‘Exactly. A madman, however, would say that what I have round my neck is a ridiculous, useless bit of colored cloth tied in a very complicated way, and which makes it harder to get air into your lungs and difficult to turn your neck.
‘If a mad person were to ask me what this tie is for, I would have to say, absolutely nothing. The only really useful function a tie serves is the sense of relief when you get home and take it off; you feel as if you’ve freed yourself from something, though quite what you don’t know.
‘But if you answer ” a tie is a symbol of social status” you are normal. If you answer “a tie is a useless bit of colored cloth” you are mad’.
“You are someone who is different, but who wants to be the same as everyone else. And that in my view is a serious illness.” (Paul Coelho)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PZ4iuDQAw5I
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
The idea of school around here seems to be quite opposite to how I lived through school: here is very similar, from what I have heard, to the American type, meaning full with bullies. I understand now why school must be a pain to some.
I'm reading these days, as I have a real desire to read and a need for new information, E.Durkheim, ”The suicide” (sociologist-yeah, I know :|. Boring, you must think; bare with me though :D). I wanted to read this book for quite a while now,and I happen to find it in the University's library, and as bonus, directly written in french. Nice! At first, I wanted to read it more out of curiosity and more in a joking mood, but I found it to be quite interesting. I would have thought that the writer would have a whole lots of judgments, only to discover that he has quite right in some of the things he said. So far, I came across a description of more types of suicide (I didn't even know there was more than one kind -__-) and the description of the melancholic suicide, as Durkheim describes it, is the following: (nice example) ”Il est lié à un état général d’extrême dépression, de tristesse exagérée qui fait que le malade n’apprécie plus sainement les rapports qu’ont avec lui les personnes et les choses qui l’entourent. Les plaisirs n’ont pour lui aucun attrait; il voit tout en noir. La vie lui semble ennuyeuse ou douloureuse. Comme ces dispositions sont constantes, il en est de meme des idées de suicide; elles sont douées d’une grande fixité et les motifs généraux qui les déterminent sont toujours sensiblement les memes. Une jeune fille, née de parents sains, après avoir passé son enfance à la champagne, est oblige de s’en éloigner vers l’âge de quatorze ans pour completer son education. Dés ce moment, elle conçoit un ennui inexprimable, un gout prononcé pour la solitude, bientôt un désir de mourir que rien ne peut dissiper.” Elle reste, pendant de heures entières, immobile, les yeux fixes sur la terre, la poitrine oppressée et dans l’ètat d’une personne qui redoute un événement sinistre. Dans la ferme résolution de se précipiter dans la rivière, elle recherche les lieux les plus écartés afin que personne ne puisse venir à son secours.” Cependant, comprenant mieux que l’acte qu’elle médite est un crime, elle u renonce pour un temps. Mais au bout d’un an, le penchant au suicide revient avec plus de force et les tentatives se répètent à peu de distance l’une de l’autre.[...] Si le suicide est determine par des raisons imaginaires, il s’en distingue par son caractère chronique. Aussi est-il très tenace. Les maladies de cette catégorie préparent avec calme leurs moyens d’exécution; ils déploient même dans la poursuite de leur but une perseverance et, parfois, une astuce incroyables.”
Ok, still with me? The next thing that I found it quite funny and true at the same time, is the definition of imitation, that the writer gives: ”Il y a imitation quand un acte a pour antécédent immédiat la représentation d’un acte sembable, antérieurement accompli par altrui, sans que, entre cette representation et l’exécution s’intrecale aucune operation intellectuelle, explicite ou implicite, portant sur les caractères intrinsèques de l’acte reproduit.”
See how I put out the ”no intellectual operation” in it? Awesome. :)) I laughed like hell.
Anyways, I enjoyed the writer's choice of words, as for example: ”appétit de mourir”... just genius. With all this said, I hope I wasn't too boring, but I found it essential to have this quotes well kept in case I will re-use them.
N.B.: I do not quite agree with what the writer says, but I appreciate his detachment. :D
Till next time, mes damnés...
I'm reading these days, as I have a real desire to read and a need for new information, E.Durkheim, ”The suicide” (sociologist-yeah, I know :|. Boring, you must think; bare with me though :D). I wanted to read this book for quite a while now,and I happen to find it in the University's library, and as bonus, directly written in french. Nice! At first, I wanted to read it more out of curiosity and more in a joking mood, but I found it to be quite interesting. I would have thought that the writer would have a whole lots of judgments, only to discover that he has quite right in some of the things he said. So far, I came across a description of more types of suicide (I didn't even know there was more than one kind -__-) and the description of the melancholic suicide, as Durkheim describes it, is the following: (nice example) ”Il est lié à un état général d’extrême dépression, de tristesse exagérée qui fait que le malade n’apprécie plus sainement les rapports qu’ont avec lui les personnes et les choses qui l’entourent. Les plaisirs n’ont pour lui aucun attrait; il voit tout en noir. La vie lui semble ennuyeuse ou douloureuse. Comme ces dispositions sont constantes, il en est de meme des idées de suicide; elles sont douées d’une grande fixité et les motifs généraux qui les déterminent sont toujours sensiblement les memes. Une jeune fille, née de parents sains, après avoir passé son enfance à la champagne, est oblige de s’en éloigner vers l’âge de quatorze ans pour completer son education. Dés ce moment, elle conçoit un ennui inexprimable, un gout prononcé pour la solitude, bientôt un désir de mourir que rien ne peut dissiper.” Elle reste, pendant de heures entières, immobile, les yeux fixes sur la terre, la poitrine oppressée et dans l’ètat d’une personne qui redoute un événement sinistre. Dans la ferme résolution de se précipiter dans la rivière, elle recherche les lieux les plus écartés afin que personne ne puisse venir à son secours.” Cependant, comprenant mieux que l’acte qu’elle médite est un crime, elle u renonce pour un temps. Mais au bout d’un an, le penchant au suicide revient avec plus de force et les tentatives se répètent à peu de distance l’une de l’autre.[...] Si le suicide est determine par des raisons imaginaires, il s’en distingue par son caractère chronique. Aussi est-il très tenace. Les maladies de cette catégorie préparent avec calme leurs moyens d’exécution; ils déploient même dans la poursuite de leur but une perseverance et, parfois, une astuce incroyables.”
Ok, still with me? The next thing that I found it quite funny and true at the same time, is the definition of imitation, that the writer gives: ”Il y a imitation quand un acte a pour antécédent immédiat la représentation d’un acte sembable, antérieurement accompli par altrui, sans que, entre cette representation et l’exécution s’intrecale aucune operation intellectuelle, explicite ou implicite, portant sur les caractères intrinsèques de l’acte reproduit.”
See how I put out the ”no intellectual operation” in it? Awesome. :)) I laughed like hell.
Anyways, I enjoyed the writer's choice of words, as for example: ”appétit de mourir”... just genius. With all this said, I hope I wasn't too boring, but I found it essential to have this quotes well kept in case I will re-use them.
N.B.: I do not quite agree with what the writer says, but I appreciate his detachment. :D
Till next time, mes damnés...
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