Pesadillas

Jaqueline Winter Thomas describe a una persona que, en sueños lúcidos, pregunta a los elementos de sus sueños qué significan. En lugar de interpretar los símbolos, la persona deja hablar al sueño y explicar su propio sentido.

—

JWT: "I have no one to tell my sadness. Even if we could meet again you wouldn’t know me, with my dusty face, my temples coated with frost. At night in a dark dream I suddenly found myself home. By the small window you were combing your hair. We looked at each other without words, just a thousand lines of tears. I know you’ll wait for me each year in that heartbreak place, through nights of brightmoon, under the dwarfpine by your mound."

—

Anne Carson: "My brother once showed me a piece of quartz that contained, he said, some trapped water older than all the seas in our world. He held it up to my ear. 'Listen,' he said, 'life and no escape.'"

—

Pregunté a las personas en mis sueños cómo se siente existir como una proyección de mi inconsciente. Si saben, por así decirlo, que no existen realmente. Que su comportamiento podría, tal vez, corresponder con su contraparte real.

A veces recibo una mirada de confusión. A veces recibo una respuesta. Una de las figuras centrales en mi formación respondió: no, no soy, pero esto es lo que quisieras.

—

Jung decía que la presencia de símbolos en los sueños corresponde a arquetipos elementales. Todos los símbolos tendrían un significado. Probarse sombreros: ansiedad sobre embarazos no deseados. Búhos: sentirse vigilado.

—

Hace unos meses soñé que moría de un infarto. Sentí cómo me separaba del cuerpo. Vi un camino vertical cubierto de flores y un círculo rodeado por plantas. Caminé hacia arriba. Cuando entré al círculo supe que estaba otro modo de existir. No había tiempo, pero sí espacios en donde se concentraba la existencia. Algo así; no sabría explicarlo. Había ángeles con la forma de animales distintos al mismo tiempo. El sueño mismo me dijo que el lugar que visité tenía una apariencia distinta, pero no la comprendería.

—

Hace dos semanas soñé que moría y desperté en el infierno. No había sufrimiento activo, ni fuego, ni el eterno rechinar de dientes. Era algo así como un edificio de departamentos en un complejo relativamente lujoso. Uno de los empleados me dijo que no merecía el sufrimiento eterno, pero tampoco el lugar que visité. Era un lugar gris, en donde había tiempo y pasatiempos como canchas de tennis y centros comerciales. Había luz de sol filtrada por ventanas. Podía socializar con otras personas: su posición moral era tan mediocre como la mía. Las paredes eran grises. Eso era el infierno: la vida sin la esperanza de escape.

Fragments

even if we are separated so I do not know

your name or voice

(if I seem so foreign as to be forgotten)

go to the airport inside your heart and I will do the same,

and meet you there,

amid the stream of difference.

—Jacqueline Winter Thomas

1A12:

You mentioned once how you †liked† Emily Dickinson, so I started using hyphens as stops in my poems.

1A14:

you are structurally unable to love—
deliverance is impossible.

2B23:

We resemble parallel lines, not meant to touch each other anymore.

4A12:

You are a waste of space. Please burn all my letters.

5A1:

You turned this sad girl into light and I will love you forever.

5A20:

Please disappear.

5A30:

I have loved you for too long. It is sad not having you in my life anymore.

6A1:

I am here. I will not leave.

6A2:

You make my texts much better, yet make me sound so angry.

6A3:

yes yes yes yes you won't hear no from me

7A4:

I am tired of gulping down the chaos that leaks from your pores.

7A5:

Thunderstorms remind me of you. I cannot decide if that is a good thing or not.

7A8:

Your words exude colors, and I would paint my blood with all of them.

8B1:

The best of all my rituals. Even if we are not together anymore, I will carry your name inside me. I will hold your image within my heart. I am forever molded by what you mean to me.





A: Ipsissima verba, literal quote.
B: Testimonia, reconstruction.

Naturkraft (edición)

"When I wrote that poem for you, expected to defang your cruel nature, wanted you to find me. I tied seven lilies to my hair like the girl that placed flowers under her pillow. Wanted to recognize the forces that drove you, but if I saw you in hell you would not recognize me.

"I wrote your name seven times in every minute that slipped by my hair. Seven times I tasted the forces that drove you away: her voice, my nails. Seven times I slept under the stars: Capricorn. Sacred goat, I thought your name as a force; your words as flowers again. Your girl, sacred ghost without a name; stones under the forces that create your fields.

"I tamed the forces that drove you away: her voice, that tiny stone; life and no escape. Imagine eternity trapped within a stone: you will find me. Wild forces: her hair floating under Capricorn. You would not know my name if you found me in hell—as you will. But I would find you anywhere. I can taste the forces that drove you: her hand, my nails. You are home; I am a force.

"You loved the girl who placed those flowers under her pillow; but I crafted those words before her. Her, you will not find her trapped in eternity because I am eternity. I would ruin all eternities to muster those words. She will not find the place within you where I buried all of eternity—neither will I.

"When you wrote those numbers for me, encoded message herein, I knew the forces that drove you. I could not stand in their way because your nature responds to forces which are not me. Your numbers translated into lines translated into parallels. We shall never love each other again. If I shall not love again, there will be no field, no respite, no relief from the shadow of your flowers. I have loved none more than you.

"I will collect the flowers and be-multiplied in words, in fields, in forces. I will become the girl who loved you. I will become frost. I will become the eternity I buried inside you. We shall not be together again under those forces because time burns eternities. I will light a candle for you at St. Anne's, but you will not know. Your loss."

—L. Sott

SSRI

Cómo procesar la enfermedad. Hay una enfermedad. Excesiva reabsorción de serotonina. Posiblemente apuntalada en eventos pasados. No hay estudios concluyentes al respecto. Treinta miligramos cada veinticuatro horas. La dosis máxima es de cuarenta. Los efectos secundarios son menores que el beneficio farmacológico. Sueños vívidos, mareo, irritabilidad, fatiga, sudor en frío, pesadillas particularmente intensas, impulsos suicidas, disminución de la presión y el ritmo cardiaco.

El cerebro es una máquina.

Freud: en la mente coexisten pulsiones antagónicas: a la muerte y a la vida. Ambas inconscientes; se manifiestan en el impulso productivo y tendencias autodestructivas. No hay estabilidad hasta la muerte. La pulsión no se detiene.

Un paciente de Freud vio una rama tirada en su camino a la estación. Cuando abordó el carro del tren, entró en pánico: alguien podría tropezar con la rama. Cuando llegó a su destino, regresó inmediatamente, pero no quitó la rama. El miedo parecía absurdo en presencia del objeto.

Lacan: la depresión es un trastorno narcisista. El sujeto es incapaz de procesar su agresividad y la torna hacia sí mismo. El correlato biológico es consecuencia de la falla al articular adecuadamente las pulsiones.

CBT: el cambio en hábitos en combinación con el medicamento adecuado puede restaurar la homeostasis neurológica.

El antagonismo serotonina-dopamina limita la habilidad de experimentar ciertas emociones y reduce considerablemente el umbral de atención. Estudios con ratas muestran menor capacidad de concentración frente al antagonismo dopamínico.

Jung: los sueños manifiestan arquetipos primordiales. En una de mis pesadillas tempranas apareció una especie de bruja. Dijo que nunca me desharé de ella. Posible proyección del trastorno en un arquetipo. Posiblemente, adhesión de la resistencia ante el nuevo medicamento al comportamiento de la proyección.

Efectos secundarios comunes: sueños vívidos, mareo, irritabilidad, fatiga, temblor en las manos y dientes, sudor en frío.

Efectos secundarios esporádicos: pesadillas, anhedonia, impulsos autodestructivos, decremento en la atención; probablemente por antagonismo de neurotransmisores.

"Under certain circumstances, SSRIs may cause suicidal thoughts or death."

L. Sott: "there is something fundamentally rotten in the human condition. I am a brain, and I fail to distinguish my behavior from my neurochemical deficiencies. what I am is defined by a random occurrence: that I have this form and not another; this flesh that connects in this determinate form with a bundle of synapses. I am a group of synapses that often misfires."

El dispositivo neuroquímico bloquea las emociones negativas. El resultado es una especie de entumecimiento emocional.

El tratamiento puede durar desde un año hasta indefinidamente. El cerebro puede no adaptarse a los flujos de neurotransmisores.

Allie Brosh: "Because, deep down, I know how pointless and helpless I am, and it scares me. I am an animal trapped in a horrifying, lawless environment, and I have no idea what it's going to do to me. It just does it to me."

Top Customer Reviews

I received this product in two days, as advertised. It fell apart in less than four months, and the company did not offer a replacement. Customer beware!

—

It invoked a ghost that appears whenever I hear the product's name. This is not always a bad thing, but memories do not always grant us the dignity of concealing their flaws. Sometimes memories of the product are painfully transparent and make me no longer wish for its ghost to haunt me and tremble from just the idea of the product. The product broke after two years and three months; or maybe it was always broken and I refused to acknowledge how disappointed I was. Prompt delivery.

—

I did not enjoy the product at all. I am unable to fathom why someone would have such a terrible product in their home.

—

The product was never delivered. I filed several complaints for six months and I was promised that the product would be delivered. It was not. I received a package several times a week, but it was always empty, and I felt like the whole thing was a joke.

—

I broke the product, even though it was not my intention. I was happy with it, but the product did not fit in my house and my family did not like it. I know this because of all the snarky comments they made about it. I tried to ignore them, but honestly the product is rather unrefined, insecure, and an overall unfitting object for my house. I broke parts of it just trying to fit it through the door. Its edges are way too rough, even though parts of it are not. It behaves in an inconsistent way; sometimes working perfectly, others falling apart for no reason whatsoever. I wish my house was different, but in the meantime I had to get rid of it.

—

I acquired an improved version of the product, which was supposed to repair itself. Granted, my product was a used one, but this self-repairing feature was too enticing to ignore. Whenever the product repaired itself, a deeper, much more complicated disfunction occurred. I believe this is due to its whole development process, and no amount of self-repairing will fix this.

—

I was hesitant to write a review of this, but there is only so much you can take from such an ungraceful product. I tried to deal with its dark parts because the sweet ones were genuinely good. This product has a unique merit, namely, that it will make you run out of coping mechanisms while trying to convince yourself that you can make it work if you try hard enough. Trust me. It does not work that way.

—

I wanted the product and I ordered it several months ago. I received a vague letter in lieu of the actual product. The letter claimed that the product did not exist with the setup I requested, but I ordered it just as advertised. Sometimes it seemed like I was about to receive it. I felt excited, although wary. Every single time the product was recalled, and I found myself spent and tired of trying so hard to have something I feel entitled to own. My friends order similar products all the time, and they seem happy with them. Am I choosing wrong? I filed a complaint, but they responded with another vague letter and I do not want to hear about it anymore.

On Illness

Assumption: I am ill.

Jacqueline Winter Thomas: "Many live their entire lives without this shadow."

Psychoanalysis made me question my condition as mentally-ill. I learned how to find concrete causes for my emotional distress. I learned to recognize patterns in my behavior: I am self-destructive and, thus, I push others away.

I did not have a happy childhood. I was not a cheerful kid. My first memory is the taste of sadness.

Freud, when he quit smoking: "I feel better, not happier".

It took me a while to learn that significant others are not meant to mend the gaps within my narrative.

Perhaps life is about learning how to narrate oneself. It is unlikely.

Modernism, broadly put, wanted truth and beauty—capitalized: Truth, Beauty—through struggle. These are not to be found naked in nature—capitalized. They are to be attained through the systematic cleansing of the spirit—capitalized and so on. χαλεπὰ τὰ καλά.

To be a modern self means to be a thing that is somehow aware of its condition; its thingness. It means being this dust in the shape of flesh and bones and history. Dust attempting to describe itself, attempting to convey meaning and sense.

Postmodernism sees truth and beauty—uncapitalized—in everything. Everything is beautiful and everything holds truth within itself. Truth and beauty, therefore, are not at the core of things nor beyond appearances: they are stuff.

A postmodern self wishes not to be a thing; needs not self-consciousness; needs not itself. A postmodern self demands to be narrated, not described; a tale, rather than a modernist dissection.

What am I? Where/when did I go wrong?

I trust some of my dreams. This borders on neurotic behavior.

T. S. Elliot: "And in short, I was afraid".

Fear was the bridge from my childhood to the outside world. I felt safe inside. I do not remember how security feels like.

My eyes are violently silent; yet they speak.

I used to write poems. Now I am terrified of words, imprecision, vagueness.

Poetry, (Gr. ποίησις, creation): to make something; an attempt to create. Invocation.

I do not know if I am ill. I do not know how to think of myself as no-longer-ill.

I have failed. I want to go home.

Reactions on Goethe's first Faust

Opposition: romanticism is a reaction to the enlightenment. They do not stand as