
There is a genre called psychoanalytic fiction and I have recently read two examples. The first one was Jed Rubenfeld’s The interpretation of murder; the second Brenda Webster’s Vienna Triangle. These two are as far apart as the category of genre allows.
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In order to do more than just talking the talk, I joined a Burlesque class. If you have participated in such activities before, you will know that one of the first tasks of the Burlesque student is to come up with a name. Our teacher (Viva Misadventure) does not want to know our birth names [...]
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The other day, someone accused me of lack of engagement. This was mainly directed at my online life but also had a bearing in what I do in real life. Lack of engagement is not a good thing when you are trying to study seduction, which needs mindfulness. I was engaged when I took my photographs, I was there 100% and remember every action, every thought related to my fall for the object.
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I really like the Freud Museum. For those of us interested in psychoanalysis, it is a magical place. (…) The closest I can come to describing what happened is that I went back in time, that I confronted some sort of history in front of me, I was there, but I was not there now. Nachträglichkeit, or something.
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When I first read, many years ago, Titian, nymph and shepherd by John Berger, I discovered the strange power communicating by letters can have. I find there is something mesmerising about them. Not only in their physicality, which of course counts (the things themselves, the handwriting of the loved one, the journey through the postal system…) but the voice.
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