Sunday, February 3, 2008

Blue Morpho Wing is to Polyvalent Publications

"Although we all wish to be liked by persons of whom we are fond, in neurotic persons there is an indiscriminate hunger for appreciation or affection, regardless of whether they care for the person concerned or whether the person has any meaning for them. More often than not they are not aware of this boundless craving, but they betray its existence in their sensitivity when the attention they want is not forthcoming" (36) Karen Horney, The Neurotic Personality of our Time
"...According to prevailing attitudes, these people--the pride of their parents--should of had a strong and stable sense of self-assurance. But the case is exactly the opposite. They do well, even excellently, in everything they undertake; they are admired and envied; they are successful whenever they care to be--but behind all of this lurks depression, a feeling of emptiness and self-alienation, and a sense that [his or her] life has no meaning.
...
In the very first interview they will let the listener know that they had understanding parents, or at least one such, and if they are aware of having been misunderstood as children, they feel that the fault lay with them and their inability to express themselves appropriately. They recount their earliest memories without any sympathy for the child they once were, and this is the more striking as these patients not only have a pronounced introspective ability but seem, to some degree, to be able to empathize with other people. Their access to the emotional world of their own childhood, however, is impaired--characterized by a lack of respect, a compulsion to control and manipulate, and a demand for achievement. Very often they show disdain and irony, even derision and cynicism, for the child they were. In general, there is a complete absence of real emotional understanding or serious appreciation of their own childhood vicissitudes, and no conception of their true needs--beyond the desire for achievement. The repression of their real history has been so complete that their illusion of a good childhood can be maintained with ease" (5-6) Alice Miller, The Drama of the Gifted Child

When a dog barks late at night and then retires again to bed he punctuates and gives majesty to the serial enigma of the dark, laying it even more evenly and heavily upon the fabric of his mind. King Sweeney in the trees hears the sad baying as he sits listening on a branch, a huddle between earth and heaven; and he hears also answering the mastiff that is counting the watches in the next parish. Bark answers bark till the call spreads like fire through all Erin. Soon the moon comes forth from behind her curtains riding its full tilt across the sky, lightsome and unperturbed in her immemorial calm. The eyes of the mad king upon the branch are upturned, whiter eyeballs in a white face, upturned in fear and supplication. Was he mad? The more one studies the problem the more fascinated one becomes.




Flann O'Brien (1939). At Swim-Two-Birds (pp.216-217) London: Penguin.
Preface to The Handbook of Child and Adolescent Clinical Psychology: A Contextual Approach
by Alan Carr (1999)




I currently listening to: DJ Pisces: Josephine (4 AM Deephouse mix)

9 comments:

Σφιγξ said...

I am* currently

Σφιγξ said...

This is Marge Piercy (anthologized as "Secretary Chant" and "Barbie Doll") here again with the flavour of The Vegetable Gardener's Bible, or perhaps The History of Science:

We Become New

How it feels to be touching
you: an Io moth, orange
and yellow as pollen,
wings through the night
miles to mate,
could crumble in the hand.

Yet our meaning together
is hardy as an onion
and layered.
Goes into the blood like garlic.
Sour as rose hips.
Gritty as whole grain.
Fragrant as thyme honey.

When I am turning slowly
in the woven hammocks of our talk,
when I am chocolate melting into you,
I taste everything new
in your mouth.

You are not my old friend.
How did I used to sit
and look at you? Now
though I seem to be standing still
I am flying flying flying
in the trees of your eyes.

Σφιγξ said...

I hope this influences the appropriate channels:

It's just the touch of your hand
Behind a closed door.

Σφιγξ said...

I like this song, it reverberates in the sinuses nicely.

Σφιγξ said...

...a sight for sore eyes.

Σφιγξ said...

http://donemmerichnotes.blogspot.com/2011/09/neurosis-and-human-growth-by-karen.html

Σφιγξ said...

http://entnemdept.ufl.edu/creatures/bfly/moth2/imperial_moth.htm

Σφιγξ said...

https://books.google.com/books?id=EEhpsf6L09gC&pg=PA116&dq=neurotic+horney+detachment&hl=en&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwjPlOzBnMziAhUQq1kKHQ-oA5EQ6AEIUDAH#v=onepage&q=neurotic%20horney%20detachment&f=false

Σφιγξ said...

http://www.bbc.com/travel/story/20140624-switzerlands-valley-of-butterflies