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(The other is disfigured by his persistent silence, as in those terrible dreams in which a loved person shows up with the lower part of his face quite erased, without any mouth at all; and I, the one who speaks, I am too disfigured; soliloquy makes me into a monster: one huge tongue.)
Quote with 127 notes
"I am crazy"
fou / mad
It frequently occurs to the amorous subject that he or she is going mad.
1. I am mad to be in love, I am not mad to be able to say so, I double my image: insane in my own eyes (I know my delirium), simply unreasonable in the eyes of someone else, to whom I quite sanely describe my madness: conscious of this madness, sustaining a discourse upon it.
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The heart is the organ of desire (the heart swells, weakens, etc., like the sexual organs), as it is held, enchanted, within the domain of the Image-repertoire. What will the world, what will the other do with my desire? That is the anxiety in which are gathered all the heart’s movements, all the heart’s ‘problems’.
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In the other’s perfect and “embalmed” figure (for that is the degree to which it fascinates me) I perceive suddenly a speck of corruption. This speck is a tiny one: a gesture, a word, an object, a garment, something unexpected which appears (which dawns) from a region I had never even suspected, and suddenly attaches the loved object to a commonplace world. Could the other be vulgar, whose elegance and originality I had so religiously hymned? Here is a gesture by which is revealed a being of another race. I am flabbergasted: I hear a counter-rhythm: something like a syncope in the lovely phrase of the loved being, the noise of a rip in the smooth envelope of the
We often notice that a writing subject does not have his writing ‘in his own image’: if you love me ‘for myself,’ you do not love me for my writing (and I suffer from it).
Tonight I came back to the hotel alone; the other has decided to return later on. The anxieties are already here, like the poison already prepared (jealousy, abandonment, restlessness); they merely wait for a little time to pass in order to declare themselves with some propriety. I pick up a book and take a sleeping pill, ‘calmly.’ The silence of this huge hotel is echoing, indifferent, idiotic (faint murmur of draining bathtubs); the furniture and the lamps are stupid; nothing friendly that might warm (‘I’m cold, let’s go back to Paris’). Anxiety mounts; I observe its progress, like Socrates chatting (as I am reading) and feeling the cold of the hemlock rising in his body; I hear it identify itself moving up, like an inexorable figure, against the background of the things that are here.
The being I am waiting for is not real. Like the mother’s breast for the infant, “I create and re-create it over and over, starting from my capacity to love, starting from my need for it” : the other comes here where I am waiting, here where I have already created him/her. And if the other does not come, I hallucinate the other: waiting is a delirium.
Roland Barthes, A Lover’s Discourse
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To try to write love is to confront the muck of language: that region of hysteria where language is both too much and too little, excessive and impoverished.
objets / objects
Every object touched by the loved being’s body becomes part of that body, and the subject eagerly attaches himself to it.
2. Aside from these fetishes, there is no other object in the amorous world. It is a world sensuously impovrished, abstract, erased, canceled out; my gaze passes through things without acknowledging their seduction; I am dead to all sensuality except that of the “charming body.” Of the external world, the only thing I can associate with my condition is the quality of the weather, as if the day’s character were a dimension of the Image-repertoire (the Image is neither profound nor colored, but it is charged with all the nuances of light and warmth, communicating with the amorous body, which thus feels itself to be well or ill as a whole, as a communion). In the code of Japanese haiku, there must always be a word which refers back to the time of day and of the year; this is the kigo, the season-word. Amorous notation retains the kigo, that faint allusion to the rain, to the evening, to the light, to everything that envelopes, diffuses.
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Sayaka Maruyama - From series THE HEART - the lover (collaboration with performer Angela Costa)
# 1 - To be engulfed - the gentleness of the abyss
“ …I am dissolved, not dismembered: I fall, I flow, I melt. Such thoughts – grazed, touched, tested - can recur. Nothing solemn about them. That is exactly what gentleness is …”
[each piece is captioned by a quote from Roland Barthes’ A lover’s discourse: fragments]
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