Cynicism Makes me Happy
Dec. 16th, 2003 06:05 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
morrigirlI've found great comfort in theory these last few days, psychoanalytic theory to be exact, mainly because it's such bunk. It's a system designed to symbolically interpret which makes it more useful as a form of literary criticism than as a tool of psychological realization. (I say this because one's internal landscape is already highly symbolic, it makes no sense to simply apply a new set of symbols and interpretations to a landscape whose existing symbols have not yet been interpreted and that's exactly what psychoanalysis does. Each individual has his own set of symbols and definitions whether he is conscious of their meaning or not and itis those symbols that must be interpretted.)
But as a form of literary criticism it's just fabulous because you don't always have access to a character's internal landscape, so it gives you a pre-existing system with which to interpet their actions and motivations. So when you apply psychoanalysis to a work of literature it's simply a matter of using one set of ideas to examine another. It's fucking great!!! There's not a lick of substance between the two just smoke and mirrors, the interpreter trying to convince the reader there is something more substantial hidden underneath the author's words. But the interpreter's interpretation can't be absolutely confirmed or denied so it's all just ideas. Nothing but loads and loads, and tons upon tons of ideas. And we all know how much I love ideas. Ideas rock because they are not reality, which always sucks. So I've been losing myself in feminist interpretation of Freud for the last two days, and that has made me moderately happy.
Of course that's only during the day. Night time is another story. I haven't been able to fall asleep the last two nights, and both times I've had bizarre dreams. There were babies in my dream last night and I was trying to save them. One of them was Sarah Kopp's baby, and it was so small and cute, like a new born kitten, able to fit in the palm of your hand. And I wanted one. But I couldn't have any children of my own so I just saved other people's babies from various nefarious plots.
I'm trying to meditate more. Come to find out that I feel a lot better after meditating. That's a fairly new development. Meditating never did jack for me before. Actuall, what I'm doing isn't precisely meditation, it's more like energy work: I'm trying to repair my protection bubble and my aura on a daily basis both of which require the same sort of stillness and concentration as meditation only it's directed towards a specific task if that makes sense.
Still lonely. Still feel like I'm losing Mike. Still feeling desperate and depressed that I have no friends. And, as outlined above, I'm doing the only thing I know how, to deal with it: losing myself.
But as a form of literary criticism it's just fabulous because you don't always have access to a character's internal landscape, so it gives you a pre-existing system with which to interpet their actions and motivations. So when you apply psychoanalysis to a work of literature it's simply a matter of using one set of ideas to examine another. It's fucking great!!! There's not a lick of substance between the two just smoke and mirrors, the interpreter trying to convince the reader there is something more substantial hidden underneath the author's words. But the interpreter's interpretation can't be absolutely confirmed or denied so it's all just ideas. Nothing but loads and loads, and tons upon tons of ideas. And we all know how much I love ideas. Ideas rock because they are not reality, which always sucks. So I've been losing myself in feminist interpretation of Freud for the last two days, and that has made me moderately happy.
Of course that's only during the day. Night time is another story. I haven't been able to fall asleep the last two nights, and both times I've had bizarre dreams. There were babies in my dream last night and I was trying to save them. One of them was Sarah Kopp's baby, and it was so small and cute, like a new born kitten, able to fit in the palm of your hand. And I wanted one. But I couldn't have any children of my own so I just saved other people's babies from various nefarious plots.
I'm trying to meditate more. Come to find out that I feel a lot better after meditating. That's a fairly new development. Meditating never did jack for me before. Actuall, what I'm doing isn't precisely meditation, it's more like energy work: I'm trying to repair my protection bubble and my aura on a daily basis both of which require the same sort of stillness and concentration as meditation only it's directed towards a specific task if that makes sense.
Still lonely. Still feel like I'm losing Mike. Still feeling desperate and depressed that I have no friends. And, as outlined above, I'm doing the only thing I know how, to deal with it: losing myself.
