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Bound, Boundless
From Sigmund Freud, Project For a Scientific Psychology (1895):
Alongside of cognitive and practical thought, we must distinguish a reproductive, remembering thought, which in part enters into practical thought, but does not exhaust it.

This remembering is a precondition of all testing by critical thought: it follows back a given thought-process in a reversed direction, as far back, perhaps, as a perception -- once again, in contrast to practical thought, without an aim -- and, in doing so, makes use to a large extent of indications of quality. In thus following a backward direction, the process comes upon intermediate links which have hitherto been unconscious, which have left no indications of quality behind them but whose indications of quality appear subsequently. This implies that the passage of thought in itself, without any indications of quality, has left traces behind it. In some instances, indeed, it looks here as though we should only be able to guess certain stretches of the pathway because their starting- and end-points are given by indications of quality.

In any case, the reproducibility of thought-processes goes far beyond their indications of quality; they can be made conscious subsequently, though perhaps the outcome of a passage of thought leaves traces behind it more often than its intermediate stages. [CUT]
In the end, then, it becomes possible to cathect the memory of the pain in such a way that it cannot exhibit any backward flow and can release only minimal unpleasure. It is now tamed, and by a thought-facilitation strong enough to exercise a permanent effect and to produce an inhibiting action once more at every later repetition of the memory. The pathway leading to the release of unpleasure will then, owing to disuse, gradually increase its resistance: for facilitations are subject to gradual decay (forgetting). Only after this is the memory a tamed memory like any other.

It nevertheless appears that this process of subjugating the memory leaves a permanent effect on the passage of thought. Since earlier the passage of thought was disturbed every time the memory was activated and unpleasure aroused, there is a trend even now towards inhibiting the passage of thought as soon as the tamed memory generates its traces of unpleasure.

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Mode: working the eery canal
Muse: Skylar explaining the cardboard house she constructed last night

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kdotdammit From: kdotdammit Date: June 9th, 2005 08:30 pm (UTC) (LINK TO SPECIFIC ENTRY)
I was having the hardest time figuring out when this picture was from (interesting in light of the Freud). At first I thought it was one Johnny took when I first left the streets. Now I realize it's one I took when me and you first met (I think). I think it's one I shredded in a fit of rage. Rage of things forgotten and things remembered. things hidden things found out. Just rage. Interesting. Especially in juxtapostion of the Cure song -- the First Dance from our wedding. photos, memories, rage, love. Thank god life is not just one thing.
From: zokah Date: June 9th, 2005 08:40 pm (UTC) (LINK TO SPECIFIC ENTRY)
I actully just e-mailed Charlie asking who this was not wanting to assume it was you. It's the most amazing picture of you.

Given the timeline you've spoken of here, it's interesting how the shadow might represent what you might have been walking away from and leaving in the dark. There, but not always seen.

Really, great photo (and subject).
cbertsch From: cbertsch Date: June 9th, 2005 09:15 pm (UTC) (LINK TO SPECIFIC ENTRY)
That's a great thought on the shadow. I used to stare at those photos endlessly. They were on my cinder blocks for the two-and-a-half years before I moved in with Kim and almost a year afterwards, until I did something I shouldn't have or at least should have done differently.
From: zokah Date: June 9th, 2005 09:21 pm (UTC) (LINK TO SPECIFIC ENTRY)
is that it? the story end there?
cbertsch From: cbertsch Date: June 9th, 2005 09:38 pm (UTC) (LINK TO SPECIFIC ENTRY)
I refer to it as my "dalliance." In the fall of 1992, while we were walking the picket-lines as graduate-student employees, I ran into to someone I'd met working at University Press Books in the summer of 1991. She was already a grad student back then and seemed, on the face of it, to be losing it. But I was captivated by her intellect and her intensity. People on the edge have always exerted a strong pull on me despite or perhaps because of my superficial regular-guy-ness. Anyway, she disappeared at the end of that summer, just as I was starting graduate school. I heard rumors that she'd gone away, possibly to recover from whatever had been making her so taut. I was very glad to see her again back in November, 1992 and even gladder to learn that she was better. As it turned out, we were taking a class on postmodernism together in the spring of 1993. The more time we spent together, the more powerful the friction between us grew. Then, one night in April, we had dinner after class -- we'd done that several times already -- and I drove her home on my way back to Vallejo. Only she didn't get out of the car. Two hours later, I finally said goodbye to her and headed home. I explained my tardy arrival by stating that I'd been working in the library, which was true of that day but not of that evening. The next day, Friday, I drove to campus and parked on Northside, as I did back then. Since I hooked up with Kim to see a movie, I just left my car there and figured I'd pick it up over the weekend. Sure enough, Kim and I took a drive, stopping at the UC Berkeley botanical gardens and then visiting Amoeba, where I purchased the brand-new New Order single "Regret," which I was greatly interested in hearing. When she dropped me back off at my car, there was a plastic bag wrapped around the mirror. She wondered why. Inside it was a note. It was a clearly amorous thank-you for a wonderful night. Kim logically assumed that I'd done more than I actually had and ran off hurt. On the way home, I got a ticket for running a red light, somewhat unfairly. By the time I got back to Vallejo, things were really bad. There were a series of big scenes that night, followed by equally messy attempts to make up, however provisionally. I did get to hear my New Order song over and over, musing on the irony of its title. And at some point the photos on my cinder block were torn up in a fit of rage. Does that help?
From: zokah Date: June 9th, 2005 09:48 pm (UTC) (LINK TO SPECIFIC ENTRY)
"help?" well, I appreciate the indulgence to my curiosity feeling as if I were left with BBB (Blogs Blue Balls) so to speak.

You rarely speak on your personal-with-Kim history, and for that I am thankful for the glimpse into the prior chapters of the book.
cbertsch From: cbertsch Date: June 9th, 2005 10:04 pm (UTC) (LINK TO SPECIFIC ENTRY)
Ah, but I'm often speaking about it, just obliquely. Over the past six weeks I'd guess that 75% of the entries were about her or us. During less intense times the percentage drops to somewhere between 25% and 50%.

If you're interested, here are a few older entries that go into great detail:

This one is about lots of things, including how we met.

This one refers back to the previous entry and focuses more on the night we met.

This one is about Kim's performance poetry and art-exhibiting days.

• The previous entry is a preface to the copy I wrote for Kim's show in Vallejo.

This one</em> is more about the problem of writing the past, but includes autobiographical material.
From: zokah Date: June 9th, 2005 10:39 pm (UTC) (LINK TO SPECIFIC ENTRY)
I should've phrased differently, more specifically I should have said, you rarely offer up history in less oblique terms.
cbertsch From: cbertsch Date: June 9th, 2005 10:42 pm (UTC) (LINK TO SPECIFIC ENTRY)
True enough!
cbertsch From: cbertsch Date: June 9th, 2005 08:51 pm (UTC) (LINK TO SPECIFIC ENTRY)
It was part of a set of five photo-booth shots you put on a punk-angled background and gave to me right after we met. I had them on my cinder blocks until April, 1993. This loose photo, detached from its sisters, just showed up the other day when I was putting the camping stuff away. I like the way that, in its detachment, it speaks to the possibility of breaking free of injurious bonds, whether they be to people or the past.
kdotdammit From: kdotdammit Date: June 9th, 2005 09:37 pm (UTC) (LINK TO SPECIFIC ENTRY)
Oh. April 1993. Right after my Grandma died. Now I remember. Yeah that was a hard moment. But if I remember correctly, a good you-know-what came out of it in the end.
cbertsch From: cbertsch Date: June 9th, 2005 09:41 pm (UTC) (LINK TO SPECIFIC ENTRY)
Intense good is more like it. I was thinking about that recently, what I said then, why I said it, how it strikes me now, in retrospect.
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