Roland Yeomans's Blog, page 145
April 27, 2016
X is for NOT WHAT YOU MIGHT THINK
"I hate the sun because it gives light to see the world but not enough for the lost to see the way home."
- Meilori Shinseen
Freud sneered at Mark.
"So, Twain, you, too, must be damned, for you are imprisoned within Meilori's walls as am I."
Mark snorted,
"Not so you'd notice. Why I visit the apartment of the boy here so often, I know exactly what he will say to X -- Xena."
Mark smiled wide.
"Why I am rather partial to that filly's corset and long legs myself. The boy has a virtual shrine to her on one of his bookcases:
autographed photos, metal statues, porcelain statues and ... bust."
Mark waggled his eyebrows.
"I imagine you have something suggestive to say of that last word."
Freud kept silent, turning to me with a raised eyebrow, and I shook my head.
"To me, hers is a story of redemption, of striving to balance the sins of the past by helping the hurting of the present."
Stretching out the word into three syllables, Freud said, "Really?"
I shook my head again, saying,
"But tonight I would not have said 'Xena.' What I would have said is that X brings to mind:
Crossing Out, Crossing Lines, and Crossing the Rubicon."
Mark sighed,
"I recall old Ovid saying to me:
'We mortals always strive for the forbidden and wish for the impossible.'"
Freud nodded, "Everywhere I go, I find a poet has been there before me."
He turned to me.
"Unexpressed emotions do not die. They are buried alive. And like the undead of whom you write, they dig their way out later in uglier ways."
Mark said, "Well some of those ways Wyrd just spoke of here were sure enough ugly."
Freud turned to me. "You say nothing?"
I sighed,
"I didn't live in your shoes, sir. I am not God to judge -- and I don't have the job qualifications to step into His place."
Freud snapped,
"Bah! When a man is freed of religion, he has a better chance of living a normal and healthy life."
Mark Twain drawled, "Unless they are your wife and sisters."
- Meilori Shinseen
Freud sneered at Mark. "So, Twain, you, too, must be damned, for you are imprisoned within Meilori's walls as am I."
Mark snorted,
"Not so you'd notice. Why I visit the apartment of the boy here so often, I know exactly what he will say to X -- Xena."
Mark smiled wide.
"Why I am rather partial to that filly's corset and long legs myself. The boy has a virtual shrine to her on one of his bookcases:
autographed photos, metal statues, porcelain statues and ... bust."
Mark waggled his eyebrows.
"I imagine you have something suggestive to say of that last word."
Freud kept silent, turning to me with a raised eyebrow, and I shook my head.
"To me, hers is a story of redemption, of striving to balance the sins of the past by helping the hurting of the present."
Stretching out the word into three syllables, Freud said, "Really?"
I shook my head again, saying,
"But tonight I would not have said 'Xena.' What I would have said is that X brings to mind:
Crossing Out, Crossing Lines, and Crossing the Rubicon."
Mark sighed,
"I recall old Ovid saying to me:
'We mortals always strive for the forbidden and wish for the impossible.'"
Freud nodded, "Everywhere I go, I find a poet has been there before me."
He turned to me.
"Unexpressed emotions do not die. They are buried alive. And like the undead of whom you write, they dig their way out later in uglier ways."
Mark said, "Well some of those ways Wyrd just spoke of here were sure enough ugly."
Freud turned to me. "You say nothing?"
I sighed,
"I didn't live in your shoes, sir. I am not God to judge -- and I don't have the job qualifications to step into His place."
Freud snapped,
"Bah! When a man is freed of religion, he has a better chance of living a normal and healthy life."
Mark Twain drawled, "Unless they are your wife and sisters."
April 26, 2016
W IS FOR WYRD
"When a person cannot find a deep sense of purpose, he distracts himself with pleasure."
- Viktor Frankl
Freud studied me intently. "We come to the Letter W, Roland. What occurs to you?"
I looked over his shoulder and went cold. "Wyrd!"
When the three Norse Norns merge,
they become the tall, angular spirit, Wyrd or Fate, from whom there was no escape.
When I saw Wyrd float towards the shadows in the rear of Meilori's, I heaved a sigh of relief.
Neither Freud nor Twain had spotted her.
Mark snorted, "I think the same thing when I look at old Saw-Brains there, Roland."
Freud snapped, "What is your problem with me, Twain?"
Mark's arsenic blue-grey eyes glistened in the shadows. "More than one, esteemed doctor."
He made a face as if his cigar tasted bad.
"In 1938 Vienna, you were granted an exit visa and allowed to list the names of six people to take with you."
Mark angrily ground out his cigar on the table.
"You listed your doctor, your maid, your dog, and your wife’s ... sister,
but you didn't list any of your own sisters!
All four of them were shuttled to the Terezín concentration camp
where they died badly, while you, their brother, lived out your last days in London."
Freud was pale. "I had limited money. I could not afford ...."
"Your friends, your colleagues would have given you the money had you asked!" snapped Mark.
"Perhaps it is easy for you to ask for money, Twain, but I ...."
Mark shook his head as if ridding it of gnats.
"Now, I have been accused of hubris so often that finally I had to look it up in the dictionary."
Mark glowered, "I only saw your picture. Now, I know why."
Freud was about to speak when he froze. Mark and I joined him.
Wyrd, her grim eyes skewering the psychiatrist,
now towered above him and spoke like the crushing of dying leaves underfoot.
"The Scribbler spoke of your wife's sister, Minna Bernays, but withheld his words. I will not."
Wyrd traced strange burning runes on our table's surface.
"Your sister-in-law's sleeping arrangements in your wife's and your apartment would be called by my name -- weird.
Minna’s small sleeping quarters were right next to your and Martha’s bedroom, and separated only by a flimsy partition, not a wall and door.
The only way Minna could get to her room was to walk through the bedroom that her sister and brother-in-law shared."
Mark raised an eyebrow, but Freud snapped, "You would have had to live there to understand."
Mark snorted, "A situation I am glad to have been spared!"
Wyrd continued,
"In 1898, during a two-week vacation in the Swiss Alps, you and Minna registered at an inn as “Dr Sigm Freud u frau” —
as man and wife.
You took the largest room in the hotel, but one that had what is described as a 'double bed.'
Soon after you both checked in, you sent your wife a postcard that regaled her with details about the gorgeous scenery,
but described your lodgings as 'humble,' even though the hotel was 'the second fanciest in town'.”
"I ...." began Freud, but Wyrd shook her head, disappearing and left only fading words behind.
"Now, you know why you are doomed never to leave Meilori's."
Mark cleared his throat. "Well, as exit lines go, that one was a killer."
- Viktor Frankl
Freud studied me intently. "We come to the Letter W, Roland. What occurs to you?"I looked over his shoulder and went cold. "Wyrd!"
When the three Norse Norns merge,
they become the tall, angular spirit, Wyrd or Fate, from whom there was no escape.
When I saw Wyrd float towards the shadows in the rear of Meilori's, I heaved a sigh of relief.
Neither Freud nor Twain had spotted her.
Mark snorted, "I think the same thing when I look at old Saw-Brains there, Roland."
Freud snapped, "What is your problem with me, Twain?"
Mark's arsenic blue-grey eyes glistened in the shadows. "More than one, esteemed doctor."
He made a face as if his cigar tasted bad.
"In 1938 Vienna, you were granted an exit visa and allowed to list the names of six people to take with you."
Mark angrily ground out his cigar on the table.
"You listed your doctor, your maid, your dog, and your wife’s ... sister,
but you didn't list any of your own sisters!
All four of them were shuttled to the Terezín concentration camp
where they died badly, while you, their brother, lived out your last days in London."
Freud was pale. "I had limited money. I could not afford ...."
"Your friends, your colleagues would have given you the money had you asked!" snapped Mark.
"Perhaps it is easy for you to ask for money, Twain, but I ...."
Mark shook his head as if ridding it of gnats.
"Now, I have been accused of hubris so often that finally I had to look it up in the dictionary."
Mark glowered, "I only saw your picture. Now, I know why."
Freud was about to speak when he froze. Mark and I joined him.
Wyrd, her grim eyes skewering the psychiatrist,
now towered above him and spoke like the crushing of dying leaves underfoot.
"The Scribbler spoke of your wife's sister, Minna Bernays, but withheld his words. I will not."
Wyrd traced strange burning runes on our table's surface.
"Your sister-in-law's sleeping arrangements in your wife's and your apartment would be called by my name -- weird.
Minna’s small sleeping quarters were right next to your and Martha’s bedroom, and separated only by a flimsy partition, not a wall and door.
The only way Minna could get to her room was to walk through the bedroom that her sister and brother-in-law shared."
Mark raised an eyebrow, but Freud snapped, "You would have had to live there to understand."
Mark snorted, "A situation I am glad to have been spared!"
Wyrd continued,
"In 1898, during a two-week vacation in the Swiss Alps, you and Minna registered at an inn as “Dr Sigm Freud u frau” —
as man and wife.
You took the largest room in the hotel, but one that had what is described as a 'double bed.'
Soon after you both checked in, you sent your wife a postcard that regaled her with details about the gorgeous scenery,
but described your lodgings as 'humble,' even though the hotel was 'the second fanciest in town'.”
"I ...." began Freud, but Wyrd shook her head, disappearing and left only fading words behind.
"Now, you know why you are doomed never to leave Meilori's."
Mark cleared his throat. "Well, as exit lines go, that one was a killer."
April 25, 2016
V IS FOR NAZIS
"Humor is a means of obtaining pleasure in spite of the distressing events that interface with it."
- Sigmund Freud
"Vienna," I said to Freud's question of what occurred to me at the letter V.
"Berggasse 19 to be exact."
Freud sucked in a breath and nodded,
"Of course looking at me how could you not think of the address
where I lived for 47 years, seeing patients every working day for eight or more hours?"
Mark Twain and I joined Freud in sucking in our breaths.
As sometimes happened at the haunted jazz club, Meilori's, magic stirred echoes from the past atop our table.
In billowing mists, a scene from over 70 years ago in Vienna slowly took shape:
The sign on the building reading ''Prof. Dr. Freud/3-4'' had already been removed
and a swastika flag had been draped over the doorway.
Freud was one of many thousands of Jewish Viennese who were harassed
in the weeks and months after Hitler's triumphant entry into the Austrian capital in March 1938.
When the Nazi commandos barged into the apartment, Freud's wife,
Martha, in her unflappable Hamburg way, asked them to leave their rifles in the hall.
Mark Twain smiled at the courage shown by the unbowed woman.
The leader of the intruders stiffly addressed the master of the house as ''Herr Professor."
In a brisk, rough manner, the commander, with his men, proceeded to search the vast apartment.
Finally the Nazis left.
Martha Freud, in quiet dignity, went from room to room, straightening up the shambles they left in their wake.
With only a slight tremor to her voice, Martha informed her husband they had seized an amount of money worth about $840.
''Dear me,'' Freud remarked, ''I have never taken that much for a single visit.''
Mark Twain sputtered a laugh and studied the man as the billowing scene evaporated atop our table.
"Doctor, I don't much care for you. But damn, you and your Mrs. had sand."
He cocked his head at Freud. "And who would have thought you had a sense of humor?"
Freud smiled sadly,
"I have found humor to be a means of obtaining pleasure in spite of the distressing events that interface with it."
Mark grimaced, "Leave it to a Saw-Brains to take all the joy out of a laugh by dissecting it!"
He looked at the table-top as if still seeing the Nazis invading the home of harmless citizens.
"What is it that strikes a spark of humor from a man?
It is the effort to throw off, to fight back the burden of grief that is laid on each one of us.
In youth we don't feel it, but as we grow to manhood we find the burden on our shoulders.
Humor?
It is nature's effort to harmonize conditions.
The further the pendulum swings out over woe the further it is bound to swing back over mirth."
Freud nodded.
"Humor must not professedly teach, and it must not professedly preach, but it must do both if it would live forever."
Mark Twain sat up straight. "I wrote that!"
Freud smiled drily,
"Yes, eventually even fools get some things correct. The law of averages always has its revenge."
I made a face. "As apparently do professors."
- Sigmund Freud
"Vienna," I said to Freud's question of what occurred to me at the letter V.
"Berggasse 19 to be exact."
Freud sucked in a breath and nodded,
"Of course looking at me how could you not think of the address
where I lived for 47 years, seeing patients every working day for eight or more hours?"
Mark Twain and I joined Freud in sucking in our breaths.
As sometimes happened at the haunted jazz club, Meilori's, magic stirred echoes from the past atop our table.
In billowing mists, a scene from over 70 years ago in Vienna slowly took shape:
The sign on the building reading ''Prof. Dr. Freud/3-4'' had already been removed
and a swastika flag had been draped over the doorway.
Freud was one of many thousands of Jewish Viennese who were harassed
in the weeks and months after Hitler's triumphant entry into the Austrian capital in March 1938.
When the Nazi commandos barged into the apartment, Freud's wife,
Martha, in her unflappable Hamburg way, asked them to leave their rifles in the hall.
Mark Twain smiled at the courage shown by the unbowed woman.
The leader of the intruders stiffly addressed the master of the house as ''Herr Professor."
In a brisk, rough manner, the commander, with his men, proceeded to search the vast apartment.
Finally the Nazis left.
Martha Freud, in quiet dignity, went from room to room, straightening up the shambles they left in their wake.
With only a slight tremor to her voice, Martha informed her husband they had seized an amount of money worth about $840.
''Dear me,'' Freud remarked, ''I have never taken that much for a single visit.''
Mark Twain sputtered a laugh and studied the man as the billowing scene evaporated atop our table.
"Doctor, I don't much care for you. But damn, you and your Mrs. had sand."
He cocked his head at Freud. "And who would have thought you had a sense of humor?"
Freud smiled sadly,
"I have found humor to be a means of obtaining pleasure in spite of the distressing events that interface with it."
Mark grimaced, "Leave it to a Saw-Brains to take all the joy out of a laugh by dissecting it!"
He looked at the table-top as if still seeing the Nazis invading the home of harmless citizens.
"What is it that strikes a spark of humor from a man?
It is the effort to throw off, to fight back the burden of grief that is laid on each one of us.
In youth we don't feel it, but as we grow to manhood we find the burden on our shoulders.
Humor?
It is nature's effort to harmonize conditions.
The further the pendulum swings out over woe the further it is bound to swing back over mirth."
Freud nodded.
"Humor must not professedly teach, and it must not professedly preach, but it must do both if it would live forever."
Mark Twain sat up straight. "I wrote that!"
Freud smiled drily,
"Yes, eventually even fools get some things correct. The law of averages always has its revenge."
I made a face. "As apparently do professors."
April 24, 2016
U IS AN UNPLUMBED WELL
"When Freud fled Austria after the Nazi takeover,
the Nazis would not let Freud board the train to Paris unless he provided a statement that absolved them of any blame.
'I can heartily recommend the Gestapo to anyone,' Freud wrote. The Nazis did not see the irony."
- Paul Boehm
Freud looked almost relieved as he said, "We are nearing the end of this Challenge of yours ... and mine."
He looked at Mark. "Soon I will be spared your wit, half share though you have."
Mark pretended to be stabbed by an invisible sword under his heart.
"Wit ... the sudden marriage of ideas which, before their union, were not perceived to have any relation."
He shrugged.
"Wit and Humor--if any difference it is in duration--lightning and electric light.
Same material, apparently;
but one is vivid, brief, and can do damage--the other fools along and enjoys the elaboration."
I was afraid things might get nasty again and said,
"The Letter now is U. And the concept of Understanding occurs to me."
Freud nodded,
"Odd that you mention Understanding. I believe Twain that I understand your prickling words to me."
He sighed,
"Far from being able to identify with me, many people feel threatened.
I am a quintessential father figure.
Many people see themselves as rebels against authority and so feel compelled to throw barbs at me."
Mark winked at me and jabbed a thumb at Freud. "And he's humble, too."
Mark smiled,
"I always try to acknowledge a fault frankly.
This will throw those in authority off guard and give you time to commit more!"
Freud said, "Do you believe half of what you say?"
"If I don't, I lie."
the Nazis would not let Freud board the train to Paris unless he provided a statement that absolved them of any blame.
'I can heartily recommend the Gestapo to anyone,' Freud wrote. The Nazis did not see the irony."
- Paul Boehm
Freud looked almost relieved as he said, "We are nearing the end of this Challenge of yours ... and mine."He looked at Mark. "Soon I will be spared your wit, half share though you have."
Mark pretended to be stabbed by an invisible sword under his heart.
"Wit ... the sudden marriage of ideas which, before their union, were not perceived to have any relation."
He shrugged.
"Wit and Humor--if any difference it is in duration--lightning and electric light.
Same material, apparently;
but one is vivid, brief, and can do damage--the other fools along and enjoys the elaboration."
I was afraid things might get nasty again and said,
"The Letter now is U. And the concept of Understanding occurs to me."
Freud nodded,
"Odd that you mention Understanding. I believe Twain that I understand your prickling words to me."
He sighed,
"Far from being able to identify with me, many people feel threatened.
I am a quintessential father figure.
Many people see themselves as rebels against authority and so feel compelled to throw barbs at me."
Mark winked at me and jabbed a thumb at Freud. "And he's humble, too."
Mark smiled,
"I always try to acknowledge a fault frankly.
This will throw those in authority off guard and give you time to commit more!"
Freud said, "Do you believe half of what you say?"
"If I don't, I lie."
Weird Captain America: Civil War Trailer
Can you spot Captain Jack on Team Iron Man or Forrest Gump on Team Capt?
April 22, 2016
T IS ELUSIVE
"From error to error, one discovers the entire truth."
- Sigmund Freud
Fright usually gives grey hairs, but it had made the hair of the ghost of Sigmund Freud darker.
He cupped his bearded chin in one hand. "So now we arrive at the Letter T. What occurred to you when I spoke that letter?"
I said, "Truth."
Sigmund Freud mused, "From error to error, one discovers the entire truth."
Mark Twain snorted,
"We are always hearing of people who are around seeking after the Truth.
I have never seen a permanent specimen. I think he has never lived.
But I have seen several entirely sincere people who thought they were permanent.
Seekers after the Truth.
They sought diligently, persistently, carefully, cautiously, profoundly, with perfect honesty and nicely adjusted judgment-
until they believed that without doubt or question they had found the Truth.
That was the end of the search.
The man spent the rest of his hunting up shingles wherewith to protect his Truth from the weather."
Freud said, "I continued all my life to expand my knowledge of the truth lurking in the psyches of the bruised."
Twain smiled sourly,
"I have not professionally dealt in truth.
Many when they come to die have spent all the truth that was in them, and enter the next world as paupers.
I have saved up enough to make an astonishment here."
Freud frowned,
"Do not misunderstand me, Twain.
We often believe, not on the basis of argument, but upon the basis of desire. I have striven mightily to avoid that snare."
Mark snorted as he tipped his head to the ghost of Emily Dickinson as she passed.
"Careful there, Saw-Brains. No real gentleman will tell the naked truth in the presence of a lady."
Freud gave Mark a look that suggested to me I should have said, "Temper."
- Sigmund Freud
Fright usually gives grey hairs, but it had made the hair of the ghost of Sigmund Freud darker.
He cupped his bearded chin in one hand. "So now we arrive at the Letter T. What occurred to you when I spoke that letter?"
I said, "Truth."
Sigmund Freud mused, "From error to error, one discovers the entire truth."
Mark Twain snorted,
"We are always hearing of people who are around seeking after the Truth.
I have never seen a permanent specimen. I think he has never lived.
But I have seen several entirely sincere people who thought they were permanent.
Seekers after the Truth.
They sought diligently, persistently, carefully, cautiously, profoundly, with perfect honesty and nicely adjusted judgment-
until they believed that without doubt or question they had found the Truth.
That was the end of the search.
The man spent the rest of his hunting up shingles wherewith to protect his Truth from the weather."
Freud said, "I continued all my life to expand my knowledge of the truth lurking in the psyches of the bruised."
Twain smiled sourly,
"I have not professionally dealt in truth.
Many when they come to die have spent all the truth that was in them, and enter the next world as paupers.
I have saved up enough to make an astonishment here."
Freud frowned,
"Do not misunderstand me, Twain.
We often believe, not on the basis of argument, but upon the basis of desire. I have striven mightily to avoid that snare."
Mark snorted as he tipped his head to the ghost of Emily Dickinson as she passed.
"Careful there, Saw-Brains. No real gentleman will tell the naked truth in the presence of a lady."
Freud gave Mark a look that suggested to me I should have said, "Temper."
April 21, 2016
S IS FOR A DANCE OF QUESTIONS
“Even a soul submerged in sleep
is hard at work and helps
make something of the world.”
- Heraclitus
{Play the music as you read}
The shadows filmed over in bronze gauze,
filled with hooded figures in colorful gowns floating dreamlike past us as strange music filled the darkness:
Mark shivered as one wraith stroked chill fingers along his throat. Even Freud seemed shaken.
"W-We arrive at S, Roland. What occurs to you at the sound of that letter?"
"Sleep and the dreams that dwell in it."
Freud tore his eyes from the departing wraiths with an effort and said,
"The reason you struggle to remember your dreams, Roland, is because the superego is at work.
It is doing its job by protecting the conscious mind from the disturbing images and desires conjured by the unconscious."
Mark nodded, "I often slept-walked as these figures seem to be doing."
He shook himself as if a dog fresh from a bath and assumed a jovial face though neither Freud nor I were fooled.
The wraiths swirled and parted around the tables they passed, their frozen footprints breathing icy vapors up into the shadows.
" Go to bed early, get up early--this is wise.
Some authorities say get up with one thing, some with another."
Mark pulled his eyes from the spectral walkers with a visible effort.
"But a lark is really the best thing to get up with.
It gives you a splendid reputation with everybody to know that you get up with the lark;
and if you get the right kind of a lark, and work at him right,
you can easily train him to get up at half-past nine, every time--it is no trick at all."
The last walker in shadows kissed a lone customer at a table. The man gasped and faded bit by bit into nothing.
Mark shivered and jabbed his glowing cigar end at me.
"Now that boy there!
He goes to sleep at once.
There is a sort of indefinable something about it which is not exactly an insult, and yet is an insolence.
I get to feeling very lonely, with no company but an undigested dinner."
I shook my head at him. "Ghosts don't eat."
The lagging figure in black robes stopped, turned around, and laughed softly,
the sound of it trailing off like icicles slowly bleeding.
Mark husked, "In that you are wrong, son."
Now, it was my turn to shiver.
is hard at work and helps
make something of the world.”
- Heraclitus
{Play the music as you read}
The shadows filmed over in bronze gauze,
filled with hooded figures in colorful gowns floating dreamlike past us as strange music filled the darkness:
Mark shivered as one wraith stroked chill fingers along his throat. Even Freud seemed shaken.
"W-We arrive at S, Roland. What occurs to you at the sound of that letter?"
"Sleep and the dreams that dwell in it."
Freud tore his eyes from the departing wraiths with an effort and said,
"The reason you struggle to remember your dreams, Roland, is because the superego is at work.
It is doing its job by protecting the conscious mind from the disturbing images and desires conjured by the unconscious."
Mark nodded, "I often slept-walked as these figures seem to be doing."
He shook himself as if a dog fresh from a bath and assumed a jovial face though neither Freud nor I were fooled.
The wraiths swirled and parted around the tables they passed, their frozen footprints breathing icy vapors up into the shadows.
" Go to bed early, get up early--this is wise.
Some authorities say get up with one thing, some with another."
Mark pulled his eyes from the spectral walkers with a visible effort.
"But a lark is really the best thing to get up with.
It gives you a splendid reputation with everybody to know that you get up with the lark;
and if you get the right kind of a lark, and work at him right,
you can easily train him to get up at half-past nine, every time--it is no trick at all."
The last walker in shadows kissed a lone customer at a table. The man gasped and faded bit by bit into nothing.
Mark shivered and jabbed his glowing cigar end at me.
"Now that boy there!
He goes to sleep at once.
There is a sort of indefinable something about it which is not exactly an insult, and yet is an insolence.
I get to feeling very lonely, with no company but an undigested dinner."
I shook my head at him. "Ghosts don't eat."
The lagging figure in black robes stopped, turned around, and laughed softly,
the sound of it trailing off like icicles slowly bleeding.
Mark husked, "In that you are wrong, son."
Now, it was my turn to shiver.
April 20, 2016
R IS SOMETIMES HOT, SOMETIMES COLD
"I was impressed with how kindly Freud could be, though I knew he was also a great hater; they are not really incompatible traits."
- Henry A. Murray about Freud
"Most of humanity is, according to my experiences, rabble."
- Sigmund Freud
Freud, once more with white hair and beard, seemed at a loss at what to make of both Twain and myself.
I didn't blame him. I lived each second with me, and I felt much the same.
"You don't have to finish this Free Association of the alphabet, sir."
"I finish what I begin, young man."
I sighed.
I remembered reading that Freud's heroic effort at self-mastery in the service of concentrated work made him chain himself to a rigid timetable.
He sighed, "R is the letter now. What occurs to you?"
I saw Freud's glare towards Mark and said, "Revenge."
Mark had seen the glare and snorted,
“Anger is an acid that can do more harm to the vessel in which it is stored than to anything on which it is poured.”
Freud said, "So even you do not approve of revenge?"
"Approve? Why, Saw-Brains, revenge is wicked, and unchristian and in every way unbecoming.
I am not the man to countenance it or show it any favor."
He laughed belly-deep. "But it is powerful sweet, anyway."
Freud sneered, "Really?"
Mark nodded.
"There is more real pleasure to be gotten out of a malicious act, where your heart is in it, than out of thirty acts of a nobler sort."
Freud said thoughtfully,
"You lost your father quite young, did you not? The loss of a parental figure often sows the seeds for fear of abandonment
with the cruel fear of becoming close to another -- ideal breeding grounds for all sorts of negative comments."
I saw Mark flinch, and I caught Freud's eye.
"Yep, I can see you believe in revenge, too."
I turned to Mark, nodded to Freud, and said,
"Clay feet will trip you up every time."
Mark smiled gently and turned to Freud.
"You can quote the boy on that, too, Saw-Brains."
- Henry A. Murray about Freud
"Most of humanity is, according to my experiences, rabble."
- Sigmund Freud
Freud, once more with white hair and beard, seemed at a loss at what to make of both Twain and myself.I didn't blame him. I lived each second with me, and I felt much the same.
"You don't have to finish this Free Association of the alphabet, sir."
"I finish what I begin, young man."
I sighed.
I remembered reading that Freud's heroic effort at self-mastery in the service of concentrated work made him chain himself to a rigid timetable.
He sighed, "R is the letter now. What occurs to you?"
I saw Freud's glare towards Mark and said, "Revenge."
Mark had seen the glare and snorted,
“Anger is an acid that can do more harm to the vessel in which it is stored than to anything on which it is poured.”
Freud said, "So even you do not approve of revenge?"
"Approve? Why, Saw-Brains, revenge is wicked, and unchristian and in every way unbecoming.
I am not the man to countenance it or show it any favor."
He laughed belly-deep. "But it is powerful sweet, anyway."
Freud sneered, "Really?"
Mark nodded.
"There is more real pleasure to be gotten out of a malicious act, where your heart is in it, than out of thirty acts of a nobler sort."
Freud said thoughtfully,
"You lost your father quite young, did you not? The loss of a parental figure often sows the seeds for fear of abandonment
with the cruel fear of becoming close to another -- ideal breeding grounds for all sorts of negative comments."
I saw Mark flinch, and I caught Freud's eye.
"Yep, I can see you believe in revenge, too."
I turned to Mark, nodded to Freud, and said,
"Clay feet will trip you up every time."
Mark smiled gently and turned to Freud.
"You can quote the boy on that, too, Saw-Brains."
April 19, 2016
Q IS FOR ... SAY THAT AGAIN?
"A wife is like an umbrella - sooner or later one takes a cab."
- Sigmund Freud
{Freud/Jung on either side of the gentleman on the first row}
Freud was younger again ... about fifty, tapping his cane absently.
His eyebrow rose slowly.
"A more difficult letter this time, Roland. What occurs to you upon hearing the letter Q?"
Mark Twain looked about to speak so I quickly answered, "Quotations."
Freud sighed,
"Relying upon another's wisdom to appear wise yourself?"
I shook my head.
"No. Quotations help me look at the world through another's eyes and perhaps enlarge my own perspective."
Mark chuckled,
"It is my belief that nearly any invented quotation, played with confidence, stands a good chance to deceive."
Freud frowned, "You would."
Trying to defuse this brewing storm, I said, "I almost said 'Dorothy Quick', one of your Angel Fish Girls."
Mark smiled warmly,
"Sweet, gentle, lovely Dorothy. She was one of my favorites."
Freud was about to speak, but Mark raised a long forefinger. "Not a word, Saw-Brains."
I lifted my own eyebrow at Freud,
"Sometimes, sir, the wisest word is no word at all."
Mark smiled drily. "You can quote him on that, Saw-Brains."
- Sigmund Freud
{Freud/Jung on either side of the gentleman on the first row}Freud was younger again ... about fifty, tapping his cane absently.
His eyebrow rose slowly.
"A more difficult letter this time, Roland. What occurs to you upon hearing the letter Q?"
Mark Twain looked about to speak so I quickly answered, "Quotations."
Freud sighed,
"Relying upon another's wisdom to appear wise yourself?"
I shook my head.
"No. Quotations help me look at the world through another's eyes and perhaps enlarge my own perspective."
Mark chuckled,
"It is my belief that nearly any invented quotation, played with confidence, stands a good chance to deceive."
Freud frowned, "You would."
Trying to defuse this brewing storm, I said, "I almost said 'Dorothy Quick', one of your Angel Fish Girls."
Mark smiled warmly,
"Sweet, gentle, lovely Dorothy. She was one of my favorites."
Freud was about to speak, but Mark raised a long forefinger. "Not a word, Saw-Brains."
I lifted my own eyebrow at Freud,
"Sometimes, sir, the wisest word is no word at all."
Mark smiled drily. "You can quote him on that, Saw-Brains."
April 18, 2016
P IS FOR WHERE ALL BAD AMERICANS GO WHEN THEY DIE
"Freud's attitude always seemed to say: 'If they don't understand me, they must be stamped into Hell.'"
- Carl Jung of Freud
{Freud's famous sofa which was a gift from a patient, a Madame Benvenisti. She told Freud that if she was going to have her head examined, she might as well be comfortable, so she bought him a plain beige, divan-style sofa—what some people might call a “swooning couch”—which Freud covered in exotic red Persian carpets and piled up with velvet pillows.}
Freud answered my question of what the next letter was to be in my Free Association exercise, "P."
"Paris," I said quickly to keep Mark Twain from being himself and driving Freud to ghost-icide.
"Why Paris?" asked Freud.
"It is one of the destinations in my new Steampunk novel, The Not-So-Innocents Abroad:
http://www.amazon.com/dp/1530302722/
He nodded. "So this city is much in your thoughts, is it?"
Freud actually smiled,
" The creative writer does the same as the child at play. He creates a world of phantasy which he takes very seriously—
that is, which he invests with large amounts of emotion—while separating it sharply from reality."
"Oh, yes, Paris," moaned Mark.
"Anywhere is better than Paris. Paris the cold, Paris the drizzly, Paris the rainy, Paris the damnable.
More than a hundred years ago somebody asked Lucanus, 'Did you ever see such a winter in all your life before?'
'Yes,' said he, 'Last summer in Paris.'
Let us change the proverb;
Let us say all bad Americans go to Paris when they die.
No, let us not say it for this adds a new horror to Immortality."
Freud looked dourly at the ghost of Mark Twain.
"If I promise to miss you, would you go away?"
"Naw, you'd enjoy it too much."
- Carl Jung of Freud
{Freud's famous sofa which was a gift from a patient, a Madame Benvenisti. She told Freud that if she was going to have her head examined, she might as well be comfortable, so she bought him a plain beige, divan-style sofa—what some people might call a “swooning couch”—which Freud covered in exotic red Persian carpets and piled up with velvet pillows.}Freud answered my question of what the next letter was to be in my Free Association exercise, "P."
"Paris," I said quickly to keep Mark Twain from being himself and driving Freud to ghost-icide.
"Why Paris?" asked Freud.
"It is one of the destinations in my new Steampunk novel, The Not-So-Innocents Abroad:
http://www.amazon.com/dp/1530302722/
He nodded. "So this city is much in your thoughts, is it?"
Freud actually smiled,
" The creative writer does the same as the child at play. He creates a world of phantasy which he takes very seriously—
that is, which he invests with large amounts of emotion—while separating it sharply from reality."
"Oh, yes, Paris," moaned Mark.
"Anywhere is better than Paris. Paris the cold, Paris the drizzly, Paris the rainy, Paris the damnable.
More than a hundred years ago somebody asked Lucanus, 'Did you ever see such a winter in all your life before?'
'Yes,' said he, 'Last summer in Paris.'
Let us change the proverb;
Let us say all bad Americans go to Paris when they die.
No, let us not say it for this adds a new horror to Immortality."
Freud looked dourly at the ghost of Mark Twain.
"If I promise to miss you, would you go away?"
"Naw, you'd enjoy it too much."
