Has "mother" been equated with "other" in psychological literature?
I hate my job I hate my boss I got so much hate that I'm at a loss to explain the pain that's inside my brain it hurt so much that I'm going insaneNOVEL: In his whole life there was one moment of transcendent ecstacy -- he knew all, he was all. It made everything worthwhile. At the crossroads. At the party that never ends. This "lucidity" is delusion in a sense, but on the other hand it is real and good.
All that is real and good is an illusion; look beyond the veil. This seems to be the way Beckett and our other modern gloom merchants feel. I agree that there is real horror in our existence, but to take it so far is to subject oneself to the same criticisms with which we rend the Vedas, where all suffering is said to be an illusion. If this illusion is so convincing, as it seems, why call it an illusion? I say, deny not thy suffering nor thy joy, but call them what they are, and seek joy. For joy is that which thou seekest, nothing more particular than that.
Megalomania. Delusions of grandeur? Just today I said to myself, "I never know anything." But as a metter of fact there is much of which I am relatively sure. I see all. I know all. Blurry sometimes. Fuzzy to the point of being no picture at all but a blank wall instead. Nevertheless, I am omniscient. What's in the aprtment across the way? I can't see from here, but I know. Not to the last atom, true, but there is much of which I am relatively sure. There's probably furniture. Possibly humans. But I'd bet a hundred bucks there ain't no fire-breathin' dragons, porpoises or so on...
Imagine though if there were a corpse.
Discovery of corpses. A literary event that has been treated by hundreds of authors, I suppose. Should I assume countless authors, exploring every possibility? Where would that take me? Back to square one?
Jesusification: the deifying of martyrs. The believers make the man into a god. And occasionally into a TRUE god: the movemnt takes on a life of its own -- 3000 years later people still see visions of him.
This is the only definition of true godhood I can swallow, a skeptic's definition, not a believer's: the state where the myth shapes the world, and the more it shapes, the more exalted the godhood. Everything is God to a greater of lesser degree.
Perhaps I should call my stories philospophical burlesques.