On the Sublimation of the Feminine Object

Within the structure there cannot be sublimation or an Act; Sublimierung is the kinesis when the object is ostracized to corral the place of the Thing, not of the letters of the patronymic name of the father and the antipodal of the second life but of the signature of the autograph of one’s’ Acts- we will not perorate of Lazarus’ legend once again: lo and behold of the thieves of the cross and perceptibly of those who have elopemented it, and, who, who could have been with the effortlessness by which a few representatives of flattery of Irish ancestry, prophets of Docetism, of those who stated with the moronic certainty of the devil that there are only two types of Acts; this retorting scientists of a Freudian praxis away and far away from life but nearer to those truths that are of intellectualism and of phrenic cowardice: there have been patients, but not analysts because the sublimation is of those objects that are masculine, quantitative in terms of the drive and the metages that are of the phallus- the real phallus is the cause because psychoanalysis is a practise of life, declared on the soil that stinks of a living Breath: lo and behold of the analysts who have never surpassed their own anxieties- lo and behold of the analysts who cure but create not the possibilities for novel formations unless those fall under the dimensional geography of the master- they have forgotten that they never ought to be lacking in zeal because they are doomed to be desiring subjects, and keep their spiritual fervour, serving the cause- until they die, not because they seek to live: life cannot be but the Verbification of the Subject of the Unconscious: this is the obol of the analysts.

 

There cannot be a real sublimation unless the object is feminine: it is at this summit of gentle holiness and loneliness that the object becomes a cause writting signifiers from letters owning nothing to jouissance but dedication to desire, for, in its empire of sublimation- drive, satisfaction that “Does not ask anything from Anyone” takes one and hopefully many away from the spells of the Other, to that infamous Being Silent who knows the ways of the Letters’ kinesis, and who cannot only read the breath like the Yogis but can actually write on its plasmatic courses and love manners: for, it is not enough to have the imaginary, or even symbolic metamorphoses of the drive- it has never been enough unless psychoanalysts have given the same oath, that is to manipulate the signifier who manipulates and the subject shifts its place in the same fundamental fantasy- this is enough for a cure but never enough, and it has never been enough, to format the pilgrimage towards the formation of analysts, where Paranoia and Pronoia, and by these I mean faith that the modern psychiatry has classified as aspects of psychosis- faith is an illness especially if it is cored on the Act of a glorious leader who can cause desire: Metousiosis is the means to the dark domains of each cause, for, the Ουσία nurtures the feminine object; and if there have been three emissions of analysts, one towards the cure, the second towards the truth, with the magnificent talents of Lacan and Bion, then there is another one that is towards the Act- certainly not for those who are fainthearted: “I know your deeds; you have a reputation of being alive, but you are dead,” because they are deeds and not Acts.

 

And to the knowing what to do with the oral object, that represents the impossibility of the identifications of the signifier to establish the hunger of love, a love that does not need the erogenous zones as Lacan clearly states in the Knowledge of the Psychoanalyst seminar, here are marked the words to the angel: “To the angel of the church in Laodicea write: The Amen, the faithful and true Witness, the Beginning of the creation of God, says this: ‘I know your deeds, that you are neither cold nor hot; I wish that you were cold or hot, but because you are lukewarm, and neither hot nor cold, I will spit you out of  My mouth.”

 

But dear Lord, the Breath cannot be spilled, for it is that which moves and loves the Lunguage- the Πνοή του Λόγου.

On the Litteris Fidei

One certainly needs a mind to listen to its body- certainly this voice owns a language, so to have a recapture from its exposure to the representative of the idea’s representation: between the body and the mind there is the body of letters, without which, the body of flesh alone is incapable of any recollection besides those of the code and the mirror- the animal and the idiotic, private, anamnesis of the mirror; before any possible transformation there ought to be a transubstantiation, and the Ουσία is the Litteris Fidei, the Lung-uage, the Πνοή του Λόγου: how many of you recite a prayer to the God that is unconscious to whom you neverate without admitting or knowing.

On the Four Functions, which are only Two

There is no desire -libido- except masculine: such says he who has never cruised nor navigated that threshold, which once has been the law of a faithful canon’s decretum: such has aforementioned the serenade  of he who has crossed it and, having seen the confusion on the faces of the audience, has remained silent for the truth revealed by the foreshadowing, to come in the decades after him: indeed, the smoulder of identifying with the father’s signifiers is masculine, but not libido, never has it been at the level of the Act, because a problematic desire, precisely  because it is emblematic, if it is masculine, it is jouissance: period, or a fool’s stop because they try to contextualize the Real of the Breath through Knots made of fickly sacred ropes and disgraceful lariats- not an inch of a true faith, that Real’s Faith time, neighbouring to that which is represented from the Windhauch.

 

And the good Lord has asked from Abraham a son: this is not an event but the circumstance of Moira’s exigencies of an oedipal topology beyond the linearity of the panorama of the subject’s history, and of those candle-flames representing the ghosts and spectres of time: his own son, who has been on the side of the Letter whispered between his lips, Before Abraham I am, because before history there is structure but it is only my Act that brings forth desire- and all along and sparking its lights, in front of a given structure there are the Letters; Lacan’s sacrifice of the father- was it because he has listened without questioning like a ram: oh, the true sacrifice is the faith on the man’s position, a castration of his own Yes of the father, that one pointing the spear perpendicularly on the emptiness between the one and the zero: but that is the domain of the Woman, said Isaac: and, the cherubim has represent oneself with a voice and roared that this in fact is the elementary element of the initiation to the Faith of the Act, always erectile but not phallic onto and towards the axis of signification: Lazarus, come out, do not be afraid of your own shadow, for, the woman is not the locus of the Other; psychoanalysts are doomed to be desiring subjects, no more and no less.

 

On the Aesthetics of Objektvorstellung

The formation of Desire is betrothalised in resembling a Breath, for along the treatises and the monographs the beautiful subject of language is able to inarticulate the progress in the process of verbification: the Breath is an Act and a verb: “Oh dry bones, hear the word of the Lord. Thus says the Lord God to these bones, Behold, I will cause breath to enter you that you may come to life.”

 

And the topology of that conduct, certainly divine because of its ability to be plasmatic in geographical elements, nothing akin to the static emergencies of the gaze where desire needs the fantasy to be the grail of its ground- oh, start saying the same Lord, pity to those who still have faith to the latter and not the letter, for desire needs to enter the world that is a fantasy of its own dimension because the true dream and nightmare of the subject are its life; and those who have been engaged in fantasy not through eyeing or listening, neither from fear of medusa’s head and not because of the sirens of the Other’s demand, but because they scented the aesthetics of inhalation, those have testified to the thousands that, that which is found in language is the letter never lost but structured- the letter is that which subsist in the signifying chain as a cry to the analyst to form questions of his orientation, no less ethical regarding his speech and cuts; for limits indeed have names, but orientations have letters and the identifications of the subject suggests with extravagant politeness to the psychoanalyst that it cannot fly away from that which hold it in the microcosm of the scene, crystallized it as an object; and the Lord’s angel has trumpeted that the prehistoric Other is not the Das Ding- for if the pleasure principle is to regulate jouissance then we ought to wonder through the gentleness of a hollow whisper what does regulate the Nirvana principle and what is its object- it is not intemperance since by itself is unwarranted to its temperament: the Thing is Fremde, Allien, Ξένον, but to Unheimliche because this implies the scene which is of the Other, not even known through the autonomy of the master signifier regulating the world of words of the subject; what has been said and written, translated but not transliterated, is that the subject attempts to identify with the temptation itself when is attempting to tame the Other of language with words- for if the Thing is identified with the Wieder zu finden, the impulse to find again, then it is an identification with Kinesis: and by the roars and cry of this Other, one ought to joke around with his own flesh and with the purity of an immaculate sarcasm, surely to say a few good words to this Other Form when the other is no longer there- the Other is replaced with the Breath of Lunguage, when the phallus’ topology of quantity is replaced by the knots of perplexity within that divine comedy where there are no binaries and God is surrendered to the ethic, plasmatic and dismembered ethic of an orientation beyond any object: the woman cannot exist within any principle that supports any binary but at the singing of the orinasal vowels of an inhalation of Letters designating to the analyst his place and his motion, that infamous «Ο σε βοήθεια καλούμενος βοηθός».

 

For, desire is what sharpen, to any given Lazarus’ life, from the realm of Objektvorstellung: the Act is the awakening, not separated from its articulation towards a cause, not an object: and to speak of the devil, in this case that certain demonian Kinesis of the Real, any given fantasy emerges around a disintegration of an vacant corpse: and how filled is a body without desire, a das Psychische body, made of the letters of a Πνοή του Λόγου: to this genesis, the man is created by the breath, through the woman.

On the Object of the Respiratory Drive

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The No-Body event, is to regain the Breath: feminine, too feminine for a libido that is masculine and pauperizes the woman to a not all, when she is in fact all-knots, which are not of the fathers unless they are Real- negation for that inspiring interpreter and technician who loves the Other more than he ought to and more than what his faith has allowed him: the real father is desire- and, from the limits of the symbolic and the inability of the Other to contextualize the breath – that drive of the feminine death, which the subject denied to receive the blessing of a body and of a paralyzed stability of the fundamentals of the gaze: that, that dear radical attitude of the paranoid articulated as faith, mistakenly faith to the Other and not to the Alien, poses the question of how much faith does the subject desire to declare its breath from the place of that object used to veil the veil itself in the form of a gap, to sonorous the primary affect prior to repression of the signifier’s trait- that Aλαλά of the Desire which is Alien, not though to Unbewusstsein because it is the stage of the Breath.

 

The complexive sensitiveness of the signifiers, with which psychoanalysts could have learned the aesthetic of the letters arriving to their assistance of a proper interpretation, for the letter is on the side of guidance for the clinician having that terrible function of Virgil- if one is brave enough to underwent a casual stroll, be that in a dream, towards the royal ways and dark continents of femininity’s systematized inhalations, to the fusions of the respiratory drive, of the sensual and the affective.

 

And let us say that the Copro-philic components are incompatible with the breath: to gain a phalous and a body one pays with the breath: a proper man does not need the phalous- women in their dim domains have this knowledge; the demand of culture and civilization upon the subject is not to sacrifice its sexual instinct but to disavow its desire: this is how subjects become inhuman- by belonging to the tribe of identifications: their membership actually raises the sexual instinct to the level of masturbation, be that with an object that is always coprophilic: the Hysterical Aura is actually the threshold to the Breath but one needs to spell properly the letters with his whole being.

On the Myths and Procedures of Speech

And when the feminine transliteration of Σάρξ receives its cause’s incitements and thus the source of the drive is a no-body eventualisation, incincta from its purpose to repeat the subject and to coherent the body, and it passes into word, for the body of the drive is of no good in electrocuting the things and elements of desire unless one reduces the Act into a voice without a body, an automaton of the other’s jouissance: the structure of desire is an Act of faith: this has been revealed as an violent apocalypse of the declaration of letters from the signifiers’ prison to those who were poor in keeping their word but faithful to that statement that Libido is the same as desire: the only full speech is the Act.

 

And the poor in spirit but not in inhalation breath wrote, that the mythical language is the siring of the subject of the act- this is not a fantasy but beyond it and towards that which sculpts a myth, not an Agalma, precisely when it is dissolved from the other of language and subsists towards the Alien of Lunguage, to that which is structured not as a doing; it is at this summit of brutality and holiness, on and within it, to the seething arena of life, the so serpentine and the so holy, where the human being speaking and acting as, now a viewer of the Scene he has separated from, is commanded by his desire to experience the domain of shadows, that mysterious feminine light- no more and no less than what a noble wish eloquently, always, subsists, gently and subtracting the presence of that desire which is not born out of the object of the respiratory drive: the Breath which cannot be said, without been articulated for it needs an Act: that which cannot be said, is an Act.

 

And, in all his sanctity and evil, no, this epistle cannot be a letter marking the dimensions and circumstances of a body event because the body is needed just for the infamous fear of the Jews- so to accommodate and date the act into the world: desDing, destiny, is the past with a continuation, for those who believe in grammar and not to the mythological pathways of the signifiers- and of those forms that the letter chooses to gift those anachronistic subjects that speak of psychoanalysis through the spectacles of he who had actually lived and died.

 

And the angel has never spoken for he was ordered to Act beyond his own free will: this makes this being a proper servant, for its speech has never been his, neither his Act, besides that time when he dared to smell the hair of the woman- that is surely a Breath: every interpretation that aims in Remythologisierung is an evil speech: a proper interpretation allows space for the subject’s act by forming a new breathing signifier: good enough yet not enough when the Act is at the niche of the threshold, not as Hannibal ad Portas: yes it is – when the analyst is too afraid to speak of the matters of the world: life is a true Uncanny for the corpse who assumes a speech that is never the neologism of his own Breath. And because we ought to travel very far from the Δόξα, and closer, much closer to the Κλέος of the voice, and from language to Lunguage: be prepared to losers of your gender when the passage of the threshold calls you in practice to identify with the breath: this is the desire of the Alien and not of the Other, for the act cannot be repeated.

On the Three Heavenly Beasts.

One is called need; the Other demand- the third and most cruel is called desire: it is the only way to place hunger under a cause, to symbolize it not with signification but with an Act, an Act always in plural and with objects that are great dark shadows of the nothing’s movements; it is the price psychoanalysts pay- they can either bray or pray and that relationship with the voice and deafness is a choice: one ought to be honorable and accept to recompense that imaginary cost of culpability for his desire, that which is Alien to the Other of Language, but not to the Breath that is of Lung-uage: this is the Act which cannot be said.

On the Elements of the One

And the possessed object, haunted and visited by a spirit who was of language, born not from desire but from jouissance, beamed sentences and whispered with a Voice that was his, by all means, that the One exists in the Act, for, it is a sacrificial one- that is what he has said and then has fallen in silence so that the Other who infatuated him could articulate something, a mere Thing, through another voice, that which derives from the void of the subject: there is no Other of the Other but there is the Alien of the Other, the Ξένος: he has vocalised a song about desire, which, which is not of the Other but of the Breath, which cannot be said, and has disciplined, again with a voice that was not his own, those who have heard him, to identify with their own Breath because this is the way of the feminine and a semblance with consequences; and many, many, many and many, and too much of the many and of the sane same, have refused to abandon their beloved body for the sake of a Πνευματικόν Σῶμα, which, as soon as it actually enters the division marked by the mathematical bar in the fraction of the signifier, it does not need those elements reserved in loss of sight when the subject convenes the mirror, and the erogenous zones are abandoned to the saviour of the drive whose source, not of the σάρξ anymore for it has been dedicated to another rest and otherwise, have given leave to the subject of the Act: this is a dawn from desire and the father of the orphan, of that Ξένος who moves in perpendicular ways and not mysterious: it is the way of the Έναν Άλλο Παράκλητο because desire is not spoken but breathed.

 

And when the invented message has overflowed the manners of the atmosphere and even the of the firmament above the fantasy of the geological familiarity of the subject, it was dethroned that desire and its body, the Act, do not permeate under the function of partition as they have no relation to any parts and reproduction- they are One: the father of the Real is desire and there are no parts to be composed for this deus ex machine who offers its presence in acreaging in concert the subject of the Act whose scene is the cause in the world; and, furthermore, he has alleged, that possessed body, that the Act is one, for, its death is marked as soon as it is born: it is born dead and its destiny is not to repeat itself for it follows not the linearity of the signifiers: radical difference does not exist: because those types of interventions which might be called Acts cannot be compared with one another because there is no structure to these elements of the ethic called the Real- it is, indeed, a terrible think to listen to what one says.

 

And when the curse of numbers within the set argued and which, axiomatically, have received meaning through Pascal’s fundamental fantasy, is recaptured and reclaimed in a Miltonian approach by the desire of the God of psychoanalysts, who in all his honesty devotes miracles to the Letters, especially the α and the ω designating the birth and death of the Act, then, the access to the fantasy, to meaning and knowledge, occurs with the object stanching for loosing part of the subject, that which repression, for good or for evil, hold the subject to live into this world: how does the psychoanalyst know if, let us say, he has already cross the fantasy- and if this he is question has been marked by a castration, underprovided, as much as the feminine realm, and he is deficient of nothing in the real as much as a woman, where the only name of the father is desire, and the act the only division experience by the subject.

 

And the horseman who had no curse to carry upon the earth has arrived with empty hands, not having actually hands and neither a horse- and yet he was called a horseman- neither has it been verified if he was a man or a woman- and by a power bestowed upon to him by a saint who was not a doctor he has brought forth a speech: a number to the power of zero is always One- how correct you are my dear friend- and yet again the letter, that ignominious Aleph, to the power of zero is always an Act: the square root of desire is the act; the drive is royal but not loyal to the abetment of the One who is repeated but not of that One to emerge from the meaninglessness: the Letter becomes One when the subject has only his desire to hold together the fragmented body.

On the Ocean of False Knowledge

There is a crisis in psychoanalysis because psychoanalysts have difficulties in becoming sport legends- because they know not how to be athletic with the object’s acrobatics so to ballet with the letters: the truth is half said but the Ethic cannot be half and half- it is or it is not: that is a proper sexual position for any given psychoanalyst who prays in memory of a lost phallus, thrashing and glooming like with awareness behind the testimony of hiding the object so to cause desire, when, in fact, one ought to reveal its direct experience because this is the evangelism to the Act’s faith: the Act is Virology- it is the manner of the pluralisation of the Father, through which the subject becomes a verb.

 

Analysts ought to learn, besides dancing with the letters within the shadow of the signifiers, to swim in the ocean of their false knowledge and partial meanings- for, each and every time that the Ethic of the Real, not its knowledge but its ethic, for which, indeed, we ought to say something about, proves the master of habituation and inhuman experience wrong: consider each session a disappointment of your spiritual pilgrimage to the Real along the analysand who carries himself the weight of his jouissance, if the Ethic does not prove you wrong at least once- and, from the metaphor of the subject, which is precisely that which brings one to analysis, the orientation ought to be to the Act of the Subject, there where the metaphor goes through its Μεταγραφή and the nucleic acids of the Λόγος are cleansed from rabies: it is transcription that produces cloning or viruses- never the Transliteration.

 

And if the drive articulates a path, as it has been mentioned before, one to dissolve when it emerges, it tests its ground from where it was engineered through the subtraction of chaos from the novel truth of the Απολεσθέντος Λόγου, which is that minute topology among bedlam from where it was lost, when the chaos itself has replied to its own echo: the Απολεσθέντος Λόγου is the Act, the Breath which cannot be said.

On Sadism and the Retroactivity of Desire

To say everything is sadistic: indeed, my dear friend, but when, if not when speech is not accompanied by the act: what is a set, is veraciously the scripture ruled out from the said: the spear of Longinus has precisely that direction, to bring forth that which is not in the analytic room; but it takes an ethical, helpful hand, a gaze who can actually see the object in the mirror, to utilize this orientation of the Ethic and the formation of the No-body delighted by desire: let it be from some sort of an ideal, and let us call it the analytic cause, and the spear of destiny will have its army of Janissaries.

 

For, the message, not of the messenger, but of the Apeiron Nothing, one or many deriving from the empty space covered by the topology of the drive and which ought to remain flexibly Nothing so to accommodate the desolation of the body, like two lovers in no demand for the Other to represent the erotogenous zone, does appear in the vehemence to desolate the subject brought forth by the intentionality and logic of the Legion speaking through the subject’s voice: who are you- my name is Legion: for the practice is only the structure of the voice of life, of the world and not of the Scene, which does not appear in the stasis of the structure: practice of the letter grasps that particularity of the Apeiron’s phonemes.

 

The beauty of love is what is excluded from the unanimity of one’s image and the mirror’s reflection of that same image, for the threshold, one of the many appear with the pluralisation of the chain of Acts forming destiny, which is precisely what the eyes reveal, is the veil of the Nothing through which, in uncharacteristic ways, almost sacred, the voice as carrier of love reaches the place of love’s domicile where love resides behind the look and its organ, the eyes, and where one may encounter the rhythm of letters but not in musicality, not notes: at that moment we ought to speak, if we can, for the alteration of “resides” into “recites.”

 

The love of the feminine is the prayer of the Breath and certainly without a body precisely because it is not needed: it is a pilgrimage by its own right for a man to travel that distance, from the eyes to the heart: one among the many ought to love the cunning voices of the forests, and thus to identify with the Breath and the Act itself- that is a noble use of one’s body.