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.