Some light reading for my essay; I am starting become obsessed with narrative theory and find myself analysing everything I watch or read.
Stories have ontological status. We are always enveloped in stories. The narrative for human beings is analogous to the ocean for fishes
For some, there exists only one kind of reading. It is close. It is intimate. It is lovely. And, or course, at all times sexual.
“Why does it bother us that Don Quijote may be the speaker in the Quijote, and Hamlet the spectator in Hamlet? I believe this is the cause: such inversions suggest that if the characters of fiction can be speakers and spectators, we, their speakers and spectators, can be fictitious.”
-Jorge Luis Borges
What literary studies give medicine is the realization that our intimate medical relationships occur in words. Our intimacy with patients is based predominantly on listening to what they tell us, and our trustworthiness toward them is demonstrated in the seriousness and duty with which we listen to what they entrust to us.
I think. I think of how I never found a lover in college. I forgot that I found a love though. Literature spoke to me softly. I pursued her. She played coy. Her exasperations breathed into me. We fell into the deepest of passions that lull time and hush space. I have never fallen asleep alone.
As if medicine wasn’t hard enough.
“Bakh to the Future Pt. IV”
Places and spaces.
“Your body pleases me with sex. Your sex pleases me with your mouth. Your mouth pleases me with your tongue. Your tongue pleases me with word.”