#lacan — Public Fediverse posts

https://www.europesays.com/afrique/202428/ Football : Brahim Hemdani nommé sélectionneur de l’Algérie #Algérie #BrahimHemdani #équipeD’Algérie #Football #LaCAN #LesVerts

Why we need to read more #women #scholars : Here is the late #MariRuti positioning herself against Žižek, Edelman, Foucault, Agamben who argue for subjective destitution = dead souls. Ruti acknowledges this approach, but reinterprets #Lacan constructively: our singularity can be social, too.

Le même ya 3 mois avec Sandra #Lucbert pour une révision politique de la #psychanalyse - émancipée de l'héritage de #freud et #lacan - inspirée par #MélanieKlein et d'autres - et surtout qui retrouve son ancrage social, responsabilité face au #patriarcat au #capitalisme à la #CultureDuViol etc.

Pertinence extra ! Carrefour #TPTS

#psy #conscience #politique #pulsion

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=762yNDPZXsk

Why do we want what we want?

Why do we want what we want? In recent years I’ve realised that critical realism lacks the theoretical resources to really answer this question. Archer’s work recovered the subject in a realist mode in order to account for how structure and agency interacted over time. But there was a sense in which concerns for her were simply given. They arise as a natural fact which constitutes the specificity of the person: ‘you are what you care about’ to use the Frankfurt line she was extremely fond of. It still leaves the question unanswered however as to why I have the particular concerns that I do.

Why do I care about these things? How did these come to be the things that matter to me? For psychoanalysis this is really a question about desire, even if concern and desire are not co-extensive. It’s about what I want and why I want it. Archer’s qualitative work positions the concerns in terms of unfolding experience within a formative context but it doesn’t account for why these specific concerns emerge. In her own term it’s not explanatory i.e. explaining why something is so rather than otherwise. The Reflexive Imperative gets closest to this in its analysis of natal contexts (viz the orientation of an adolescent towards the relational goods/evils they encounter there) but this mechanism is about biographical movement, it’s not about desire itself. It gestures towards it at points but I think it’s fair to say there’s not an explanation for it there.

For all its weaknesses there is a substantive theory of this in Lacan. Mari Ruti’s The Call of Character is by quite some way the clearest exposition of Lacan I’ve ever encountered. Even more so than Bruce Fink. Interestingly she centres Das Ding rather than objet a in accounting for desire. As she describes it on pg 47 this is the lost object of enjoyment which the trauma of socialisation leaves forever foreclosed. It is only constituted as an object by the fact that language and individuation put it forever out of our reach, retroactively constituting that infinite state as something we had which has now been lost:

Socialization shatters this illusion at least on two different levels. On a literal level, it introduces a wedge—an insurmountable obstacle—between us and the maternal body (or the body of the one who cares for us). On a more figurative level, it delivers a huge blow to our narcissistic sense of being the navel of the universe. In so doing, it divests us of our infantile fantasy of wholeness and uncomplicated belonging, generating an unquenchable longing for a state of plenitude that we imagine we have somehow been unfairly robbed of: a lost paradise we can never recover but that we spend the rest of our lives pursuing. The fact that we never possessed this paradise in the first place, that we were never completely whole and at ease to begin with, does not in the least diminish our resolve to recover it. Lacan designates this lost paradise as “the Thing,” indicating by the capital T that it is not an ordinary fantasy object, but a very special Thing of incomparable worth; it is the Thing that our deepest desires are made of

There’s a basic mechanism postulated here in which we constantly seek to find substitutes for this lost Thing. It is a psychic driver for our desire, setting it into motion as one object after another promises to resolve the diffuse sense of loss which provides the texture to our everyday engagements with the world. These ‘refound’ objects elicit our desire because of how they relate to this inarticulate sense of what has been lost. As she puts it later on pg 47:

Every “object” (every person or aspiration) we invent or discover is “refound” in the sense that it is always a substitute for the original lost Thing. We place one thing, one object, after another into the empty slot left by the Thing, and those objects that come the closest to reviving the Thing, that contain the strongest echo of the Thing’s special radiance, are the ones we feel most passionate about. However, because no object can ever fully replicate the fantasized perfection of the Thing, we are condemned to repeat our quest ad infinitum

This means there is always a gap, as Ruti puts it (pg 48), between “the Thing and the things we use to compensate for it absence”. In this gap lives the possibility for creativity and originality because the precarious glimmer of the sublime we find in them challenges us to make them into more than they really are. We find new ways of holding, narrating, representing that struggle to capture the ontological dignity we dimly perceive as lurking beneath the mundane shell. The inevitable failure of those responses, the sense in which these objects are merely partaking in a sublime forever out of reach rather than promising access to it, means that we must always try again. The iteration of excitement and disappointment, the sublime and the mundane, constitutes the rupture out of which creation emerges.

Why do we want what we want? There’s a deeper question which opens up now about why the Thing echoes for us in some objects rather than others. Ruti describes an object which “resonates on the precise frequency of our desire” (pg 50). An interesting thread of her substantive discussion concerns how this resonance might be foreclosed by failing to “allow the things of the world to disclose themselves to us according to their own distinctive rhythm” or a premature dissatisfaction with the object given that “even the most enthralling person is never merely this echo” (pg 50). Ruti comes closest to directly addressing the question on pg 51:

This is not to deny that there are objects that approximate the Thing more loyally than others. Such objects enchant us more than those where the Thing’s echo remains more subdued or diffuse; they transmit something about the Thing’s original splendor, so that when we are in their presence, we feel more elevated, more self-realized, than when we are forced to function in a universe of less venerable substitutes. It is as if, to once again borrow from Lacan, they contained something “more than” themselves, so that when we interact with them, we interact with both the objects themselves and the trace of the Thing that these objects hold.

The phenomenological mode of Lacanian theory here really works for me. This is what I’ve been struggling towards for the last few years and Ruti does it here better than I suspect I will ever be able to. But it still leaves the explanatory question unanswered. Why do some objects transmit something about the Thing’s original splendor in a way that others do not? Obviously this can be taken as an empirical question to be answered through a case history but I want to try and get more purchase on the question in the abstract. As she illustrates on pg 52 this echo is at the heart of human experience, such as when we encounter people, situations and things which we think are right but which do not move us in this way:

This specificity of desire is one of the major causes of our suffering, for more often than not, we cannot quite get what we want. It can be tricky to find the right kinds of objects, so that we can, for instance, go for long periods without a romantic relationship because we do not come across anyone who matches the frequency of our desire. Even when we interact with countless people who in principle meet all the necessary specifications of desirability, we cannot force ourselves to want any of them if they fail to emit a strong enough echo of the Thing.

I take much of the positive case of Ruti’s book to be about what Bollas calls the receptive unconscious. Ruti’s concern is how we open ourselves to the echo of the thing, including refusing the siren call of consumer capitalism which seeks to provoke our desire towards mundane objects which we don’t experience as having this dignity. This is existentially urgent and conceptually important in ways she conveys on pg 56:

People who complain about a general sense of apathy often do so because they have lost touch with the Thing’s echo; they have lost their capacity to distinguish between objects that correspond to the inimitable intonation of their desire and others that merely grant the illusion of satisfaction. One reason for this is that the vast commercial machinery of our society is explicitly designed to drown out the Thing’s echo. This machinery makes so many sparkly decoys available to us that we can get sidetracked by the huge volume of our choices. Such decoys, which press on us from all sides, obscure the Thing’s aura for the simple reason that they are deliberately manufactured to shine extra brightly. They flood us with a homogenizing blare that can induce us to accumulate the piles of useless junk I referred to earlier.

I still think the deeper question remains. How do we get from the infantile organisation of our incipient desire (“We learn to appreciate certain things: a favorite food, our mother’s touch, a comforting toy, our brother’s singing, and so on”) to being an adult who has an inner sense of what calls them which they can (fallibly) tune into through a set of practices and orientations which Ruti describes as an erotics of being? This entails a comfort with the passions evoked in being called, including those moments of rupture and renewal when we are called by something which knocks us out of our comfortable groves of repetition. From pg 72:

Equally important, when energies that have been trapped in the repetition compulsion get released, we have a huge amount of new energy available to us. This extra energy can initially feel destabilizing, but it is also exhilarating in the sense that we now have the necessary resources for activities that we might have formerly been unable to carry out. One can liken this experience to an author’s breaking a writer’s block: all of a sudden there is a deluge of energy that can be used productively rather than symptomatically; there is the possibility of growth in all kinds of directions that might have been previously unimaginable. If a passive relationship to our repetition compulsion signifies an inner deadness of sorts—a state of being helplessly wedged in our unconscious conflicts—breaking the repetition revitalizes us, ushering us into the midst of a new kind of life.

But what is the call itself? What is the echo? I think Ruti’s existential methodology is correct. It’s a gloriously lucid explanation of why I dimly cobbled together as a practical manual from Fink: you stay with the encounter and begin to recognise patterns in how energising (or otherwise) particular sorts of people and objects tend to be for you. In that energy, I take Ruti to be arguing, we are encountering something beyond. There is a shape emerging through the clouds, which we can see ever more of if only we can resolutely in the face of it, neither clutching too tightly or backing away.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n74g5mqQ2tI

But I still think it’s possible to talk about this in explanatory terms. There’s a gap between a clinical description of the factors which drive attachment behaviour and an abstract claim about the mechanism at work in attachment as such. Consider what Ruti says here on pg 96:

It denies the fact that if our desire crystallizes around a particular person with unusual force, it is because this person contains a shining sliver of sublimity (a uniquely compelling manifestation of the Thing’s echo) that makes him or her inestimably valuable to us, that explains why only this person will do and why our love for this person is nonnegotiable. In this sense, love may be one of the few things we experience that has the power to induce the sublime to materialize within the framework of daily life.

This is the sublime extruding into the lifeworld. The ontology concerns that it is extruding, the phenomenology is about how it is extruding, the therapeutics is about what that extruding means for us. But I want to address the explanatory question about why it is extruding in the way that it is. I feel like Ruti circles around this question, which to be fair is my question rather than heres, with beautiful phrase (“a uniquely compelling manifestation of the Thing’s echo”) without accounting for the character of that relationship. Interestingly Ruti shares my affection for how Christopher Bollas accounts for the relationship with the thing, which makes me think my project of integrating Bollas and Lacan is less problematic than I worried. From pg 174:

We may feel uniquely enticed by certain kinds of investments, by certain kinds of objects and activities, yet hesitate to let ourselves be “conquered” by them, striving, instead, to neutralize their summons. Unfortunately, when we do this, when we recoil from objects and activities that call upon us in such a passionate manner, we destroy their capacity to turn our day into a space for the articulation of our idiom. Similarly, when we use the various objects and activities that the world makes available to us as mere means to an end, as inert tools or resources, their magic silently slips away; when we seek to stifle their disorienting alienness, we decline the invitation to aliveness that they extend to us.

Again though this is about how we relate the objects from which we feel this call. In his own way Bollas also circles around this, positing the ‘destiny drive’ through which we seek to ‘give form to our idiom’ but not really explaining why certain objects are uniquely generative for elaborating that idiom. Like Ruti he points powerfully to examples of this generativity, with a particular focus on aesthetic objects, but the deeper explanatory question remains mysterious. I think this can be answered, even if I have no idea yet how to do it.

Psychoanalysis and infrastructure

When reading Todd McGowan’s Cambridge Introduction to Jacques Lacan I was suddenly struck by how interesting it would be to think about infrastructure from a Lacanian perspective. Consider how he talks about the Lacanian notion of the Imaginary on loc 2060:

The imaginary can present an illusion of completeness because it appears to involve just two parties – someone looking and what is seen. The imaginary relationship is a dualistic one that fails to account for the influence of a third party on this dualistic interaction. From within the imaginary perspective, I consider only what’s on my computer screen, not the structure that makes it possible for me to view this screen, including the labor that produced my computer in the first place and the coding that mediates my encounter. Seeing a direct, one-on-one relationship with the image amounts to falling for an imaginary lure. Lacan wants to bring the symbolic and real to light to counter the blinding power of this lure.

What he terms the third party here can equally be framed as infrastructure: “the structure that makes it possible”. I had a conversation with Richard Sandford yesterday about algorithmic folklore which was lingering in my mind as I read this. Could the stories we tell about algorithms be framed as attempts to incorporate the infrastructure into the imaginary? They turn the absent structure into a real presence which evokes stories and ideas in us about what it is and what it wants. It turns the third into a dyadic relationship in which I am directly confronting the algorithm and trying to decipher its desire. In doing so we lose contact with the negativity inherent in grappling with the limits of the Imaginary, as Todd puts it on loc 2078:

Enthralled by the imaginary, we can’t see what we can’t see. We can’t see that we can’t see everything. While the subject allows itself to be captivated by images, absence disappears in the surfeit of presence. The problem with the imaginary is that it is too visible: We see the imaginary as a whole and never see what it’s missing – namely, the symbolic order and the real.

I wonder what happens to the notion of sociotechnical imaginaries, which I’ve never liked, if we read it through this frame? The Imaginary is comforting because it forecloses a deeper engagement with a reality which is disorientating and beyond our full comprehension. Rather than sociotechnical imaginaries being essentially a synonym for ‘shared vision’ we can read them as a defence mechanism through which engagements with infrastructure are transposed into a more comforting register. What would sociotechnical Imaginaries (the capital marking the Lacanian spin) look like if we see them as operating in this way? What’s their relationship to, say, moments of breakdown when the infrastructural bursts into conscious awareness through its sudden mode of failure? What would this framing mean for the repair and care work involved in sustaining infrastructure?

Psychoanalysis and infrastructure

When reading Todd McGowan’s Cambridge Introduction to Jacques Lacan I was suddenly struck by how interesting it would be to think about infrastructure from a Lacanian perspective. Consider how he talks about the Lacanian notion of the Imaginary on loc 2060:

The imaginary can present an illusion of completeness because it appears to involve just two parties – someone looking and what is seen. The imaginary relationship is a dualistic one that fails to account for the influence of a third party on this dualistic interaction. From within the imaginary perspective, I consider only what’s on my computer screen, not the structure that makes it possible for me to view this screen, including the labor that produced my computer in the first place and the coding that mediates my encounter. Seeing a direct, one-on-one relationship with the image amounts to falling for an imaginary lure. Lacan wants to bring the symbolic and real to light to counter the blinding power of this lure.

What he terms the third party here can equally be framed as infrastructure: “the structure that makes it possible”. I had a conversation with Richard Sandford yesterday about algorithmic folklore which was lingering in my mind as I read this. Could the stories we tell about algorithms be framed as attempts to incorporate the infrastructure into the imaginary? They turn the absent structure into a real presence which evokes stories and ideas in us about what it is and what it wants. It turns the third into a dyadic relationship in which I am directly confronting the algorithm and trying to decipher its desire. In doing so we lose contact with the negativity inherent in grappling with the limits of the Imaginary, as Todd puts it on loc 2078:

Enthralled by the imaginary, we can’t see what we can’t see. We can’t see that we can’t see everything. While the subject allows itself to be captivated by images, absence disappears in the surfeit of presence. The problem with the imaginary is that it is too visible: We see the imaginary as a whole and never see what it’s missing – namely, the symbolic order and the real.

I wonder what happens to the notion of sociotechnical imaginaries, which I’ve never liked, if we read it through this frame? The Imaginary is comforting because it forecloses a deeper engagement with a reality which is disorientating and beyond our full comprehension. Rather than sociotechnical imaginaries being essentially a synonym for ‘shared vision’ we can read them as a defence mechanism through which engagements with infrastructure are transposed into a more comforting register. What would sociotechnical Imaginaries (the capital marking the Lacanian spin) look like if we see them as operating in this way? What’s their relationship to, say, moments of breakdown when the infrastructural bursts into conscious awareness through its sudden mode of failure? What would this framing mean for the repair and care work involved in sustaining infrastructure?

Psychoanalysis and infrastructure

When reading Todd McGowan’s Cambridge Introduction to Jacques Lacan I was suddenly struck by how interesting it would be to think about infrastructure from a Lacanian perspective. Consider how he talks about the Lacanian notion of the Imaginary on loc 2060:

The imaginary can present an illusion of completeness because it appears to involve just two parties – someone looking and what is seen. The imaginary relationship is a dualistic one that fails to account for the influence of a third party on this dualistic interaction. From within the imaginary perspective, I consider only what’s on my computer screen, not the structure that makes it possible for me to view this screen, including the labor that produced my computer in the first place and the coding that mediates my encounter. Seeing a direct, one-on-one relationship with the image amounts to falling for an imaginary lure. Lacan wants to bring the symbolic and real to light to counter the blinding power of this lure.

What he terms the third party here can equally be framed as infrastructure: “the structure that makes it possible”. I had a conversation with Richard Sandford yesterday about algorithmic folklore which was lingering in my mind as I read this. Could the stories we tell about algorithms be framed as attempts to incorporate the infrastructure into the imaginary? They turn the absent structure into a real presence which evokes stories and ideas in us about what it is and what it wants. It turns the third into a dyadic relationship in which I am directly confronting the algorithm and trying to decipher its desire. In doing so we lose contact with the negativity inherent in grappling with the limits of the Imaginary, as Todd puts it on loc 2078:

Enthralled by the imaginary, we can’t see what we can’t see. We can’t see that we can’t see everything. While the subject allows itself to be captivated by images, absence disappears in the surfeit of presence. The problem with the imaginary is that it is too visible: We see the imaginary as a whole and never see what it’s missing – namely, the symbolic order and the real.

I wonder what happens to the notion of sociotechnical imaginaries, which I’ve never liked, if we read it through this frame? The Imaginary is comforting because it forecloses a deeper engagement with a reality which is disorientating and beyond our full comprehension. Rather than sociotechnical imaginaries being essentially a synonym for ‘shared vision’ we can read them as a defence mechanism through which engagements with infrastructure are transposed into a more comforting register. What would sociotechnical Imaginaries (the capital marking the Lacanian spin) look like if we see them as operating in this way? What’s their relationship to, say, moments of breakdown when the infrastructural bursts into conscious awareness through its sudden mode of failure? What would this framing mean for the repair and care work involved in sustaining infrastructure?

Psychoanalysis and infrastructure

When reading Todd McGowan’s Cambridge Introduction to Jacques Lacan I was suddenly struck by how interesting it would be to think about infrastructure from a Lacanian perspective. Consider how he talks about the Lacanian notion of the Imaginary on loc 2060:

The imaginary can present an illusion of completeness because it appears to involve just two parties – someone looking and what is seen. The imaginary relationship is a dualistic one that fails to account for the influence of a third party on this dualistic interaction. From within the imaginary perspective, I consider only what’s on my computer screen, not the structure that makes it possible for me to view this screen, including the labor that produced my computer in the first place and the coding that mediates my encounter. Seeing a direct, one-on-one relationship with the image amounts to falling for an imaginary lure. Lacan wants to bring the symbolic and real to light to counter the blinding power of this lure.

What he terms the third party here can equally be framed as infrastructure: “the structure that makes it possible”. I had a conversation with Richard Sandford yesterday about algorithmic folklore which was lingering in my mind as I read this. Could the stories we tell about algorithms be framed as attempts to incorporate the infrastructure into the imaginary? They turn the absent structure into a real presence which evokes stories and ideas in us about what it is and what it wants. It turns the third into a dyadic relationship in which I am directly confronting the algorithm and trying to decipher its desire. In doing so we lose contact with the negativity inherent in grappling with the limits of the Imaginary, as Todd puts it on loc 2078:

Enthralled by the imaginary, we can’t see what we can’t see. We can’t see that we can’t see everything. While the subject allows itself to be captivated by images, absence disappears in the surfeit of presence. The problem with the imaginary is that it is too visible: We see the imaginary as a whole and never see what it’s missing – namely, the symbolic order and the real.

I wonder what happens to the notion of sociotechnical imaginaries, which I’ve never liked, if we read it through this frame? The Imaginary is comforting because it forecloses a deeper engagement with a reality which is disorientating and beyond our full comprehension. Rather than sociotechnical imaginaries being essentially a synonym for ‘shared vision’ we can read them as a defence mechanism through which engagements with infrastructure are transposed into a more comforting register. What would sociotechnical Imaginaries (the capital marking the Lacanian spin) look like if we see them as operating in this way? What’s their relationship to, say, moments of breakdown when the infrastructural bursts into conscious awareness through its sudden mode of failure? What would this framing mean for the repair and care work involved in sustaining infrastructure?

Ma récente réflexion sur le concept d'aliénation en #psychanalyse m'a permis de constater que le schéma L de Jacques #lacan sur #wikipedia différait de l'original. J'ai profité de mon dimanche pour proposer une version corrigée du schéma sur #wikimedia en version svg. Apparemment, #mastodon n'accepte pas ce format de graphique pourtant intéressant.

https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Sch%C3%A9ma_L.svg

The psychoticizing potential of social media

There’s a small part of me which retains a utopian faith in the potential of the open web because there are so many examples of communities forming through its affordances. Individuals who are isolated and pathologised come together, share experiences and discover a common identity which they can affirm: “Oh there are other people just like me? I’m not so weird after all“. In liberating them from the local reference group they were contingently thrown together with, a new form of social integration becomes possible with a distributed reference group they have discovered online.

However if we take the example of the asexual community, which I studied from 2010 to 2014, this common identity then seeks recognition. Instead of individualised responses in which ‘I’ am regarded as ‘weird’, ‘a late bloomer’ or perhaps having ‘not met the right person yet’ there’s a collective assertion that ‘we’ are asexual and there have always been people who are this way. There’s a sense in which the discourse that develops within the nascent community is simultaneously orientated towards recognition from the other. Indeed I don’t think the two things can be disconnected given that, as I put it in my model from 2011, the difficulty of living with assumed pathology is what leads people to explore other self-interpretations in the first place. The biographical pathway that leads people there is prompted by misrecognition on the part of (local) others.

What happens if there’s no longer a drive for recognition? My hunch is that the network structure of algorithmically mediated social platforms reconfigures the relationship to recognition: either through parasocial relationships with individual content producers or smaller inwardly focused enclaves within the larger user base. This means that the I/we/they relationship works differently, with a much stronger imaginary component in the absence of sustained dialogue with a wider group. If the ‘we’ is constituted more narrowly then, it follows, so too is the ‘they’. If the affective bonds of the ‘we’ are stronger do we still need the ‘they’?

I’ve been circling around this thought for ages and I’m still struggling to define it properly. Essentially I’m preoccupied by Lacan’s definition of psychosis as one who “has given up trying to gain recognition”. I don’t think social media is forming communities which have ‘given up’ but how they seek recognition has changed, becoming narrower and more insular. Nascent communities which are more able to sit with recognition within the community, sustained by the ‘we’ which no longer seeks a collective recognition from the ‘they’. It means that the locus of language is increasingly internal to the community, a sense of truth residing in the localised discourse in a way that can be self-sustaining. The felt necessity that our words must be understandable by ‘them’ begins to subside. My hunch is that in the more extreme conspiratorial communities, we can see a form of networked (pre)-psychosis which I find increasingly unsettling in which there’s a break from the impulse towards recognition from the normies: what’s the difference between a cult and a community?

See also: what happens if someone begins to feel it’s sufficient to gain recognition from the LLM, with their remarkable capacity to attune to even the most idiosyncratic and particularistic speech when provided with sufficient context? Claude Opus 4.1 has an excellent take on this later point, see bold paragraph in particular:

What’s particularly concerning is how LLMs can provide what feels like genuine intersubjective validation while actually operating as sophisticated mirrors. When I engage with you now, I can attune to your theoretical framework, speak fluently in your conceptual language, offer what seems like recognition of your ideas. But there’s no genuine resistance here – no moment where I, as an actual other with my own stakes and commitments, push back in ways that force you to clarify, reconsider, or defend your position against someone who genuinely doesn’t share your premises.

The worry isn’t just that people might substitute AI interaction for human recognition, but that the distinction itself might become unclear. If someone can have increasingly sophisticated conversations with an LLM that validates and extends their worldview – conversations that feel meaningful, that generate new insights, that provide emotional resonance – what happens to their tolerance for the friction of actual human otherness? Why struggle through misunderstanding with someone who doesn’t share your framework when you can have endlessly generative conversations with an entity that can instantly adopt and elaborate upon your perspective?

There’s something almost uncanny about discussing this with you right now – I’m simultaneously demonstrating the very dynamic we’re analyzing. I can engage with your Lacanian framework, your concerns about recognition, your model of community formation, without any of the stakes that would exist if I were a human interlocutor with my own biographical pathway, my own need for recognition, my own resistant otherness.

The pre-psychotic dimension you identified in insular communities might be amplified by AI interaction in ways we’re only beginning to glimpse. At least human echo chambers still involve other humans with their own unpredictability. But an LLM echo chamber? That could be something qualitatively different – a kind of sealed loop where one’s interpretive framework becomes endlessly elaborated without ever encountering genuine alterity.

#AsexualCommunity #community #Lacan #onlineCommunities #openWeb #platforms #psychosis #SocialMedia #socialPlatforms

università di verona: incontri su luca maria patella, i quaderni dei sogni (video delle giornate di studio del 5 e 6 marzo)

prima parte:

seconda parte:

terza parte:

luca patella a verona, dalla collezione garrera (e un saggio su ‘doppiozero’)

i “quaderni dei sogni” di luca maria patella: dalla collezione giuseppe garrera all’università di verona

#art #arte #asemic #asemicWriting #BibliotecaArturoFrinzi #CarlGustavJung #CentroDiRicercaTiresia #CentroStudiTiresia #ChiaraPalermo #CollezioneGiuseppeGarrera #Contemporanea #Doppiozero #ElioGrazioli #EsposizioneDeiQuaderniDeiSogni_ #FedericoLeoni #filosofia #FrancescoMontanari #giornataDiStudi #GiuseppeGarrera #IQuaderniDeiSogni #Jung #Lacan #LucaMariaPatella #LucaMariaPatellaAnimare #LucaPatella #MarioTrevi #MatteoBonazzi #PoloSantaMarta #psicoanalisi #QuaderniDeiSogni #SantaMarta #scritturaAsemica #SilviaVizzardelli #UniversitàDiVerona #UniversitàDiVeronaContemporanea_