Cheap Sexual Imagery

It’s not anger. Being angry requires way too much energy for me, far more energy than I ever have anyway. No, it’s an enveloping sadness. It’s pervasive and drowning and it will soak you to the skin like drizzle on a misty day. And it’s a sadness that rarely reaches its climax – like… you know those moments just before you give in to tears? Only this never lets you have the release of crying.

It’s like a woollen jumper that protects you from the rain but sits on your shoulder growing heavier and heavier with each tiny drop of rain until the urge to shed this skin is upon you.

No, it’s not as easy to deal with as anger.

This is the bit where you tell me that I want to have sex with my mother and watch my father die, right?

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No Saul, this is the part where you tell me what thoughts come into your head when you look at the picture, or what this particular image means to you. Are those the thoughts that come into your head?

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Of course they’re not. Are you winding me up on purpose this time doc?

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You will insist on trying to second-guess the process Saul, and I have to get my amusement somehow.

How about if I help a little? Does the image bring out any strong emotions in you? Do you connect it to any people or events or stories from your past, or from how you sometimes imagine things might be?

You photographed this, what, two years ago? Does it tie into any specific memories or does it remind you of anything, perhaps unconnected, that happened or that you thought about before or since?

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I still can’t shake the feeling that you’re trying to get some cheap sexual tunnel imagery from me, or something about virgin snow or loneliness.

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We’ve discussed before that I don’t really prescribe to some of the therapy clichés, but I am curious as to your mention of loneliness.

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It just seemed like a good analogy I guess.

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What is it about the image that speaks to you of loneliness?

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I guess it’s a railway track that may or may not be coming from somewhere. It may or may not connect with communities and individuals along the way. It may have been useful at some point and it may yet have plenty of usefulness left in it.

It may or may not be going some place. But for most of its lifespan it just sits there on its own. Some days it just seems obvious that its days are numbered. That it doesn’t stand a chance. That’s all I guess.

But you still think this is about shagging my mother, don’t you?

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Often musician, sometime projectbloke, occasional table, sporadic writer, serial traveler, irregular designer, internet addict with OCLD.

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