Dog. Life, God.
I went to consult a lawyer to know if there was some legal way to get back my little dog. I have no confidence in the legal ways, in law, in judges and lawyers. I left the lawyer with some relief though. I thought I had tried to do something for the little dog. The lawyer called me a moron, for I cared so much for the dog. Why do I care so much for a dog?
She is a little crumb of life to which I am (I was?) attached. Life precious because unique and with no surrogate possible for me. I am afraid I have to use the word love. A piece of me which has been severed, like the child is a piece of his mother. More than a year of a different life, the time I took care of her. Who will be able to give me in time left such richness, even happiness as she did? Are normal people with families and interests in this and that,are men of law able to understand this?
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Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try Again. Fail again. Fail better.
--Samuel Beckett
Waiting for Dogot.
You can love another dog Poalo, maybe a mature one. I had a similar kind of affection for a little garden spider that made its webs in the kitchen for several months. It had a favourite spot the window. However it didn't just stay there, it moved around a bit. It also made webs near a stand that holds a bunch of bananas to catch, on a package of curry leaves, above the boiler, all over the place. It kept coming back to its favourite window. It got weaker towards the end. I though it was maybe not getting enough food. It changed the web design drastically as it couldn't spin a full web anymore. I did try feeding it crane fly. I'm not sure if it had any of that. I certainly knew to leave a dead wasp well alone. I was pretty gutted when it died, as I found it so fascinating and calming to watch. I'm not sure it was reciprocated. If I blew on it gently it would scrunch up. I thought that was cute.
I am pretty much fascinated with spiders now. My got me a book on spiders, I was so happy. I plan on getting one to look after but it is not likely to be a orb weaver (standard web spinning spider) as they need a lot of space or they can build. I think I will get a jumping spider of some sort but still researching a bit.
Here is an idea, place a pad in the paper for s small dog, maybe there is an owner who can no longer look after it or has passed away. Or ask for anyone who wants a dog sitter.
postpaleo
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Joined: 21 Feb 2007
Age: 74
Gender: Male
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Location: North Mirage, Pennsyltucky
I've been looking, off and on again, for this quote (sic) for a while now. It's from a book called Love's Body. Sometimes it is hard to know if it is Brown, the author, speaking and using the references or the references themselves. You're a sharp guy Paolo and since I believe this, I'm going to just copy it and let you think on it. I won't put my interpretation to it, in your sense of being, or my own or anybody else's.
Norman O. Brown "Love's Body"
Chapter V: Person
page 91, second paragraph.
It is all psychodrama. The symptom is a dramatized wish; neurosis endows reality with a specialized meaning and a secret significance. "'I have a little dog and they want to take it away from me." "The dog is was his disease, his personality, and his penis." Sickness is all shamming, role-playing, acting-out. And so is therapy; in the transference, the patient is acting out, reenacting, new editions of old conflicts. Social groups are theatrical groups, for group therapy.
Roheim, "Magic and Schizophrenia", 101; cf. 10.
Cf. Freud, "Loose of Reality in Neurosis and Psychosis," 282; "Recollection, Repetition, and Working Through," 369.
And, of course, this is taken out of context for Browns intent, under this chapter alone. And the reviews for it, the book, got it wrong, my belief. It's a cool book for me, because I can open almost any page and just pick a part, paragraphs that stand alone, and have food for thought, which, of course, sets my spirals of thoughts off in a million different ways at about Mach 3. I have never read it cover to cover, although that is a lie. The truth is I don't know how many times I have read it, but never forward to finish since I first got my first copy back in, about, 1970. One thing I do know, I'll never finish it. And James Joyce didn't even write it.
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Just enjoy what you do, as best you can, and let the dog out once in a while.
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