I have felt the asphyxiating anxiety of freedom.
It surges through and interrupts the organization of the body. It flares up as if from out of nowhere and opens up a wound that decades of living has attempted to suture shut.
Freedom is the last thing I desire.
I have also now felt the asphyxiating dimension of non-freedom. It erects walls all around me that organize my desire as well as the object of my desire; walls within walls which organize the sexes, precluding them from any confrontation with their profound lack.
I have walked the streets of Montreal and Toronto and I have seen the psychoses; there, within the freedom of the sexual relationship, the lack itself is often lacking. When I claim that the ‘lack is lacking’ it is not because the lack within the symbolic (e.g., culture) is present but sublated into a union of lack and non-lack. Rather, it is because there was no lack there at all to begin with; and there was no lack at all to begin with because the symbolic did not emerge properly vis-a-vis the imaginary so as to produce this real dimension of lack.
If the lack is lacking it is because there is too much of the real. Perhaps for the neuroses the real is there in little bits which are excessive and which flare up to produce the sensation of panic or anxiety. But for the psychoses the real is there in excessive portions which come out in bits of holophrases.
I have sat in the walls of Tripoli, Lebanon, and I have not witnessed the psychoses. There is something reassuring about the culture which, while old-fashioned, nonetheless preserves the sanity of a culture. Recall that the word sanity, which, for our purposes means, simply, neurotic, is close to the word sanitation. We could not claim that there is any religion any more sane than Islam.
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