It Would Appear That Love Is Dead.

The Great Mass Of Women Throughout History Have Been Confined To The Cultural Level Of Animal Life In Providing The Male With Sexual Outlet And Exercising The Animal Functions Of Reproduction And Care Of The Young.

In Sex One Wants Or Does Not Want. And The Grief, The Sorrow Of Life Is That One Cannot Make Or Coerce Or Persuade The Wanting, Cannot Command It, Cannot Request It By Mail Order Or Finagle It Through Bureaucratic Channels.

It Would Appear That Love Is Dead. Or Very Likely In A Bad Way.

During Depression The World Disappears. Language Itself. One Has Nothing To Say. Nothing. No Small Talk, No Anecdotes. Nothing Can Be Risked On The Board Of Talk. Because The Inner Voice Is So Urgent In Its Own Discourse: How Shall I Live? How Shall I Manage The Future? Why Should I Go On?

This Is How Psychiatry Has Functioned-as A Kind Of Property Arm Of The Government, Who Can Put You Away If Your Husband Doesn't Like You.