如果你工作一天后想要放松、入睡或仅仅只是想迷失在一个闲适的故事里，那就听听我们吧。这个播客的目的就是用轻声细语的读书声帮助你放松，入睡。
This podcast aims to help you relax through the soft spoken reading.
If you are looking to ralax after a long day at work ,trying to fall asleep or just want to get lost in relaxing story, We are here to help.
Historically, thediscourse of absence is carried on bythe Woman :
Woman is sedentary,Man hunts, journeys;
Woman is faithful (she waits ), man is fickle(he sails away, he cruises) .
It is Woman who gives shape to absence, elaborates its fiction, for she has time to do so;
she weaves and she sings; the Spinning Songs express both immobility (by thehum of theWheel ) and absence (far away, rhythms oftravel, sea surges,cavalcades ).
It follows that in any man who utters the other's absence something feminineis declared:
thisman who waits and who suffers fromhis waiting is miraculously feminized.
A man is not feminized because he is inverted butbecause he is in love.
Sometimes I haveno difficulty enduring absence. Then I am “normal”: I fall in with the way"everyone" endures the departure of a "beloved person"; Idiligently obey the training by which I was very early accustomed to beseparated from my mother- which nonetheless remained, at its source, a matterof suffering (not to say hysteria) . I behave as a well-weaned subject; I canfeed myself, meanwhile, on other things besides the maternal breast.
This endured absence is nothing more or less than forgetfulness. I am, intermittently, unfaithful.This is the conditionof my survival; for if I did not forget, I shoulddie. Thelover who doesn't forgetsometimesdies ofexcess, exhaustion,and tension of memory (like Werther).
(As a child, I didn'tforget: interminable days, abandoneddays, when the Mother was working far away; I wouldgo, evenings, to waitfor her at the Ubi. bus stop, Sevres-Babylone; the buses would pass one afterthe other, she wasn't in any of them.)
Endlessly I sustainthe discourse of thebeloved's absence; actually a preposterous situation; the other is absentas referent, present as allocutory. Thissingular distortion generatesa kindof insupportablepresent ; Iam wedged between two tenses,that of thereference and that of the allocution: you have gone (which I lament) , you arehere (since I am addressing you). Whereupon I know what thepresent, thatdifficult tense, is : apure portion of anxiety.
Absence persists--I must endure it. Hence I willmanipulateit: transformthe distortion of time into oscillation, produce rhythm, make an entranceon to the stage of language
(language is bornof absence: the child hasmade himself a doll out of a spool, throws it away and picks it up again , miming the mother's departureand return:a paradigm is created).
Absence becomes anactive practice,abusiness(which keeps me from doing anything else); there is a creation of a fictionwhich has many roles (doubts,reproaches, desires, melancholies). Thisstaging of language postpones the other'sdeath: a very short interval,
we are told, separatesthe time during which the child still believes his mother to be absent and the time during which he believes her to be already dead.To manipulate absence is to extend this interval, to delay as long as possible the moment when the other might topple sharply from absence into death.
Is the abyss no more thanan expedient annihilation? It would not be difficult for me toread the abyss, not as a repose, but as anemotion.
I mask my mourning by an evasion; I dilutemyself, I swoonin order to escape that density, that clogging which makes me into aresponsiblesubject: I come out: it is ecstasy.
Rue duCherche-Midi, aftera difficultevening, X was explaining very carefully, his voice exact,his sentences well-formed, farfrom anything inexpressible,that sometimes he longed to swoon; heregretted never beingable to disappear at will.
His wordswere saying that he meant then to succumb to his weakness, not to resist the wounds the world inflictedupon him; but at the same time he was substitutingfor this failing strength another strength,anotheraffirmation:
I assume toward and against everything a denial of courage,hence a denial of morality: saying.
Either woe orwell-being, sometimesI have a craving to be engulfed.This morning ( inthe country), the weather is mild, overcast. I am suffering (from someincident). The notion of suicideoccurs to me,pure of any resentment(not blackmailing anyone); an insipid notion; it alters nothing (" breaks" nothing ) , matches thecolor (the silence. the desolation) ofthis morning.
Another day, in therain, we'rewaiting for the boat at the lake; from happiness, this time,the same outburst of annihilation sweeps through me. This is howit happens sometimes, misery or joyengulfs me, without any particular tumult ensuing: nor anypathos: Iam dissolved, not
dismembered; Ifall, I flow, Imelt. Such thoughts-grazed, touched, tested(the way you test the water with your foot)--can recur.
Nothing solemnabout them.
This is exactlywhatgentlenessis.
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