Tuesday, 17 July 2007

Id-ridden

What follows might suggest that I have lodged, once and for all, in the internetian digestive system's deepest, dankest, darkest intestinal pocket. It might imply an abuse both of my wireless internet access, my leisure hours, and my right to self-determination. But be not deceived, my learned colleagues: what follows is perhaps the greatest empirical study conducted on behalf of psychoanalysis since Sigmund Freud attempted to determine the effects of cocaine on seasickness by hopping into a dinghy with a little plastic zip-lock bag full of talcum powder and inhaling deeply.

So, the wisdoms of Captain Freud. They go something like this: you've got this "Id", see - it's your inner toe-tappin' dilettante-about-town - and then you've got your Superego - it's your inner form prefect, reminding you not to eat in the library - and then there's your Ego, which in my opinion confuses what would otherwise be a pleasingly symmetrical binary. For decades, psychoanalysts have wantonly worn the nape off many a velveteen chaise longue trying to determine whether the Id or the Superego prevails in any given psychoanalytic subject. They have asked questions, probed deeply, tried to ascertain whether the subject would still choose to murder his octopus and sweep with his mother rather than knuckle down at the office and do the dishes. This is a very difficult thing to ascertain indeed, so that the subject has had to remain with his analyst for the rest of his life - and sometimes the transference isn't marvellous - and the healthcare rebates tend to peter out very quickly in the absence of a firm diagnosis.

I believe what follows is a revolutionary new measure that will simplify and speed-up the analytic process. I call it Psycho-Scrabbalysis. You pit the Superego against the Id, throw 'em some tiles, see who wins, and seek out expressions of repressed libidinal energy in the resultant wordplays.

"Covert", "ragoo", and "hoot", for instance: I'm not sure if I could be any clearer in polite company.

What you see above is the initial stage of my own Psycho-Scrabbalysis. As you will observe, my Superego is thrashing my Id, which will surprise those of you who are aware that I should be writing next week's lectures.

Um. Yes.

7 comments:

emmy said...

Is that id doing the dishes? Can't be.

alexis said...

Smashing them on the floor, more like.

St John Nottlesby said...

What about Mr Id, the famous talking horse - or is he famous for talking horshit? And just who is "Wilbur"?

Tim said...

Gee, Alexis, how do you get the energy for your blog? I look at yours, and I look at mine, and I think: will I ever be able to write anything else? Probably not. I think I should be writing this in an email, but I couldn't be bothered doing that either.
T

alexis said...

What can I say, Tim? At crastinating I am pro.

(Also helps that I have no quality control mechanism.)

alexis said...

St John, my family's beagle is called Wilbur, so I think of him before I think of any talking horse wrangler. Our Wilbur's a nice dog, and keen to fit in, but definitely going full steam ahead with the pleasure principle.

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