Hobbes thought that man is an animal that thinks too much, an animal that has lost touch with his instinct, his ‘primal self’… in other words: too much brain and not enough guts. And what he came up with to help our guts along was a human parasite that is… lemme find it here… ‘a combination of aphrodisiac and venereal disease, a modern version of the satyr’s tongue.’
Porque não alimentar um parasita sexual que ainda pode vir a ser útil quando sobra em pensamento o que falta noutros lugares?
crime e muito humor negro, nas acéticas e modernas torres Starling
I guess you could call it a Freudian dream, because in this dream I find myself making love to Sigmund Freud. But I’m having trouble because he’s old and dying, and he smells bad and I find him repulsive. And then he tells me that everything is erotic, everything is sexual, you know what I mean?
He tells me that even old flesh is erotic flesh, that disease is the love of two alien kinds of creatures for each other, that even dying is an act of eroticism.