What does it mean to be aggressive? There’s something you
want, so you ask for it.
Something I want—a lover, a job, a publication.
There’s always the question, do I really want them?
With love, I want the other to love me, but I don’t really
want to fuck them.
Why does it always seem that aggression would destroy
paradise?
Sweet collaborative flirty relationship—for me to be
aggressive would kill it.
Sweet writing activity—submission and performance a
completely different brain process. I couldn’t just indolently admire myself
anymore.
So now I have to read “Ode on Indolence.” Keats is ambivalent
about love, ambition, and poesy. He rejects them, choosing indolence.
Keats sends love, ambition, and poesy (the three urn
figures) away because "I yet have visions for the night/And for the day faint
visions there is store.”
But for me, love and poetry are forms of indolence, and aggressive ambition is counter to them.
That’s why the aggressive sex act is inimical to love, and
why performance and submission are inimical to poetry.
Odd that sex turns out to be a superego imperative. It
shouldn’t be.
