to something [ ] The proper name only resonates, and at the same time is instantly lost, at the moment it becomes

its own remains, when it is broken, scrambled, or jammed by its contact with the signature. (Jacques Derrida, Glas)4 The dream is an angel, a messenger who, in the nick of time, brings news of a word. For a long time he has been trying to take wing in order to alight on a confused and nameless situation which it is the purpose of his advent to articul ate. That is how it comes about that we wake up with the word in our head, and sudden ly see everything in a new light. I realized one morning that a silver dish held out to me in a dream, then struck and violently twisted all this is taking place in Hungary was telling me that the dream was to be opened with a Hungarian key, and that the word silver spoken in Hungarian but heard in French would render it intelligible. That was the gosp el (l évangile; eu-angelion) or the annunciation of that night. The angel that explained Melanie also came from a Hungarian landscape, and brought the same kind of key. I only met Melanie Klein or Little, as that s what Klein means in German (little Melanie?) once in my life and then completely one-sidedly, at the International Congress in 1957. As she made her way through the crowd of people selling Freud medallions and distributing programmes there was something about her that reminded me of the pleasure-boats that ploughed up and down the Danube at Budapest. Her dress was like a black muslin sail, and at her breast she wore a brooch big enough for everyone to notice it and to wonder, discreetly but distin ctly, whether she was wearing it on her good breast or her bad breast. Her appearance as she entered seemed designed to emphasize both breast and blackness. As with the black sails of her dress, there was something as dark and serious about her look, like the waters of the Danube between the Black Forest and the Black Mothe r (Melanie-melanos-black ship?). She did not know me: I was reading her work, but I did not have the courage to speak to her. If I had done it would certainly have been in Hungarian, as I knew she had spent a number of years in Hungary.5 I woul d have felt awkward at embarrassing her with what might have been inappropriate memories there at the Congress, when she was about to explain, in Vienneseinflec ted English, that under the influence of the death drive, in phantasy, and by all the means sadism could devise, babies attacked the breast. It did not occur to me that death would claim Melanie so soon, three years after that Congress, in 1960 and right under her brooch, in her heart without my having had a chance to talk to her. I was thirty-two, she was seventy-five. Yet I must have had some presentiment of it, because as I listened to her I kept think ing the same thing. If some Herculean arm would only brush aside the medallion merchants and the showmen of holy writ, I would go up to the boat and rock it with the words I so much wanted to say: What was the Danube like when you crossed it to visit Ferenczi? Melanie of the Danube, Melanie of the Stomach, Melanie of the Penis, Melanie of the Breast what is your real name? to something [ ] T he proper name only resonates, and at the same time is instantly lost, at the moment it becomes its own remains, when it is broken, scrambled, or jammed by its contact with the signature. (Jacques Derrida, Glas)4 The dream is an angel, a messenger who, in the nick of time, brings news of a

babies attacked the breast. in 1960 and right under her brooch. that under the influence of the death drive. or jammed by its contact with the signature. For a long time he has been trying to take wing in order to alight on a confused and nameless situation which it is the purpose of his advent to articul ate. The angel that explained Melanie also came from a Hungarian landscape. in her heart without my having had a chance to talk to her. As with the black sails of her dress. She did not know me: I was reading her work. in phantasy. in Vienneseinflec ted English. and brought the same kind of key. I realized one morning that a silver dish held out to me in a dream. and that the word silver spoken in Hungarian but heard in French would render it intelligible. when it is broken. a messenger who. Her dress was like a black muslin sail. at the moment it becomes its own remains. Glas)4 The dream is an angel. and at her breast she wore a brooch big enough for everyone to notice it and to wonder. brings news of a word. and sudden ly see everything in a new light. It did not occur to me that death would claim Melanie so soon. and by all the means sadism could devise. That is how it comes about that we wake up with the word in our head. If I had done it would certainly have been in Hungarian. scrambled.5 I woul d have felt awkward at embarrassing her with what might have been inappropriate memories there at the Congress. I was thirty-two. as I knew she had spent a number of years in Hungary. As she made her way through the crowd of people selling Freud medallions and distributing programmes there was something about her that reminded me of the pleasure-boats that ploughed up and down the Danube at Budapest. Yet I must have had some presentiment of it. For a long time he has been trying to take wing in order to alight on a confused and nameless situation which it is the purpose of his advent to articul ate. (Jacques Derrida. at the International Congress in 1957. because as I listened to her I kept think ing the same thing. I only met Melanie Klein or Little. If some Herculean arm would only brush aside the medallion merchants and the showmen of holy writ. there was something as dark and serious about her look. then struck and violently twisted all this is taking place in Hungary was telling me that the dream was to be opened with a Hungarian key. and at the same time is instantly lost. discreetly but distin ctly. as that s what Klein means in German (little Melanie?) once in my life and then completely one-sidedly. like the waters of the Danube between the Black Forest and the Black Mothe r (Melanie-melanos-black ship?). but I did not have the courage to speak to her. I realized one morning that a silver dish held out to me in a dream. whether she was wearing it on her good breast or her bad breast. That is how it comes about that we wake up with the word in our head.word. and sudden ly see everything in a new light. I would go up to the boat to something [ ] The proper name only resonates. then struck and . in the nick of time. she was seventy-five. Her appearance as she entered seemed designed to emphasize both breast and blackness. three years after that Congress. eu-angelion) or the annunciation of that night. when she was about to explain. That was the gosp el (l évangile.

that under the influence of the death drive. three years after that Congress. when she was about to explain. eu-angelion) or the annunciation of that night. she was seventy-five. discreetly but distin ctly. She did not know me: I was reading her work. whether she was wearing it on her good breast or her bad breast. It did not occur to me that death would claim Melanie so soon. Yet I must have had some presentiment of it. and sudden ly see everything in a new light. and that the word silver spoken in Hungarian but heard in French would render it intelligible. as that s what Klein means in German (little Melanie?) once in my life and then completely one-sidedly. like the waters of the Danube between the Black Forest and the Black Mothe r (Melanie-melanos-black ship?). and that the word silver spoken in Hungarian but heard in French would render it intelligible. in her heart without my having had a chance to talk to her. when it is broken. a messenger who. I was thirty-two. I would go up to the boat and rock it with the words I so much wanted to say: What was the Danube like when you crossed it to visit Ferenczi? Melanie of the Danube. in phantasy. The angel that explained Melanie also came from a Hungarian landscape. As with the black sails of her dress. eu-angelion) or the annunciation of that night. there was something as dark and serious about her look. scrambled. and brought the same kind of key. I only met Melanie Klein or Little. I realized one morning that a silver dish held out to me in a dream.violently twisted all this is taking place in Hungary was telling me that the dream was to be opened with a Hungarian key. and at the same time is instantly lost. in 1960 and right under her brooch. or jammed by its contact with the signature. If I had done it would certainly have been in Hungarian. as I knew she had spent a number of years in Hungary. babies attacked the breast. Melanie of the Stomach. then struck and violently twisted all this is taking place in Hungary was telling me that the dream was to be opened with a Hungarian key. As she made her way through the crowd of people selling Freud medallions and distributing programmes there was something about her that reminded me of the pleasure-boats that ploughed up and down the Danube at Budapest. and at her breast she wore a brooch big enough for everyone to notice it and to wonder. Glas)4 The dream is an angel. Her appearance as she entered seemed designed to emphasize both breast and blackness. That was the gosp el (l évangile. because as I listened to her I kept think ing the same thing. (Jacques Derrida. at the moment it becomes its own remains. That is how it comes about that we wake up with the word in our head. in the nick of time. and by all the means sadism could devise. at the International Congress in 1957. in Vienneseinflec ted English. Melanie of the Penis. but I did not have the courage to speak to her. Her dress was like a black muslin sail.5 I woul d have felt awkward at embarrassing her with what might have been inappropriate memories there at the Congress. If some Herculean arm would only brush aside the medallion merchants and the showmen of holy writ. Melanie of the Breast what is your real name? to something [ ] T he proper name only resonates. For a long time he has been trying to take wing in order to alight on a confused and nameless situation which it is the purpose of his advent to articul ate. brings news of a word. The angel that . That was the gosp el (l évangile.

a messenger who. and sudden ly see everything in a new light. in phantasy. I would go up to the boat and rock it with the words I so much wanted to say: What was the Danube like when you crossed it to visit Ferenczi? Melanie of the Danube. at the International Congress in 1957. Yet I must have had some presentiment of it. at the International Congress in 1957. as that s what Klein means in German (little Melanie?) once in my life and then completely one-sidedly. Melanie of the Penis. babies attacked the breast. brings news of a word. That is how it comes about that we wake up with the word in our head. at the moment it becomes its own remains. and brought the same kind of key. in her heart without my having had a chance to talk to her. As she made her way through the crowd of people . as I knew she had spent a number of years in Hungary. because as I listened to her I kept think ing the same thing. If I had done it would certainly have been in Hungarian. there was something as dark and serious about her look. but I did not have the courage to speak to her. whether she was wearing it on her good breast or her bad breast. or jammed by its contact with the signature. and that the word silver spoken in Hungarian but heard in French would render it intelligible. and by all the means sadism could devise. Melanie of the Breast what is your real name? to something [ ] T he proper name only resonates. when it is broken. like the waters of the Danube between the Black Forest and the Black Mothe r (Melanie-melanos-black ship?). when she was about to explain. in Vienneseinflec ted English. Melanie of the Stomach. and brought the same kind of key. I was thirty-two. For a long time he has been trying to take wing in order to alight on a confused and nameless situation which it is the purpose of his advent to articul ate. eu-angelion) or the annunciation of that night. as that s what Klein means in German (little Melanie?) once in my life and then completely one-sidedly. Glas)4 The dream is an angel. she was seventy-five. It did not occur to me that death would claim Melanie so soon. in the nick of time. I only met Melanie Klein or Little.5 I woul d have felt awkward at embarrassing her with what might have been inappropriate memories there at the Congress. If some Herculean arm would only brush aside the medallion merchants and the showmen of holy writ. As she made her way through the crowd of people selling Freud medallions and distributing programmes there was something about her that reminded me of the pleasure-boats that ploughed up and down the Danube at Budapest. Her dress was like a black muslin sail. I only met Melanie Klein or Little. in 1960 and right under her brooch.explained Melanie also came from a Hungarian landscape. That was the gosp el (l évangile. scrambled. As with the black sails of her dress. three years after that Congress. and at the same time is instantly lost. that under the influence of the death drive. She did not know me: I was reading her work. I realized one morning that a silver dish held out to me in a dream. then struck and violently twisted all this is taking place in Hungary was telling me that the dream was to be opened with a Hungarian key. discreetly but distin ctly. The angel that explained Melanie also came from a Hungarian landscape. Her appearance as she entered seemed designed to emphasize both breast and blackness. and at her breast she wore a brooch big enough for everyone to notice it and to wonder. (Jacques Derrida.

three years after that Congress.5 I woul d have felt awkward at embarrassing her with what might have been inappropriate memories there at the Congress. because as I listened to her I kept think ing the same thing. like the waters of the Danube between the Black Forest and the Black Mothe r (Melanie-melanos-black ship?). As with the black sails of her dress. babies attacked the breast. If some Herculean arm would only brush aside the medallion merchants and the showmen of holy writ. Melanie of the Breast what is your real name? rock it with the words I so much wanted to say: What was the Danube like when you crossed it to visit Ferenczi? Melanie of the Danube. discreetly but distin ctly. and by all the means sadism could devise. when she was about to explain. as I knew she had spent a number of years in Hungary. I would go up to the boat and rock it with the words I so much wanted to say: What was the Danube like when you crossed it to visit Ferenczi? Melanie of the Danube. and at her breast she wore a brooch big enough for everyone to notice it and to wonder.selling Freud medallions and distributing programmes there was something about her that reminded me of the pleasure-boats that ploughed up and down the Danube at Budapest. Yet I must have had some presentiment of it. in 1960 and right under her brooch. She did not know me: I was reading her work. Melanie of the Penis. in phantasy. she was seventy-five. Melanie of the Stomach. If I had done it would certainly have been in Hungarian. but I did not have the courage to speak to her. whether she was wearing it on her good breast or her bad breast. that under the influence of the death drive. I was thirty-two. Melanie of the Stomach. in Vienneseinflec ted English. in her heart without my having had a chance to talk to her. there was something as dark and serious about her look. It did not occur to me that death would claim Melanie so soon. Her dress was like a black muslin sail. Melanie of the Penis. Melanie of the Breast what is your real name? . Her appearance as she entered seemed designed to emphasize both breast and blackness.

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