WWhat we do, or tend to do, with the thoughts we have but can’t agree with?
Freud gave us a language to redescribe these moments of stray thought, these spots of distraught time, in which we are unable to pigeonhole and padlock our more disagreeable reflections:
we are as good as talking to ourselves because for some reason we can’t speak these thoughts to others.
I am being addressed, but who is addressing me? I am talking to myself but who exactly is doing the talking, the strangely silent talking we call thinking;
and who, perhaps more perplexingly, is the listener when we are talking to ourselves?
Freud gave us a language to redescribe these moments of stray thought, these spots of distraught time, in which we are unable to pigeonhole and padlock our more disagreeable reflections:
we are as good as talking to ourselves because for some reason we can’t speak these thoughts to others.
I am being addressed, but who is addressing me? I am talking to myself but who exactly is doing the talking, the strangely silent talking we call thinking;
and who, perhaps more perplexingly, is the listener when we are talking to ourselves?
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