this is getting kinda insane in the membrane. we had a barbecue the other day and there were some psychoanalysts there and i brought up this topic. and they kind of contradicted frommy, quoting saint augustine, who said
post coitus homo animal triste
meaning,
every animal is sad after coitus.
upon reflection, i can't accept this statement! because i, for one, usually feel pretty darn fine after sex. (sleepy maybe, also perhaps in need of a cigarette, but generally pretty good).
and anyway: what would a guy like augustine know about screwing?
if there is any truth to the saying, then in respect to the way an orgasm can create the feeling of 'le petit mort' - the small death, as the french call it.
but all in all, i don't buy it. so i looked it up in the internet, and found this new, improved version:
triste est animal post coitum praeter mulierem gallumque
(every animal is sad after coitus, except the human female and the rooster),
- Galen
so what does that make me: a female, or a rooster?
Sex and depression
- mccutcheon
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Sex and depression
All answers can be found in that beautiful piece of cinema called When Harry Meet Sally. First off, who wouldn't want to make Meg Ryan come? And then there is the sex scene where Meg is all sad and lonely and Billy Crystal comes over to comfort her and it leads to their first screw and she is ecstatic about it and beaming and he just wants to leave. After I come I feel like storming a castle. Some girls like to snuggle. I think the little death comes from the burst of life that precludes it. who knows, all I know is that Meg is so good at faking the orgasm.
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Sex and depression
My Beautiful Leah
Did you see her walking?
Did she come around here, Sir?
Black hair, brown eyes
My beautiful Leah
She was always so needing
Said, "I have no-one"
Even as I held her
She went out looking for someone
She only had nightmares,
And her sadness never lifted
And slowly over the years
Her lovely face twisted
Did she come around here, Sir?
I swear you would remember
Black hair, Brown eyes
Late September
October
November
December
It never leaves my mind
The last words she said
"If I don't find it this time,
Then I'm better off dead".
Did you see her walking?
Did she come around here, Sir?
Black hair, brown eyes
My beautiful Leah
She was always so needing
Said, "I have no-one"
Even as I held her
She went out looking for someone
She only had nightmares,
And her sadness never lifted
And slowly over the years
Her lovely face twisted
Did she come around here, Sir?
I swear you would remember
Black hair, Brown eyes
Late September
October
November
December
It never leaves my mind
The last words she said
"If I don't find it this time,
Then I'm better off dead".
Sex and depression
casual sex and apathy are working out just well. That is until the collectors catch up to me to stimulate depression. it's good not having a permanent address presently.