The banal in psychoanalysis

In Paris overnight, asleep in a hotel room on Rue Daguerre, right next to the cemetery in Montparnasse, I dreamt I was taken to meet de Beauvoir and Jean Paul Sartre himself. I get him to sign an old first edition copy of a book called Ego and Literature. He crosses out an ancient dedication to Anne (my mother’s name) and lectures me on being caught up with all too obvious interpretations. 4:47am 23.6.2012

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