DIVISION REVIEW DIVISION A QUARTERLY PSYCHOANALYTIC FORUM
A QUARTERLY PSYCHOANALYTIC FORUM
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ROSENFIELD | Of Zombies, Preppers, and Bastions
Insight or Relationship?
NASO | Madeira
VIVONA | Diamond & Christian
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The Abyss of Madness
Finding Oneself in a Sentence
ARNOLD | Atwood
WILSON | Moss
MAX SCHUR LIPKOWITZ
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SEIDEN | Stallings
HEGARTY | Not Passed Over in Silence
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ZEAVIN | I kept thinking that I should make soup.
Initiating Psychoanalysis
Killing McVeigh
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NO.8 SUMMER 2013
BOULANGER | Katrina Brain
HARRIS | “We Built This City on Rock and Roll”
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NO.8 SUMMER 2013
FRIED | Reith, Lagerlof, Crick, Moller & Skale
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“Nothing, My Lord”
LICHTENSTEIN | Webster
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Therapies
PROUT | Safran
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“We Built This City on Rock and Roll” Three days after Hurricane Sandy arrived, devastating and enigmatic in New York City and its surroundings, my grandson Jake and I walk out onto a darkened street in Greenwich Village. We are determined to reconstitute the disrupted holiday of Halloween. He (7½) is dressed as a “zombie gangster,” decked out in gear we had purchased earlier in the month at the divinely creative monster costume store on Broadway and 10th Street. His face is ghoulishly grey and festooned with fake gore. He sports handcuffs, a zoot suit, a black fedora, and a strange set of chains around his legs and shoulders. We are carrying bags of candy to give out to people on the street, our inspiration to reverse the usual
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CASTELLANO | Baitz
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Adrienne HARRIS, Guest Editor
“trick or treat” regimen, and also sidestep the absence of working elevators, traffic lights, and welcoming households. The streets are dark and eerie, mostly empty. There is an occasional slow-moving car. Yet, it is pleasing to see that those few idling cars slow down; people roll down windows and shout “cool costume dude” as we walk the blocks around Washington Square spreading sugar and cheer to the slow-moving, scattered, and somewhat stunned-looking passersby on the street. I realize, as we are walking, that Jake is singing, quietly but insistently. I lean closer and hear: “We built this city on rock and roll.” Repeated, rhythmically and very sweetly, as we traverse the dark village
streets. I have a moment of addled ’70s reverie. I cannot initially remember the name of the band, wondering, for a moment, if it is about Detroit, another ruined city. Maybe it’s by Bob Segar. But no, it’s a song by Jefferson Starship and it is variously thought to be about San Francisco or NYC. We walk through the dark and quiet spaces. Branches are lying on the curb. There are families on a Greenwich Village street on their stoop. Kids are stopping for candy. It is normal. It is the new normal. Slowly all of us in NYC, including those reduced to radio and therefore without icons or imagery, apprehend that a series of huge walls of water swamped Chelsea galleries,
Official publication of Division of Psychoanalysis (39) of the American Psychological Association