psmv6: Fake 199

Picked up from an advertisement on a train. An Arterio train with irritating announcements no less. I note in passing that the scheme advertised last year and noticed at reference 2 for giving them all names seems to have died. I have not seen a name on one of these trains for a while now.

It seems that they have faked up the Sistine Chapel in a facility in America Square, a little to the north of the Tower of London - and given that it is unlikely that we will ever get to see the real thing, we are now booked to go. See references 3 and 4.

Possibly in the repurposed office block snapped above from Street View, tucked in next to the railway lines leading into Fenchurch Street. We will find out whether the nearby 'Angel', more or less across the road and possibly a listed building, caters to the City boys or to the supporting blue collars.

On another matter, I noticed a psycho-analyst's definition of mourning at reference 6:

'to accept a fact in the external world (the loss of the cathected object) and to effect corresponding changes in the inner world (withdrawal of libido from the lost object)'.

This definition is said to be found at reference 7. Now while I have got hold of a copy of reference 8, the best offer for reference 7 was £41 from Taylor & Francis, which is rather too much. Maybe I will get myself to UCL and use their library, which would work out a bit cheaper. But maybe not, as this would involve diving into an ancient psychoanalytic debate, from the days when psychoanalysts were a lot more mainstream than they are now. Which would all be rather heavy going.

Whereas this morning I woke to a dream. Not relevant here, but a dream in two parts, first being mixed up in some important, HM Treasury flavoured meetings in the US. Second, going out into the town concerned, a town which, as well as a modern business district, included a lot of factories and several blast furnaces, and where I managed to get into a muddle about which side of the road I was driving and take a hire car out of service. Nobody hurt. What is relevant is that, as I woke up, all this seemed terribly real and important. I was worrying about how to recover from the hire car situation in the absence of both cell phone and the name of the hire care company. A hire car which was sometimes one of those green plastic hire bikes that you get all over London (reference 9). What is relevant is that, as I woke up, the brain gradually realised that all this was nonsense and was gradually able to disengage from it. No doubt, without the present post, it would have all been forgotten in fairly short order.

I am now wondering whether this process encapsulates, in rather short order, what happens when mourning the loss of some significant other. The brain does not necessarily need to forget, but it does need to detach the dream from its sources of emotional power. It needs to be neutered, neutralised. More thought needed. Maybe I will take a look at reference 8 after all, now that I have got one.

PS 1: the dream also involved fine views over the town in question from an elevated position, views which one was unlikely to get in real life, but which one might pick up from a newspaper. Or perhaps from the elevated portion of the railway track running into London Bridge?