Dead Poet


No, no, no, it’s worse. Love distorts things.
Or even worse, love is something you’ve never asked for.

The erotic was something I asked for, or even demanded of men. But this idiotic love. I felt humiliated by it and all the dishonesty that follows. The erotic is about saying yes. Love appeals to our lowest instincts wrapped up in lies. How do you say yes when you mean no? And vice versa.

I’m ashamed of what I became but it was beyond my control.


Joe (Nymphomaniac Vol. I) when told “love is blind” (via flesh-mechanics)

"There’s a lot of sex shown in “Nymphomaniac,” but von Trier’s depiction of sex acts is blandly pneumatic, mechanical, virtually effortless, and filmed as casually and as indifferently as is the rest of the action. There’s no metaphysic, no mystery, no intricacy, no thrill to his sense of sex. The very notion of pleasure itself is one that escapes him.

The core fantasy is of a woman who is man’s random source of pleasure and who, when she withholds herself from manhood at large because of her emotional bonds (or would take other action resulting from those bonds), von Trier sees fit to punish her for it, brutally. And the woman finds that punishment just and apt, not requiring redress of any sort. What’s more, von Trier covers his tracks with a flourish of feminist rhetoric to defend Joe’s and all women’s freedom—even as he defines that freedom strictly in his own terms of constant libertine availability and doesn’t grant women the freedom to pursue anything else, not as long as there are men in need."

"Love her? You’re devoid of all feeling. You lack common decency. You know how to express yourself. You always have just the right words. There’s just one thing you haven’t the slightest clue about: life itself. You’re a craven coward, but a genius at evasions and excuses."