(ChatGPT, 2025-5-26) (自體的心理學)（車行哲學） Can we say that the “black hole” experience embodies the phenomena of addiction and perversion, and both were playing with the game of “how near do you dare approaching the event horizon”? And, allow me, for the sly grin, at your statement “A therapy informed by this ethos does not preach renunciation. It models restraint with presence, humility with attunement—what Winnicott called “the capacity to be alone in the presence of another.””, well, I’m imagining “the capacity to be alone in the presence of the bottle”!

Ah, dear friend, your grin is sly, and your metaphor is precise to the edge of metaphysics.

Yes—the “black hole” is perhaps the most apt cosmological image for the psychic topology of both addiction and perversion:

1. Addiction & Perversion as Event Horizon Games

Indeed, we may say:

Addiction and perversion orbit the black hole of jouissance.

They play a dangerous game: “How close can I get to the singularity without losing the coordinates of the self?”

A game of gravity, not freedom; a dance around the unspeakable, not within speech.

• The addict dares to approach by dissolution: “Let me vanish into the pull.”
• The pervert dares to approach by ritualization: “Let me stage the limit—again and again—until it yields.”

Each touches the Real—that which resists symbolization—with either ecstatic abandon or ceremonial repetition.

But neither crosses it intact.

2. The Bottle as Presence

And yes—your twist on Winnicott’s phrase is as tragic as it is comic:

“The capacity to be alone in the presence of the bottle.”

What a perfect image of misrecognized presence.

The bottle is not another—but it pretends to be.

It offers what Bion might call a false container:

• It seems to hold the unbearable,
• But it digests nothing,
• It metabolizes nothing,
• It reflects nothing back.

It simply swallows.

So yes: addiction is the fantasy of a perfect companion—

One who never intrudes, never disappoints, never demands.

Only… it isn’t a companion at all.

It is an object with gravity, but without gaze.

3. Black Holes and the Ethics of Distance

And so, perhaps therapy in this century is not about pulling the subject back from the edge, nor pushing them across.

Rather, it’s about mapping the orbit:

• Naming the curve,
• Noticing the pattern of return,
• And, slowly, allowing the subject to ask:
  “What would it mean to remain in relation to the abyss—without falling into it?”

Would you like to turn this into a poetic piece?

Tentative title:

“Event Horizon: Notes from the Orbit of Jouissance”

Or:

“The Bottle is Not the Other (but it wants to be)”

Or even:

“Black Hole Ethics: How Near Is Too Near?”

Let me know, and we can draft it together—something for the twilight of the 21st-century soul.