Most of my reading is rereading.
I perceive value, I confer value, I create value, I even create — or guarantee — existence. Hence, my compulsion to make lists. The things (Beethoven's music, movies, business firms) won't exist unless I signify my interest in them by at least noting down their names.
Reading usually precedes writing. And the impulse to write is almost always fired by reading. Reading, the love of reading, is what makes you dream of becoming a writer.
Indeed, the very first acknowledgment (as far as I am aware) of the attraction of mutilated bodies occurs in a founding description of mental conflict. It is a passage in The Republic, Book IV, where Plato's Socrates describes how our reason may be overwhelmed by an unworthy desire, which drives the self to become angry with a part of its nature.
One criticizes in others what one recognizes and despises in oneself. For example, an artist who is revolted by another's ambitiousness.
In NY sensuality completely turns into sexuality - no objects for the senses to respond to, no beautiful river, houses, people. Awful smells of the street, and dirt... Nothing except eating, if that, and the frenzy of the bed.