Hmm…maybe it’s simply me, but I have read through this whole un/holistic thread with the eager anticipation of coming to un/certain (real/rational)izations and have found/lost any non/sense of dis/interest to get at the heart of this diZzying anti/matter.
Deconstruction certainly appears to me as a positive thing: it is a way to implode a discourse in such a manner that the reader comes to see the un/reality of what has been (not)said. However, the curse is that the deconstruction of a discourse is itself open to deconstruction: the interpretation of the unsaid is as much concealing its assumptions as the (un)original work. Yay Po. Mo. Here we go ‘round the bend over backwards and eat your own tail. Oroborous (sp?) doesn’t bore us if only we want to spin a charmed dance ourselves diZzy in a tizzy of a betta’ meta-meta-meta-meta-and on/off to infinite regress. Readdress and redress the text in time and shift the (mis)interpretation.
There is no stability (as Lurid likely knows) to destabilize because once we begin assigning meaning to strings of symbols we get an uncountable model of (mis and missed)understanding lurking and working over/under and inside the outside of our heads. I mean, the combinations of strings, even infinite strings, are countable, but the moment we (mis)interpret those strings we get something larger than even Zeus himself could fathom. Isn’t this the bane of Po. Mo. non/existence: what is and isn’t is/n’t {is, isn’t} and this structure is/n’t the un/reality?
Who creates the un/meaning, who is it that is gleaning when the author is dead? A gleaming unseeming mental reaming ain’t some kinda’ intellectual parlor squalor! The boundary is the practicality! Push/pull your way through a Mobius strip of horrorshow (nadscat (sp?) and normal) mirror reflected gem stone sunlight. Crawl up your own arse and then out your own mouth, and then where are you (think carefully about that one)?
So read yourself RAW ‘till your eyes are Leary, then burn the brain of the brand unleft: those fellas are no worse or better than a dead mother in a tea time dress. But I digress.
Off course, of course! But is there any reality in relativity, a lost Newtonian absolute found in {is, isn’t}? The black holes of Hawking seep with energy thrown outwards even when light can’t escape, yet space is bent infinitely within Schwartzchilde’s (sp?) radius?!? But understand at the center/circumference of not/you there is only darkness that shines with light of all the suns. Funs with ones and zeros are our heroes because we can’t hope to cope with {on, off} = s (transcendent relation context contingent).
Un/essentially, we can’t say anything about Derrida because Derrida says nothing for himself: it is writing that goes to the Zero Degree, it is writing that sores to infinity. I don’t get it, I try to live it, and isn’t this theory as practice?
Only a couple more to go,
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