when i started reading Derrida in college, i nearly shat myself. i fell right the straight fuck up in love and wondered where the man had been all my life. deconstruction this, phenomenology that, context in, structure out, words shmerds, i couldn't even believe it. everything he said made sense, i needed to marry him, and he was probably already close to dying then. anyhow, in an unrelated move, i signed up for a class on Kant that bored me to desperate tears with all the NYU kids talking nonsense philosophical smack all while endlessly amazed at how massively intellectual they earnestly believed they sounded. anyway, one day, Jacques Derrida walked in, no joke, i can't even remember why, but he did, and he walked in, stood at the front of the room and waved AT ME. the mother fucker waved at ME. that is not even a dream sequence, all of it really happened, just like that; everyone around me actually thought i knew him.
marx and engels really messed me up in those days, too. those assholes even made an atheist out of me for a moment, getting me all socialistically utopically inclined in the head. i loved them so, i kept the reader on my nightstand and read it before bed for a year straight. i am so heartily sorry that those ideas just could not work out, but what i really want to know is, what the fuck does exist outside of the text, Big Guy?
sexypants:
marx and engels really messed me up in those days, too. those assholes even made an atheist out of me for a moment, getting me all socialistically utopically inclined in the head. i loved them so, i kept the reader on my nightstand and read it before bed for a year straight. i am so heartily sorry that those ideas just could not work out, but what i really want to know is, what the fuck does exist outside of the text, Big Guy?
sexypants:
