Team Murder No Brain No Headache.


Death To False Metal

Damn it. I woke up this morning to find Derrida dead. I've only become acquainted with his methodology over the past couple of years above and beyond the "ridiculous" label that many in academic circles have branded his work with. In example many of his arguments were pretty compelling and, if nothing else, his approach made people really think about some of the words they used in writing. Consider Deconstructionism in tandem with intertextuality and you're about an active a reader as a person could hope to be. To pretend that readers don't read things into a text and writers do not write unintentional bits of themselves into is being a bit more ambitious about your critical faculties than I'm willing to do. Like any other philosophy commonly rolled up and smoked as literary criticism I'm not sure I entirely buy into it but I've thought a lot more about things that I'm reading in translation with his ideas in mind.

The eulogizing is, of course, tedious. There is a pretty funny column in Time about spending a little time with the man that would probably be more affirming or whatever it is that eulogies are supposed to do. He was a difficult person working on difficult topics that were unpopular with many. Just think about the stand off between Deconstructionism and fundamentalist Christianity and headaches loom imminent. Thanks for all the headaches, man.

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