The Very Dead And The Very End
As if to prove my points in my previous post, that:
(1) I have fulfilled (and served) my term,
(2) to showcase my de-term-ination to terminate,
(3) it has been determined, finally, and deferred, delayed no longer,
(4) it is the end of the repeatable and repeatability,
(5) age of aporia is over
He is conveniently dead. No need to agonise over the traces, the surpluses and the excesses. No need for excuses on his behalf. They can stop, have to stop, with the silent violence of his death (due to cancer). There is always no more remainder, no additional and the unaccounted for that I have to analyse. It is a good, timely sign that tells me I am doing right.
No need to understand, no need to assume and therefore no need for the absence, the lack, the gap, the chasm. No guilt in its imagined lacuna (it has been un-imagined)in order to project closure and containment. Henceforth, there is only Presence. No Absence, no absence that results in an exclusion and omission of something, the something as necessarily and permanently missing from interpretation. There is Freedom from anticipating, pre-empting and restoring what has been exiled and banished. I do not have to save The World. For there is a Center and Origin. No Rupture, no Rift, only The End, Gloriously Full and Whole and Final.
Of course, it will be a very different thing altogether if I were to pen an academic eulogy for this man whom I have studied about and studied under another who have known him.
But still, since the man who claims that "meaning is context bound and context is boundless" is dead, he put a physical cap on a context that we live in and I find it supremely comforting that his death occurred right after my decision to End It All. There can be an End, reflected by the man who had boo-ed at it. With that, the so-called potentially infinite future as well as an infinite past that was never anyone’s present becomes the closure and containment for my absolute contentment at a wise action taken, circumscribing any contention I might otherwise have, With the Death, Without the End.
Long live The Very Dead, The Very End, and that I have come to reaching The Very Deadest End with him.
Addendum: Derrida is getting a little of his own back at me via our local newspaper from his grave, as if he knew of my mocking piece on his theories and how I have travestied (and subverted) them just to prove my own selfish points. If you flip to L5 of Straits Times today and see one entire page dedicated to Col comfort, that's one of the laidback places he brought me to in our second last (ever) outing. Where we shared the nasi goreng and horfun and had ginger beer. Hateful, isn't it. Well Derrida, I concede that there will be things coming back to haunt, but darling, that doesn't refute the fact that I'm gonna close doors on the both of you.
(1) I have fulfilled (and served) my term,
(2) to showcase my de-term-ination to terminate,
(3) it has been determined, finally, and deferred, delayed no longer,
(4) it is the end of the repeatable and repeatability,
(5) age of aporia is over
He is conveniently dead. No need to agonise over the traces, the surpluses and the excesses. No need for excuses on his behalf. They can stop, have to stop, with the silent violence of his death (due to cancer). There is always no more remainder, no additional and the unaccounted for that I have to analyse. It is a good, timely sign that tells me I am doing right.
No need to understand, no need to assume and therefore no need for the absence, the lack, the gap, the chasm. No guilt in its imagined lacuna (it has been un-imagined)in order to project closure and containment. Henceforth, there is only Presence. No Absence, no absence that results in an exclusion and omission of something, the something as necessarily and permanently missing from interpretation. There is Freedom from anticipating, pre-empting and restoring what has been exiled and banished. I do not have to save The World. For there is a Center and Origin. No Rupture, no Rift, only The End, Gloriously Full and Whole and Final.
Of course, it will be a very different thing altogether if I were to pen an academic eulogy for this man whom I have studied about and studied under another who have known him.
But still, since the man who claims that "meaning is context bound and context is boundless" is dead, he put a physical cap on a context that we live in and I find it supremely comforting that his death occurred right after my decision to End It All. There can be an End, reflected by the man who had boo-ed at it. With that, the so-called potentially infinite future as well as an infinite past that was never anyone’s present becomes the closure and containment for my absolute contentment at a wise action taken, circumscribing any contention I might otherwise have, With the Death, Without the End.
Long live The Very Dead, The Very End, and that I have come to reaching The Very Deadest End with him.
Addendum: Derrida is getting a little of his own back at me via our local newspaper from his grave, as if he knew of my mocking piece on his theories and how I have travestied (and subverted) them just to prove my own selfish points. If you flip to L5 of Straits Times today and see one entire page dedicated to Col comfort, that's one of the laidback places he brought me to in our second last (ever) outing. Where we shared the nasi goreng and horfun and had ginger beer. Hateful, isn't it. Well Derrida, I concede that there will be things coming back to haunt, but darling, that doesn't refute the fact that I'm gonna close doors on the both of you.
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