I’m a late bloomer. My birth as a philosopher is yet a long way off. Stay with me for a while longer.
Derrida writes in a way that is inaccessibly beautiful describing the historicity (possibly) of structure, sign, and play. There’s an immediacy about his writing that reminds me of Foucault. This writing brings me to life as I bring the writing to life. Free from the weight of the past and the constraints of my history.
I’m glad I don’t understand. It would mess it all up if I did.
