derridirred

Derrida writes, "[...] Helene Cixous means to leave all or part of her dream memoirs to the BNF" (25). The dream seems a good location from which to spin my reverie on Derrida's reverie on Cixous's reverie, read while I slipped in and out of reverie myself. Well, the first 'reverie' is a stretch of definition, but the spinning of phrasiology is inspired by the master himself. My reading of Geneses, Genealogies, Genres, & Genius occured after a weekend of little sleep, leaving me in a state of drifting consciousness. On one hand, this is the precise place from which to read this text, one so slippery in location, twirling around itself, refusing to be pinned down.

The dream as a representation of truth is slippery. It can be an archive of consciousness, translated into an order unbeknownst to us, like Borges' Chinese encyclopedia, with pieces of the day transposed with what was on TV while falling asleep, or the phrases of the text where I dozed, continuing the text in a dream-state (which sounds remarkably like Derrida's voice). I've switched pronouns, gone from collective to singular, self to other.

The notion of genius is equally slippery. If you know you're a genius, you can't possibly be a genius, unless you are trying to be an evil genius. I've heard a similar argument for coolness...