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Music to soothe your soul

Last words of the Magnificent Jacques Derrida

Alain Girard was standing in front of a bed in a posh apartment overlooking the Seine. The apartment was richly decorated with fine china, and expensive cigars, all of them looked new and unused. On the walls were numerous pictures of the owner of the apartment in strange posses. Him catching fish with Che Guevara, him watching a movie with Woody Allen, or engaged in live debate with the head of Harvard. Even though multiple people crowded the room, well-known journalists, eager students, esteemed academics, publishers businessmen and politicians to Alain this moment was absolutely life changing as before him laid the famed philosopher Jacques Derrida. He looked frail, his face pale and without vigor, and yet his eyes still had that shine... Alain was just a philosophy student, he heard Derrida speak when he was just 20. He was expecting a boring lecture, but his expectations were shattered when a man dressed in the finest suit, with a giant red bow tie entered the auditorium. Thus he started and when he spoke the crowds listened.

*"Nevertheless, up to the event which I wish to mark out and define, structure—or rather the structurality of structure—although it has always been at work, has always been neutralized or reduced, and this by a process of giving it a center or of referring it to a point of presence, a fixed origin. The function of this center was not only to orient, balance, and organize the structure—one cannot in fact conceive of an unorganized structure—but above all to make sure that the organizing principle of the structure would limit what we might call the play of the structure.*

When Alain heard his words, he was exalted. "Yes" he thought "You're exactly right. SO TRUE! The structure DOES limit the play of the structure" He wanted to jump out of his desk and rush to the speaker, but he didn't want to miss anything he said. Derrida stopped speaking. There was a great silence, he nodded slightly as if to say, *they all agree* and continued in his booming voice. After that lecture he followed Derrida like a disciple, writing any nuggets of wisdom Derrida had the grace of giving. The post-modernist thinker always had a certain affinity to him that Alain never truly understood, but undoubtedly because of his hard work the simple philosophy student was rewarded. He could now join his teacher in his most intimate moment - his death bed.

The philosopher moved and said in his raspy voice "I don't have much time people, come, come closer". The attendees stirred and shuffled over to his bead. Alain was one of the few closest to the dying man, with his notebook in hand. It is rare to get the last dying words of man of such magnitude, so before he could say his piece, reporters started bombarding him with questions. "Mr Derrida what is the meaning of life?" some reporter asked, "My dear teacher do you think we will ever remove the insidious colonial influence in the western language?" A fellow student raised his hand. A young lady shouted at Derrida: "Jacques Kiss me!" Alain first thoughts weren't "Oh my God, how inappropriate", it was "that fucking bitch, get in line!". Finally the philosopher spoke: "Listen to me closely, I am about to tell the secret to life" The commotion immediately stopped. Journalists stopped scribbling in their notes, businessmen stopped talking on their phone, a general saluted him and the raging woman like an animal in heat was finally subdued. Derrida opened his eyes and began speaking, calmly and confidently.

"You're all fucking idiots... every last one of you". Nobody moved in the room. "Everything I preached, deconstructionism, postmodernism, différance, It's all nonsense". Alain's heart sank to the floor. "IMPOSSIBLE", he thought "his brilliant thoughts on language, his deconstruction of western society, when he said 'The concept of centered structure has always been contradictory coherent ' it was all bullshit?" His pen and paper dropped to the flood and reverberated painfully in the quiet room. "I did lectures that I improvised, using words that I didn't understand and every time you applauded me. I went further and further and each time you praised me more and more. I did not create anything so I only destroyed and critiqued what was already there" The old man was starting to shake in his bed. "Yes, I made everything up and I did for reputation, for money and for bitches." Alain, couldn't believe it, couldn't take it anymore. He shut his eyes and tried to forget everything that happened in this room like a bad nightmare. But when he opened his eyes, Jacques Derrida was pointing his frail finger at person, Alain realized that he was pointing at HIM. "More specifically" the philosopher said "I did for your mother". Alain started whimpering with tears in his eyes "C-C-Camille?". "Yes, she gave me a good sloppy". In that moment the great Post-modernist thinker Jacques Derrida decided to finaly deconstruct himself and died.