Douglas Mercer
November 16 2024
Deconstructionism makes a big thing out of the fact that language is slippery and that it cannot (allegedly) correspond to reality. Thus we end up (they say) living in a post truth and postmodern world where logocentrism (one of their big baleful buzzwords) is cast down from its throne; and the message never gets to the receiver because it has to go through manifold prisms and different contextual frameworks, and by the time the telephone game of Chinese Whispers ends what started out as “what is it?” ends up as “who knows?” Thus the beret wearing wine swilling slackers who sat on the Seine smoking their Gitanes were able to make a giant killing in the literary racket and they infiltrated the minds of the millions with their simplistic notions. But then, hell, even those low-class early Christians beat them to the punch when they put the zinger of zingers in the mouth of Pontius Pilate (who was a real man and an antique Roman but who is passed down to history as a fictional character in the book of John) having him say: what is truth? Well, one thing it’s not is that Jesus rose on the third say and now haunts the world as the Holy Ghost and will one day return in Glory on clouds of orange; no, the Cosmotheists have it right, they give you the truth (brothers and sisters) and that truth is that there is one reality and that reality is the Whole, it is the Creator who is the Self-Created who is realizing itself as we speak through the auspices of the Aryan people. See, that did not take long and we did not have to travel to Paris and or spend five years or more reading Robbe-Grillet or catch the clap when Lola turned out not to be as hygienic as she looked. You see the Cosmotheists have no truck with the new-fangled or the trendy, we like words that you don’t have to put in scare quotes, we are not afraid of our own shadow, and we don’t like things which you have to use the word hermeneutics to explain when interpretation will do just fine; no, we are old fashioned in that we seek reason and order in all things, we are pleased by things that have harmonious relationships, we shun chaos at all costs, we reject all that clashes and does not fit, we hate all that is alien, we love what is proper and whole. Of course that is more than enough to send Critical Theorists off their rockers and make them lose their collective shit and they'll bring down hell fire on Colonial Thinking; but then they have no standing because their piece de resistance is when they ballyhooed that Belgian flak and flagellator Magritte’s simplistic painting (known as The Treachery Of Images) of a pipe under which is the words: Ceci n’est pas un pipe. This is not a pipe. No shit Sherlock, what this is is a picture by Magritte of the thing we call a pipe. That’s logic. You see Freud was off by a mile because a cigar is always cigar and if they weren’t so muddle headed and pretentious (and probably homosexual) they might take the time to stick this in their pipes and smoke it.
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Notes:
Should one choose one can see the Treachery Of Images at the Los Angeles County Museum Of Art, that is if the niggers don’t car jack you before you can make it in.
