On Deconstructing Deconstruction or Restoring (sooome) Structure to Post-Structuralism

So as this attempt at blogging is an overly modern ambition for a girl belonging to a bygone era, I commence the first chapter of this quest by announcing the weekly mission shall be trifold.  But before such lofty, tri-part formats are outlined and enhanced, let it be known that this here circus, in addiiton to being a general cabaret Voltaire intended to celebrate art, life, liberty and the pursuit of so-called happiness, shall hitherto ALSO serve as a launching pad for


What IS this operation concerning tin-cans and that tempromental past time of Tzara and Breton?  ‘Tis a rhyme for your eyes and a spectacle for your ears; it’s how Mahler mixed with Joni Mitchell tastes; it is the art of communicaiton in a post-modern, post-mechanical age of DIGITAL reproduction….

all of which, likely, didn’t divulge too much–I mean, who do you think I am Focoult?  I’m all for structure, but I sometimes pretend otherwise being fanciful, frilly and prone to battle deathgods at midnight while frocked in lilacs and lillies.

I gotta play it cool, man,  (ala that master snide shark, chief charlatan and captain of the cop-out brigade Jacques Derrida himself) and say I can’t tell you WHAT it is…but I can elaborate on what it is not.

TinCANdada is NOT:

* A hip, gotta grove like the grapevine, IT new dance.  We DO endorse el tango.  Que sexissimo yo yo!

*  A Russian expletive lamenting the price of vodka here in the supposedly united states of Ameri(de)ca(y).

*  A lost Pynchon novella.

And while we could play 20 questions until academic philosophy once again becomes relevant (which is to say NEVER), we shall keep it at 3 revelations a day—at least for now–it’s ever so good to want.

But one thing I shall share:  tinCANdAdA is ecrire, parlar, chanter, peinture, celebrer, vivir et etre.  It is not concerned with real, practical or common sense.  It prefers tea to coffee, O’neil over Bernard Shaw, N*Sycn over the Backstreet Boys.

It doesn’t believe in sole it believes in SOULS.

And what do souls need to do?  Well, Plato tells us souls have wings; we buy that; we support that motion (raises placard enthusiastically).

So while souls flit and float, they also need to chit and chat and we at tinCANdada believe IN and SPECIALIZE* in communication.  Ze art of communication; ze sacred art of soul speaking to soul awash, adrift in the post-modern wasteland.

And as to me and my curls, I (along with my allies in absurdism) wish to live as we shouldn’t be allowed.  This includes, but is not limited to:

  • speaking the truth
  • saying I LOVE YOU
  • exclaiming I ADORE (insert object to which one feels particularly attached or enchanted by)
  • smiling at strangers
  • wearing tutu’s and or three-pieced suits
  • waltzing rather than walking
  • stealthly crunching soy-crisps in sub-terreanean libraries
  • CELEBRATING EVERY AND ALL DAYS—despite the sorrow.  Joy LIVES in sorrow, which is to say, it IS sorrow.
  • Celebrating ze SeLf (whatever that is…)!
  • Questing ON towards ze grail
  • Playing lacrosse with Madame Sostris
  • Returning to the beginning, to know the place for the first time
  • etc.  etc. etc.            yada yada yada                 and all that jaaaaaaaaaaaaz

Details shall be gradually divulged–all in due time mes amis; and while the world says keep it real, I say STAY IMAGINARY kit-kats.

I surely shall (at least try to); picking treasures from tree hollows; spreading fairydust in a world that’s more concerned with the swineflu; living out LOUD in technicolor surroundsound! Dulce de leche!

So stay imaginary friends and start counting the minutes, until we quest further into the land of fantastical lairs and labrynths; where princesses masquerade as dragons; where we scam the world with improvised tomfoolery; where we say freakin’  YES, damn-straighter than straight, YES to life.

From somewhere over the rainbow, I am,

Holly J Caracappa the First: the mason, the mermaid the metaphor.

*  Dissertation available upon request


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