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

February 2, 2010

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

TinCANdAdA

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

Let the questing commence!

January 26, 2010

As a child I had my soapbox; as a teen my vehement–and some might argue inappropriate–letters to teachers and all figures of authority, as a post 20 non-adult, I have my rambling, partially-poetic, partially pathetic musings of life, liberty the pursuit of happiness but more importantly art and the really big one amour.  It’s universal, it’s infinite, it’s bigger than me and you and to that I say yes.

This blog, these ruminations gone wild (and public!) is a testament to my saying YES to life; the innate sorrow/joy that is this world, that is this temporal abyss of continual loss; this crazy/beautiful circus that envelops, cradles and maddens every being that dares to BE.

Contrary to how it might seem, like a certain pipe, ce n’est pas une post–tis a mere preface to a post.  Ze overture to a grand gesamtkunstwerk; the still moment before the conductor gives the downbeat; that moment in between falling forward and falling apart, the moment we uproot from the beginning to, again, start down the cyclical route which shall bring us home to know the place for the first time.

This is IT (for now, for now).

Paix chats et chiens.