Typewriter freewriting. Its been a while, since I broke the ole Royal out. Forgive typos — I never buy whiteout.
“The deconstructionists (“deconstructionist” and “poststructuralist” mean the same thing, by the way: “poststructuralist” is what you call a deconstructionist who doesn’t want to be called a deconstructionist) … see the debate over the ownership of meaning as a skirmish in…
We didn’t strike people, you or we. It felt like a disappointment, a letdown in the social circles. By the time we stuck at the hip, our friends had split and we were at the beach, just the two of us. And that mattered. Once we went to Montana, and we camped, for real camped, so we could see the for real stars. It was still, of course, just the two of us, and I brought a picnic blanket, and set up the tent and fire and the night was “Perfect.” You whispered that in my ear that night and I smiled, not too big, but slightly, in the corners of my mouth. And looking up I felt as if I was looking through the back of a movie screen. And there was a cascade of applause as I turned to you, and I whispered into your ear: