Obscurantism is normality

In the language of deconstruction
Obscurantism is normality
Indeed it's impossible to function
If one lacks the ability
To employ such difficult jargon.
They love the word "iterability"
Tho it was coined by a moron
It is tempting to resort to frivolity
Despite the unfeasability
Of my enduring ability
To continue in this style.

It is so incomprehensible
It completely baffles me
Tho' tis so reprehensible
I feel it overpowering me
Yet theory text must be resisted
As long as I have breath
'Cos it's so bitter and twisted
And as interesting as death.

It has already overtaken Liz
Which is an awful shame
For the result of this is this —
She can't even write her name
She continues to be absorbed by the text
Tho' it never makes any sense
For she has to keep wearing specs
In case she should go into the Gents.

Degenerate fumings of an idle brain. Sorry. State of Affairs. Indeed.

No God was reified

Except it isn't.

Apart from some people, who, as the name implies, are quite noodles.

Deifier saw dog on poop; no God was reified.

And as for the halibut, it didn't incarnate the sign, either. Or both. Gods must be carried on the stairs! Pass farther down the sub! Marine! You tell them! Remain? I rename Eire means Ire-land; man. Rain and elms. Ablithu, lithp, lps. Lapse of the lips, fin again (more holibit), writing. Am I? Miami, miasmus. No! Yes, yes. Really? Good. O God!

Finnegan's Wake — is he? For we all did said, but! Buttle! No more morrow for old Mrs Marrow. Truly the wain it was meant to beeb. Blobbledy boon. ! ? Her. Considering. Yes. Oh goodness. Where would be we without one? Do I? I don't know? I am going too fast for you.

I, I, and I.I.A.E.I.O.U.

Context?
Metatext... Four.

Sum pipple

"Some people think that a tickling-stick is a sex symbol, but that's just a fallacy." (Ken Dodd)

"Some people think that an off-sea bar is a pub where divers go. I told that to a shop-assistant in Martin's once. She didn't understand it either." (R. Feaver)

"Some people think, therefore they are." (R. Descartes)

"'Some people' is an English-language signifier of an indefinite quantity of human beings." (R. Sole)

"Some people write with their nose." (R. B. Trerry)

"Sum pipple nobbly nibbly noodles." (Squelly Vacuum)

"     " (Neg. Space)

Arthur in his bin

A dustbin once contained a holy relic
Some socks, a video and a piece of cheese
And Arthur, standing right up to his knees
Disconsolate, and sometimes he went click.
On balance this is rather psychedelic
But what can you expect from text so thin
Or a linguistic construct in a bin
At least I haven't mentioned "Freud" or "phallic",
"Phallogocentric" or "overdetermined"
Though leaving you entirely unillumined —
But what can one expect from rhymes like that
So there we leave him, Arthur in his bin
As though of hemlock he had drunk, or gin —
At least he wasn't wearing a silly hat.

The punch-line is on line three of the subsequent page.

[No]

Dustbin sonnet

There's no one quite like Lizzy
And I'm sure you will agree
She really keeps you busy
Though she thinks she is a tree

And one day when we're madder
We'll look back and say
There's no one quite like Lizzy
She's crazier than she was today.

Bin icon to click dustbin sonnet.

Form, self-referring, is content

Arthur, hero of our fragmented tale,
Midst signs heterodox and garrulous
Articulation always perilous,
O'er nonsense seemed unlikely to prevail.
The word ever plural, duplicitous,
Betrayed him still in many a hopeful seeming
Left him to wail "Where did I put my meaning?"
Whilst offering others, quite solicitous,
Insistent in despite of his intent.
Resourceful chap, and innovative yet
New forms did he discover or invent
To curb the implicit connotative that
Deprived him constantly of what he meant
Frail hope! Form, self-referring, is content.

{dustbin icon, mouse pointer, and message box}

Click dustbin icon to bin sonnet. [OK]

The pluggandisp of pluggandisp

There's no one quite like Derrida
And I'm sure you will agree
He's old enough to be a grandpa
But he keeps trying to write philosophy

There's no one quite like grandma
Don't let a bad word be said
Yet she's been seeming ever calmer
Which isn't surprising 'cos she's dead.

Mr Jebbly Wally. Esquisho ££@{fish}

a) This sentence is not self-enacting, but no wait a minute! Yes it is!
b) This sentence contradicts itself — except — no it doesn't!
c) This gubblick contains several non-sklarkish English flutzpahs, but the overfall pluggandisp can be glorked from context.

"So what is the pluggandisp of pluggandisp?" (Saussure). [sosýR]

"Horrible hell-mangles!" screamed Arthur. "What's happen-ping?"

"Sum-text is fleebing my avocado and cauliflower dip." His mind was afflicted by words for which no concepts had yet proved necessary. "Rampant referents! For God's sake don't think!" But it was too late. With a small armadillo, God appeared. The armadillo was called Matthew Aristotle. But this was only important to him, and when. And whatsoever.

OR HERE! ORE HEAR! AWE HAIR!