gelang kürzlich dem französischen Philosophiestudenten Olivier Morin, seines Zeichens selbsternannter »Gossiper – Deconstructionist«, der sich auch gleich bemüßigt fühlte, die Ergebnisse seiner Studien in einer entsprechenden Facebook-Gruppe kundzutun.

Die »Paris Hilton & Jacques Derrida Appreciation Society« hat sich der eingehenden Untersuchung dieser beiden Denker verschrieben und präsentiert bereits erste Ergebnisse.

Das mission statement liest sich dann wie folgt:

This group gathers all the devotees of Paris Hilton and Jacques Derrida. For reasons that have nothing to do with Philosophy (and more to do with the advocates of Ms. Hilton), the obvious common grounds between the thought of Hilton and that of Derrida were systematically avoided by students of both thinkers. The platonic love affair they had in 1997 in New York, and the ensuing epistolary relationship, was also completely ignored until recently.

We expect that our exploration of the Paris/Jacques connection will be an hermeneutical breakthrough, one comparable to the discovery of the Arendt/Heidegger relationship. Philosophy will be changed for ever.

Our group wants to:
1) explore the reciprocal influence between the works of Hilton and that of Derrida.

2) Publish, translate and comment the voluminous correspondence the two geniuses had from 1997 to 2004. The éditions Galilée in Paris already announced that they would publish some excerpts, under the title “H./D. – rencontre(s)?”.

3) Gather funds in order to counter-sue the advocates of Ms. Hilton.

Und damit nicht genug, lässt Ms Morin auch gleich die ersten beiden Schriften des geheimen Briefwechsels folgen:

New York, 11/6/1997

Jacques,

I can’t believe it!! you just left. I feel really really REALLY alone now. I miss the discussion and all the talking about stuff and I can’t believe it coz everything you say is just like – WOW!!!! you know. Like really, really deep and all!
But anyway I think it is better you left coz daddy was getting all upset about you calling him a precartesian and I know you meant it as a compliment but anyway what can I say? he’s my daddy so it is better for us not to get around each other even if u know that U ARE like MY N°2 LOVE OF MY LIFE I say n°2 coz n°1 is Floffy my teddy bear but really if you forget Floffy you’re n°1.
I’m like really sad you know and I can’t wait to read your stuff except keep it short pliz coz I’m not gonna be able to read long letters with all the books you gave me.
LOVE and BIG KISSES MY JACQUES FOR EVER
XXXXXXXXXXXX
Paris

Paris, 13/6/1997

Dear Paris,

How ironic (ironic and iconic at the same time, the irony being embedded in the iconicity) that I should be writing to you precisely from the city that bears your name, so that your absence from Paris seems written on every wall in the city (I mean, not exactly written, but un-written by the very gesture of your not being there). Similarly, your whole name spells your absence from the city I’m in. I find myself calling your name at the city, as though reproaching Paris not to be in Paris (and of course you realize that in this sentence you can have any of the two Paris refer to you, or to the town: Paris disappeared from herself, and consequently, Paris is not included in Paris.. “Rome n’est plus dans Rome, elle est toute où je suis…” etc.)

That’s what makes you and Paris icons of absence and loss, as though you were the place where things disappear. And indeed, I find something of this absence in your character. This way of being not-completely-there, gone to a place where no one can find you. As though you were staying at your own private place. In french, we have a word for that, which is “demeurée”; you can’t translate it of course, but being demeuré is staying at a place of one’s own, indifferent to the place where you really are. My dear Paris, my love, in Paris I find that you are both my demeurée (because you stood in NY while I was travelling away), my demeure (which means my home) and my deep loss.

Please receive a trace of my love that has to stay in the questionable “here” of Paris/Paris.

Jacques

So schön kann Un-sinn (?) sein!