The Derrida Dream

The Derrida Dream

He is a younger man, around 40 or 45 and looks like Edward Said, not Derrida. He is in Toronto for a few months (he was in Toronto at the time of the Semiotics Circle conference). We live out in the country, and are having a party to which Derrida has come. He and I talk (I don’t remember about what). He offers to tattoo me: he has a miniature electronic (?) tattooing needle in his wallet. He demonstrates on (his or my?) wrist that the number of passes necessary is determined by pressure and pain.

He begins to tattoo my belly: there’s a diagram that he’s following but I can’t see it. When he’s finished I have to hold a special paper against the tattoo (blotting? hygiene?). He leaves, but I go out after him.

Next I’m in my car, trying to find Derrida. I get out and run up to him in a university building. He says he’ll be back in two or three weeks (to finish the tattoo?). I touch his side. He reaches out and pulls on my cock, and I realize that I have no pants on.

I phone Marian to tell her (what?).

I look for the diagram and find it. It resembles Freud’s diagram on the cover of YFS French Freud issue, except it’s a negative image. I look at the tattoo: it appears to be almost finished. It’s a three-mastered, fully rigged ship, like a whaler, in green, red and blue. There are two inscriptions in French: below it “le livre de mer” and above a word I can’t quite decipher but which reminds me of “nautillus,” though that’s not it (subsequently, I’ve decided that the word was “naufrage” or shipwreck).