What is it?

It looks distinctly post-modern to me, a scary world that I’ve feared to explore, I hear there are tigers there.

You hit it right on the head, post modernism. Yes a bleary, dreary where all the singly beautiful colors get mixed to a dull, apAthetic gray. It’s just toooooo free I think?

I don’t like to venture too far out in case a wild Foucault might eat me.

Joyce did a lot of similar things with language, but where he would strip emotion from convention, a lot of post-modernism ends up stripping meaning instead.

It’s a wonderful place to visit, but I wouldn’t want to live there. Bare raw feeling in a whirlwind of neologism if you you need to, but leave the link to the dross and pain in place.

Post-modernism is too clinical for me.