Derrida disagrees with Heidegger's summation that the measure of a Philosopher's life is that he was born, he thought, and he dies. But in an interview admits, that in heidegger's words, he finds something oddly familiar. He is only prepared to give his interviewers the mere 'facts' about the way he met his wife Marguerite.
Elsewhere, he argues that one revolts against the bizarre, but there are times that one accepts the bizarre.
At the root of this contradiction, of turning away and desiring, is writing, not writing as we know it, taking pen to paper, but a primordial writing, an articulation, of stamping an impression, in order to leave a trace, to marry a heideggerian and Derridean motif in one fell swoop. It is the writing of one's presence, a desiring to be and a interest in be-longing.
I will continue this later.