In the late 1970s, when the French poststructuralist thought started penetrating the sancta sanctorum of German philosophy, German accademia erupted with a wave of bellicose criticism, which was aimed mainly not at les enfants terribles themselves, but at their German adepts. And one particular example of an ironic wittiness became—without the intent of an outspoken critic, of course—a rather successful piece of poststructuralist conceptual artwork in its own right, i.e.: the work of the first German Lacanians and Derridians was denounced as… “Lacancan and Derridada,” an “unconditional and frequently uncritical adaptation of French theories” afflicted by a “congestion of linguistic expressiveness” that “above all desires one thing—not to be undestood.” 
Lacancan and Derridada… Das ist wunderschön.
This particular case reminds me of the excercises in the pseudo-discipline of imaginary psychogeography, which we did with my good friend and culture critic Jurij Dobriakov. We spent a lot of time contemplating some hermetic and self-sustained world, that could be a home for all kinds of exceptionally paradoxical and alogical manifestations of existence. The apotheosis of total unpredictability with the only condition: go bonkers. Of course, the existence of such an imaginary world would make sense only within the context of normality, which would be able to denounce abnormal phenomena as worth residing in this concentration camp of nonsense. We called this camp “Trulaland.”
Now, as I look at it from a perspective of couple of years, I tend to think of Trulaland as some sort of personal symbolic structure, inherent to all of us. This is our sanctuary, our personal concentration camp of id, where we secretly dance Lacancan and watch some nasty Derridada films.
Well, maybe Cybertrulaland would be a more appropriate term.
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 Klaus Laermann, “Lacancan und Derridada: Uber die Frankolatrie in den Kulturwissenschaften,” Kursbuch 84 (1986): 36, 38, 41.