In einer eMail vom 02.06.2006 01:05:48
Westeuropãische Normalzeit schreibt FBCorcoran:
Suppose I did not have to lie to my e–self. Artful enough, mind you, was
the (actually modest yet, still – it was early – fairly humble, she’d see
it, any fair–minded) plan:
I’m going to disprove once and for all my–and–your, I am merely and
gently surmizing – more NO ! ! ! – Gödel–Google Theorem 13 B.
Namely: your e–mail, any e–mail, EVERY e–mail, is always, will
always – it HAS to be always, a very e–mail out for self–service, an, you
may suppose e–extension of e–time–serving; of herself – serving
instrumentality. I must, self–deceit awake me how I might, see how this very
e–act here is self–intentional, how it is not thus once, nor might it be
only sometimes, it is so, ex natura). Nunc e–mail; e–see my, il nostro
desperate self–referential. ‘‘Mrs. Google–Gödel, indecently fast,
ringing through tonight : ’’ I am; pleading with you. My darling. Don’t, do
NOT this way take away my last vestiges of even my e–faith!
‘‘Virtual me, meself, reluctant:’’ Faith but there’s no way but this e–killing of my e–myself, too, kiss! Yerra! Once a female, how–are–you,
always eternally e–feminine, oh e–cliché; surely, you must know?
‘‘You must, but not only you must, grant me a poor e–woman, at least
this, here is your cosmos–defining e–mail ludens, your very e–mail
‘‘I mean ( – oh my Frau Gödel–Google, perfumed self–interest,
self–unknowing through thy silk, who’ll sew thy brocade, my e–insights into the
mind of WHICH e–man, e–woman) that you –at least once – believe you were e–mailing truth non–instrumental, e–mailing the enlargement of, say,
game–theory, and thus e–mailing our (– her imperceptible hip–twitch nearly threw me here)
‘charge–ÃƒÆ’Ã‚Âm–on– towards the truth that does not profit,
neither fades nor grows it dark brown, doth it?’ ’’
‘‘Not now! Not here! People’ll see us! God wot!’’
She’s melting my he: ‘‘Shush! Slumber! All manner of things.’’
My Mrs. G. – G., it behoves art to watch its impertinence!
‘‘Meaning just which twitch of which of my hips?…’’
‘‘All e–mails were ever self–deceiving. No e–mail has ever yet escaped
the total gravitational pull of me. – Many being e–posted, yet do not, can
(Now was my flush weakening, it was her epiphany total, her being more
than just any one of their very e–mailable e–shifts, or eén airy a one
e–swish, a daily e–huff, a concept of an e– crossing of their
more–than–ever–conceivable–lovely–e–legs) Know what she said?
‘‘You did. Many e–mails. Many e–mails ago. Try again, my e–buckoo! Eejit
lovely! Aim Once Above And Outside Your Gravitational Great Gödel–Bucket! Listen. Lisp it me: ‘‘E–mail, e–mail, e–mail mein / E–mail auf
‘‘Receive one last e–mail, oh my she–hip–shifter, Du my e–mind–bender.’’
Thus. I believe that there was at least once in the entire e–history of
our virtual world, sorry or glorious depending on your e–view, an e–mail
sent (– ever received is a different thing) that intended towards truth,
truth that was not just a ‘‘how’ll I survive truth’’, nor a
‘‘what use is it if does not’’ etc. truth, nor a
‘‘how’ll I soften her hip, excite her down
the alley?’’ truth, nor a great
‘‘this is the ultimate in letting–the–sow–out–to–graze’’ truth.
No. The once only is all I am pleading for. One only
‘‘this truth is independent of whether you like, you receive, we profit by,
praise or scold, celebrate as being true, publish or destroy it.’’ I had her
now. Yet her hip–flick– back walloped me:
‘‘ Your e–mail is of the form : ” I believe that… ’’
‘‘What of it and of me and us?’’
‘‘I’ll tell you’’, she was never more desirable,
yours is the e–mail
self–reflexive, intransitive but transitory, self–prophecying, the worst type!
So because it must be. Postulation masquerading as expostulation.
E–persuasion as old as the Sophists. Look you: your thought aspired to ‘‘There is an
e–mail such that this e–mail belongs to Class XYZ etc.’’ ‘‘Supposing, only
supposing (– you like my hip, no?) this might – standing on its own cosmic
hips somewhere in space–time – possess a smathán of transcendental truth (– that is what your me–fondling self is getting at, isn’t it?), yet you
E–MAILED it through to me! – You blew it!’’
’Twas then I swore I’d never, never use this e–avenue again.
She wasn’t finished. With her own hips. ‘‘Want that I rape my very
self? Naw, naw. What your Irish shame busily obfuscates daily : so, every
time you think youÃƒâ€šÃ‚Â´re sending a self–less e–mail, you are actually, hips or
nothing ever to stand between our , e–mailing selfishly. Always. Has always
to be. –Gotcha, quasi epistemologically?’’ I minced not:
Not actually, nor was I even a shade virtually. If my Corcoran’s ( –
actually Kant’s) Transcendental Theory – take : if X is true / beautiful
etc., then it is true / beautiful ( – oh, oh, divine hips divine, etc.,
etc.) irrespective of whether etc. and etc. See Appendix Tomorrow And
BUT NOW, lovely all–hips woman: here comes my Anti–Hips Defence: watch,
feel, set yourself careful, hips: Now if Z Y X is true (– see, my
beloved hips, above…) it is true ALSO WHEN, DURING, IF I EVER e–mail it
to Anyone. And, of course, if I do not.
Her lovely limbs I’d reduced to weeping. Behold, yet, her delectable
‘‘Franyou, You, Fran, my e–lover, I’d thought you’d disproved for the
boring world of meta–matho–physicians that my (not so recently deceased)
very late mate’s Google–Gödel Theorem 13 B. is no more. No. Would it were.
Thus. Anent your e–logic.’’
I did try to whisper (I, e–author and e–father and e–mother, was all
over the e–place, now in tears. For my child’s child, etc.). Still.
Exorably. Solvitur ambulando. Or e–ambulando. It was, between her hips,
certainly, neither cavil nor conundrum, I made my last e–spake. Text
complicated. I extricated my own hips.
‘‘I do hereby e–mail that: though I am now publishing/propagating/
e–sweating and e–spreading my Corcoran Thesis ABC via this finger’s electric
mischief, yet I do hereby swear (– by the divine hips of etc.) that – a
truth–proposition MUST BE ALWAYS independent of the mode of its patrician
progress and propagatio – in this year A.D. 2006 it is still possible – I Dunne It
– to e–utter an e– belief, an e–whinney.’’
She closed her hips lovely abruptly. Had me in tighter hip–squeeze : ‘‘By the VERY fact that you e–mailed your for you beloved ( – creepy? Let, heigh, history…) Credo – JMNOP ‘‘now threateningly
by definition you’re befaughed, mio grande ( – and listen to me, not to
your cheap Jobites!) amore. YOU E–MAILED aplusbplusc… Irrespective of
all merits internal of aplusbplusc, your e–mailing bunkerblasted its
I was very angry now. She lovely, dangerously intelligent hips, the very
worst combo. I bleated as never before :
‘‘My hips got yours! NOT proven! Yours – and Mr. G. – G.s, recently
croaked, heigh–ho, his young widow’s hips your Syllabus Of Lovely Errors:
EVEN IF A is TRUE ( – especially, his quiet grave encourageth me; to you,
too, I grant, it’s got very nearly nightly, my quiescent hips), it is
TRUE NO LONGER when e–mailed.’’
‘‘Why ever not? Granted Statement ABC is okay, it MUST surely remain
hilariously okay, whether I e–mail it or send it between your etc, thighs, or
silence it or intentionally internalize it. For ever and ever true.’’
Dead my screen. Her, my darling’s hips’ aisling, went dead.