August 2006
In einer eMail vom 19.08.2006 17:47:45
Westeuropãische Normalzeit schreibt FBCorcoran:
So listen to what
‘‘I’m’’etching to
‘‘you’’ now.
She ( – loined, strangely
enough, no inverted
commas): ‘‘I see
you’ve a concert with
Radio Lilliput. Next
winter. Great!’’
‘‘I’’
piped up: ‘‘I’ll enjoy.
Good! It happened.
Good. Does it, ‘‘I’’
wonder still, make ‘‘my ’’
‘‘Cantata de Vacuo Nero
for Solo Violin
and Radio Choir’’ better or
worse?’’
She’d long wanted to
etch these hieroglyphs:
‘‘I’’,
‘‘was’’ and
‘‘hunted’’.
(That last time
it made not a difference;
my ‘‘my’’ querulous
and ‘‘our’’ loins, etch
this, apparent.)
She who’ll be correcting
this, ‘‘my’’ shifty chance
for ‘‘me’’ to be
writing ‘‘me’’ free, will,
take your rat–poison, not
waste an etched instant
on the Inverted Commas
Factor. So listen.
I am, after all, he who
writes: ‘‘this’’
= ‘‘he’’ .
So listen: who’s this
‘‘he’’ who writes:
‘‘this’’
=‘‘he ’’or who’s the
he who sculpts ‘‘= ’’,
and so wearily on
forth till at least at this
end of ‘‘our ’’ Crazy
Loop a summery ‘‘he’’
wrestles free of ‘‘his’’
worrying reflexivity,
near the summer’s loony
bin.
So listen: give it a chance,
will ‘‘I ’’? (Who?)
Meant is: ‘‘My lovely
inverted commas’’. Yes,
‘‘they’’ ( – see? And
there ‘‘we’’ go again…)
do all sculpt, all etch, all
define ‘‘my ’’
‘‘me’’, i.e.
this little class of one, so
small a miracle, oh so
temporal and ah
so near the void, ‘‘my’’
airy melody, the nea for
my very ‘‘self’’, for
‘‘my ’’close shave.
So listen, so hone, so
handle it as a piece of
sports-results, as “you”
would a stock-exchange
item. Listen, there will
be one or two obituaries
– The Observer still has a
bit of seriousness…
” It ” is sad, yes. Death
“is” sad. Very, “our”
glowering, crouching
friend, Mrs. Nothing.
( – don�t be surprised if
someone�s favourite
philosopher wrote :
” Das Nichts nichtet ” …
But in the kitchen Frau
Heidegger went on with
“her” washing-up. At
that hour when all good
wolves yet sleep. )