Frank Corcoran

I am ; therefore I think. This ( only ) appears to be true. One morning it will no longer even appear to be true . True this, by the way ? I will have ceased to think, apparently . I will have ceased, apparently . Apparently this is no part of my lived, imagined, felt or ignored ” self ” – T.V.screen. – No image imaginable, eh , of this negative self-definition ( – Hold on ! Wrong ! – since by then I´ll not be around to have imagined / thought / conceived this etc. etc. ) ?
High up this holy night on Il Monastero Dreamy Descartes chided me . Rightly. ” Consider how that huge, impertinent gull outside your hotel-room door here onto our splendid and airy balcony here high above this rock of the Arragon kings, of their swivy wives and their sweating prisoners and all the ghosts of their Clarissa Nuns, heir predecessors, attacked that oleander tree at the sea-wall over there . Consider how that second gull joined in giant gulls´ fun, in their oleander roistering and choristering, a feathered chorus of airy/ aery clucks, feathery caoines and webbed percussion and insane shrieks, yells and pulling and shoving and biting and prodding and trying to swallow what they could not: that soon they , too, would no longer be members of the class of gulls . No longer be.”