The Alan Sondheim Mail Archive

This is an archive of works sent by Alan Sondheim to various mailing lists. The most recent messages (also available as an Atom feed) are below.

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nightlife

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http://www.alansondheim.org/ashfield163.jpg
http://www.alansondheim.org/ashfield166.jpg

until tonight I have not used the word/s "night life"
or "nightlife" in my work:

k3% grep -h nightlife texts/*.txt > yy
k4% wc yy
        0       0       0 yy
k5% grep -h "night life" texts/*.txt > yy
k6% wc yy
           0       0       0 yy

====================================================
====================================================

who cares?

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====================================================

dear nature,

http://www.alansondheim.org/inasecond.jpg (film still!)
https://youtu.be/3mZjzkIktgM (film!)

i've done everything i can for you and everyone else, i've made
mistakes and i don't have much time left and i need money tech
network, mtn, mountain, i need these things right now, everyone
i know is showing everywhere and is brilliant and working in
wonderful art and academic communities and i'm typing in the
dark and dreaming of hurricanes and tornados, floods and furious
winds instead of internets of things and ideas of nature and
everyone else and communities of failures and mistakes, and i
need money but anyway soon i'll be dead given life expectancies
and then i'll go away, i won't bother you for a second more
perhaps you know somewhere where i might find a large diamond in
the ground, not too far down, i'm afraid of heights and probably
afraid of depths too, i wish i could mine bitcoins but i can't
even go into dark narrow tunnels, i'm from hard-coal country and
the place scared me to death (not really but soon), or if not a
diamond, even a big gold nugget will do, but it has to be lying
on the ground, if it was big enough i'd find someone to carry
it, i hear they're good for wires and other stuff for the new
electronics ( ** the new electronics! ** ), anyway i made a film
about you and hope you enjoy it but i'd leave you like i said in
a second if i could and you'd even enjoy that more,
Best Cheers! (my new .sig!) Alan

http://www.alansondheim.org/inasecond.jpg

12c12
< need money but anyway soon i'll be dead given life expectancies
---
>    need money but anyway soon i'll be dead given life expectencies

cicatrice

http://www.alansondheim.org/ashfield249.jpg embedded
http://www.alansondheim.org/scarrd.mp4 video
http://www.alansondheim.org/ashfield247.jpg cut track
http://www.alansondheim.org/ashfield248.jpg cut
http://www.alansondheim.org/scarrd.jpg still

Think of cicatrix, a mark left (usually on the skin) by the
healing of injured tissue [syn: {scar}, {cicatrix}, {cicatrice}
]   . Or this history of cicatrix upon glacial valleys, erratic
boulders, the skin, the mind's wound. And think of cicatrix as
unreadable, blank, uncanny pustule cicatrix fallen cicatrice. We
are the lubricant at the edge of the scab. The scar will scars,
cicatrix, historiographies pustule cicatrix fallen cicatrix
cicatrix retro cicatrive, he almost falls apart wwithtoit
editing, writing is a service for healing and cicatrix. for
absinthe which I'd like to credit for cicatrice. We are the
lubricant at the edge of the scab. The scar will beneath the
cicatrice. 0, any, cicatrix text. the cicatrix never appears
because nothing ever changes. one, a poultice, cataplasm
cicatrix retro- pustule cicatrix fallen cicatrice. we are the
lubricant at the edge of the projestto realizacica- pustule
cicatrix fallen unlike most crickets, skin or skab or upwelling
or cicatricks, it continues: the scab. the scar will berthe, we
are wound and cicatrice. we are the mass? cicatrice. we are the
lubricant at the edge of the scab. the scar poultice, cataplasm
cicatrix retro - scab. the scar will berthe, we are wound and
cicatrice. we are the lubricant at the edge of cicatrice. we are
the lubricant at the edge of the scab. the scar will berthe, we
are wound and cicatrice. we are the mass? cicatrice. we are the
lubricant at the edge of the scab. the scar for healing and
cicatrix. for absinthe which I'd like to credit for text. the
cicatrix never appears because nothing ever changes. one, a
beneath the cicatrice. cicatrive, he almost falls apart wwith
toit editing, writing is a service skin or skab or upwelling or
cicatricks, it continues: cicatrive, he almost falls apart
wwithtoit editing, writing is a service cicatrice. We are the
lubricant at the edge of the scab. The scar will beneath the
cicatrice. 0, any, cicatrix text. the cicatrix never appears
because nothing ever changes. one, a skin or skab or upwelling
or cicatricks, it continues: mass? cicatrice. we are the
lubricant at the edge of the scab. the scar the wound is always
repetition, the cicatrix cicatrive, apart wwithtoit editing,
service :"wounded" destruction castration, cutting- :healing
cicatrix. absinthe I'd languishing word cicatrice. lubricant
edge scab. paths cicatrix of the abject. defend within the
cicatrix. it is within the position of the TCP/IP, messages skin
or skab or upwelling or cicatricks, it skin or skab or upwelling
or cicatricks, it continues: cicatrice. lubricant edge scab.
paths utters and moves but autumn, degeneration muscle nerve,
wound cicatrix speaks: means won't disappear, the cicatrix that
remains, remnant; even in {scar}, {cicatrix}, {cicatrice}]. Or
this the injured dancer - holes; that uncomfortable surface;
that cicatrix; that miasma of cicatrix fallen cicatrice. we are
the lubricant at the edge of the scab. the scar will berthe, we
are wound and cicatrice. we communal writing, only temporary
coagulations, cicatrix cicatrice of the analog, about the world
which is worlding and it's not easy. nothing disappears. the
granite cicatrix Ah gritworld tears my flesh, lacerations, no
cicatrix, raw tears my flesh, lacerations, no cicatrix, raw
felsh, wounds, flesh, lacerations, no cicatrix, raw felsh,
wounds, broken is a misery or contusion, a cicatrice or
inflation; there's cicatrice or inflation; there's nothing that
might emerge except cicatrice inflation; space, dancers doctors
me":cicatrix:retro:wound.:wounded:You:avatar:ballet: courage
stay place"

^lesshst ^learnrc : ^lesshst : ^lynxrc ^lesshst :
^^machinescarred ^lesshst lynxrc ^machinescarred : ^bruiseddir
^^machinescarred ^lynxrc

lepidodendron, enunciation. seasons. disconnect. scarred
nanosecond.
the wall is scarred with crashes
fractal program scarred / at the limit

learning song among singing dinosaurs

dinosaur footprint-bearing strata (1802 discoveries) along
the connecticut river area; thinking of bird languages and
vocalizations, garkleinflote and bosun's whistle among the
strata.

http://www.alansondheim.org/ashfield235.jpg footprints
https://youtu.be/cEt2U0hdBA4 the video
http://www.alansondheim.org/awash1.mp3 some audio
http://www.alansondheim.org/awash2.mp3 some other audio
http://www.alansondheim.org/ashfield244.jpg
http://www.alansondheim.org/ashfield295.jpg and
http://www.alansondheim.org/ashfield306.jpg location

this is beginning to appear like some sort of eco-conceptual
series, but for me it's not; it's a series of insertions and
imaginings of faunal responses and intervenings among already
erased histories, ephemera; it's what i can do as a resistant
citizen in proto-fascist amerika; it connects of course to
something intractable in the world, as if there were such a
thing, it's ecological shuddering; it's learning

they were here.

and what is this below? it was found on the underside of a piece
of birchbark detached from a rotting tree; any suggestions of
course greatly appreciated.

http://www.alansondheim.org/ashfield222.jpg

apologies for this condensation; i had close to no connectivity
for three and a half days -

dinosaur song * birdsong * connecticut river valley * dinosaur
footprints **

some constructions of masculinity

http://www.alansondheim.org/becoming.jpg
http://www.alansondheim.org/becoming.mp4
http://www.alansondheim.org/bt67.jpg
http://www.alansondheim.org/bt68.jpg
http://www.alansondheim.org/bw3.jpg
http://www.alansondheim.org/bw4.jpg

chora found and lost

+++

measurements of lights and rods, analog weakness, long glance

the images below, measurement of lighthouse and vertical iron,
labor to be sure, or time, to access them. what about them.

they're images of the obdurate, some things that might remain 
after the nuclear planet, some things that might disappear. i 
waited until the rotating lantern appeared again, grasping what 
might be a degree of light or warning. the foam is mostly 
unicellular. the rocks have been there. again, storms.

when i'm in storms, networks and their turbulence are manifest. 
now the point of all of this, my age. as i grow downward towards 
death like tendrils grow, i remain unrooted, seek the digital. 
for some people i have become part historian of this; yes, this 
was done first x-number of years ago, this was missed y-number 
of years ago, how blind we all were.

but this is not the thing itself, the unutterable revolution 
that involves everyone on the planet, including those refugees 
and peoples who have no access to running water, much less 
digital tools.

i want to reiterate, i am not of a generation, i am of a certain 
age, and that has given me a length of time to err. but there is 
no worldview associated with that and it's problematic to 
connect age with such, to create periods of time, as if the 
world might fall into place, instead of the description 
ultimately tripping over itself. what i do now, what these 
images are, mark the present, the moment light flashes against 
something that registers its presence, that presents itself, not 
as pre-sent, but as imminent. within the boundaries of physics, 
we are all imminent, only periods of time and classifications 
tend towards immanence, and its only these that should be left 
behind.

i'm speaking of presuppositions here, issues of ageism for 
example which follow me in my daily life. i note how many times 
i have to insist on the present, on the immediate, how many 
times i have to insist on my relevance. and this goes against 
time itself, there is less time to insist on such, and such 
insistence itself becomes irrelevant.

these images are analog because i have little access to digital 
technology, and if i have such, so many peoples have less. the 
digital community tends less to deconstruct itself than the 
older analog artworlds, perhaps because new worlds tend towards 
closure and uncanny optimism. which might bring up comicons and 
how they spill over into the real, or hackathons from the other 
side, how all these communities are flesh and blood and people 
come together online or in the real obdurate world, coalesce, 
commune, separate again.

these images are analog because they transmit digitally the 
speaking of the world (within which i am embedded, in which i 
have no part). like digital media themselves, we are always 
already undergoing the future anterior of the dynamics of 
change. like digital media themselves, we are always in the 
process of disappearance.

we are warnings to each other and among each other.

and bodies and the ascertainment of rocks.

http://www.alansondheim.org/akkad1160.jpg
http://www.alansondheim.org/akkad1173.jpg
http://www.alansondheim.org/akkad1177.jpg
http://www.alansondheim.org/akkad1181.jpg
http://www.alansondheim.org/akkad1182.jpg
http://www.alansondheim.org/akkad1238.jpg
http://www.alansondheim.org/akkad1306.jpg
http://www.alansondheim.org/bt33.jpg
http://www.alansondheim.org/bt36.jpg
http://www.alansondheim.org/bt48.jpg
http://www.alansondheim.org/bt70.jpg
http://www.alansondheim.org/bt76.jpg
http://www.alansondheim.org/bt77.jpg

the light.

http://www.cbc.ca/news/technology/15000-scientists-warning-to-humanity-1.4395767

http://www.alansondheim.org/bt77.jpg

Police Shooting

This story is getting buried. This happened a couple of blocks
from us. The whole downtown was shutdown. The driver of the
white pickup panicked, the police had the wrong truck. The
driver had no license and registration as far as we can tell. He
was killed by nine local and state police in a hail of forty
bullets. The police could have shot out the tires; the driver
was tried to batter his way through other cars on the onramp to
Interstate 95. Azure and I went to the Providence Mall parking
garage level 3 and I photographed the rubber laid by the truck
as it tried to take off. There was a lot of white smoke at the
time. Here's the scene. The cops were out of control as far as
I'm concerned. The truck was stuck; it couldn't move. It could
back up, that's all. But the cops killed the drive and critially
wounded the passenger, his girlfriend.

There's an anomaly at the scene, the white powder. I'm not sure
what that's from.

There has been a small protest. As usual the cops are "heros."
But if you read the articles below you'll get a different story.

I'm sick of this place. I'm sick of corruption, of smugness, of
little accountability. Politically it's very left, that's good.
Beneath the surface there's something else.

There's this - the cops got the wrong truck, they admit that. If
they weren't screaming down the highway after it, no one would
have gotten hurt. That much is clear.

Before you agree or disagree with me, read some of the stories
and make up your own mind. I could be very wrong of course.

I'll keep the images up for a few days, that's all. They're of
the trace and roadways nearby. There's a story there.

The images I took:
http://www.alansondheim.org/shooting01.jpg
http://www.alansondheim.org/shooting02.jpg
http://www.alansondheim.org/shooting03.jpg
http://www.alansondheim.org/shooting04.jpg
http://www.alansondheim.org/shooting05.jpg
http://www.alansondheim.org/shooting06.jpg
http://www.alansondheim.org/shooting07.jpg
http://www.alansondheim.org/shooting09.jpg
http://www.alansondheim.org/shooting11.jpg
http://www.alansondheim.org/shooting12.jpg

See:

http://www.golocalprov.com/news/video-of-providence-police-explaining-the-use-of-deadly-force-and-the-killi
http://www.golocalprov.com/news/raimondo-defends-police-shooting-of-santos
http://www.golocalprov.com/news/providence-shooting-gone-wrong-state-police-and-providence-police-shot-the

http://www.alansondheim.org/shooting12.jpg

... need your help in this thing, you see, i'd go into the
woods, and then, sometimes, i don't remember, there were these
depressions, someone made them, there were stones
... i remember the damp ground and someone or maybe more than
someone, i'm not sure, lying there, it was like a thicket
... i can remember wires and there were names, maybe it was that
place again, i can still smell the wet bark, something, maybe it
had rained, i'm not sure
... than places where these things occurred, i think someone
told me there are many or at least a lot, i'm not sure, of them,
of stones, of depressions, it might have been animals, i seem to
remember animals
... the word 'concavity' comes to mind, it's come to mind a lot,
that might be the depression, then at the bottom of that it was
wet, the wires, i don't know, or maybe just damp, i think one of
them, it was like a small pond, i had a normal upbringing
... i was always trembling, i'm trembling now, it's worse
because i don't know why, something there, something around,
it's, i'm trembling because i'm trembling, it's this fear, it
doesn't matter if it makes sense, this fear, and then there was
clothing everywhere, sockets of sorts, something about the
wires, everything had names and special numbers
... the special numbers
... the numbers worry me, they were of any size, just like
digits in a row, maybe not numbers at all, now that i think of
it, just digits in a row, any digits at all
... they seemed senseless, it was damp everywhere, the smell
maybe of sap or human sap, the digits, i couldn't understand
that, they didn't add up or anything, they were just
... just what, just there, maybe i could make sense of it, i
can't, any of these, are some things missing, some animals,
people, there was nothing in the depressions, a little water
perhaps, you'd have that after a rainstorm, it wouldn't be a
long one
... moved from town to town, everyone knows that about everyone,
town to town to town, or sometimes the woods, sometimes a space
by the side of a building, the buildings were always wooden, i
mean, made out of wood, even the doors and window frames, the
windows were glass
... but these wood roofs, i can't forget, and the odd scent of
them, almost like pine, something else though, i'm not sure
where now, i remember these things like a foggy dream, but
really clear, it was like that
... closer to the surface of the ground, stones and hollows,
branches, grasses, something occurred there, and the memory of
that, the occurrence
... i don't want to say something happened here, only that
something occurred
... memories of those wires, they were just there, i don't think
they were for anything
... all that wood then
... the usual sounds of a wood maybe near dawn or dusk, i said
foggy, maybe some other sounds, language of sorts, i remember
that well, i can't figure that out, i can't add that up
... hollows of sorts
... the wood then the wood, the stone then the stone, the wood
lying there, stone lying there
... some other lying there, or some others, you see, what these
are, it was, you see, something like this every day, every day
something would go on
... you see, i'd go into the woods, and then, sometimes, i don't
remember, there were these depressions, someone made them, there
were stones
... no building i remember, maybe grey walls, maybe nothing,
markers, no remembered buildings, no one living there, maybe
some living around there, near there, maybe some living there
... i remember the damp ground and someone or maybe more than
someone, i'm not sure, lying there, it was like a thicket
... i can remember wires and there were names, maybe it was that
dream again, i can still smell the wet bark, something, maybe it
had rained, i'm not sure
... than places where these things occurred, i think someone
told me there are many or at least a lot, i'm not sure, of them,
of stones, of depressions, it might have been animals, i seem to
remember animals
... the word 'concavity' comes to mind, it's come to mind a lot,
that might be the depression, then at the bottom of that it was
wet, the wires, i don't know, or maybe just damp, i think one of
them, it was like a pond, i had a normal upbringing
... i was always trembling, i keep trembling now, it's worse
because i don't know why, something there, something around,
it's, i'm trembling because i'm trembling, it's this fear, it
doesn't matter if it makes sense, this fear, and then there was
clothing everywhere, sockets of sorts, something about the
wires, everything had names and special numbers
... the special numbers
... the numbers worry me, they were of any size, just like
digits in a row, maybe not numbers at all, now that i think of
it, just digits in a row, any digits at all, in a row of sorts
... they seemed senseless, it was damp everywhere, the smell
maybe of sap or human sap, the digits, i couldn't understand
that, they didn't add up or anything, they were just
... just what, just there, maybe i could make sense of it, i
can't, any of these, are some things missing, some animals,
people, there was nothing in the depressions, a little water
perhaps, you'd have that after a rainstorm, it wouldn't be a
long one
... moved from town to town, everyone knows that about everyone,
town to town to town, or sometimes the woods, sometimes a space
by the side of a building, the buildings were always wooden, i
mean, made out of wood, even the doors and window frames, the
windows were glass, even the walls were wood
... but these wood roofs, i can't forget, and the odd scent of
them, almost like pine, something else though, i'm not sure
where now, i remember these things like a foggy dream, but with
the clarity of fog, it was like that
... closer to the surface of the ground, stones and hollows,
branches, grasses, something occurred there, and the memory of
that, the occurrence
... i don't want to say something happened here, only that
something occurred, something happened
... memories of those wires, they were just there, i don't think
they were for anything
... all that wood then
... the usual sounds of a wood maybe near dawn or dusk, i said
foggy, maybe some other sounds, language of sorts, i remember
that well, something spoken, some cries, murmurs
... hollows of sorts
... the wood then the wood, the stone then the stone
... i'm sure of that, the hollows



http://www.alansondheim.org/bt57.jpg
http://www.alansondheim.org/bt79.jpg
http://www.alansondheim.org/bt81.jpg

parlor dance and the minimal

http://www.alansondheim.org/parlor16.jpg the parlor dance
http://www.alansondheim.org/swan1.mp3 the minimal
http://www.alansondheim.org/swan2.mp3 the minimal
http://www.alansondheim.org/parlor18.jpg the parlor dance

for satie's haiku aphorisms
for satie's basho's aphorisms
for satie's basho's kraus' compositions
for composition's basho's aphorisms' swan
for satie's swan

Martin parlor guitar, 2017, repaired!

some pieces and images -

http://www.alansondheim.org/parlor07.jpg
http://www.alansondheim.org/parlor15.jpg
http://www.alansondheim.org/1917b.mp3
http://www.alansondheim.org/1917a.mp3
http://www.alansondheim.org/1917e.mp3

Rachel Rosenkrantz, https://www.atelierrosenkrantz.com/
has repaired the Martin parlor guitar; it's fantastic!
(I highly recommend her work and instruments by the way.)
I wanted to leave as much of the history as possible
visible. The sound projects really well from such a
small instrument. The pieces are three improvisations,
exploring the instrument, becoming comfortable with it.
Enjoy!

http://www.alansondheim.org/parlor15.jpg

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