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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The Buddha is perfection.

One must be careful not to get in the way of a truck.
It's harder to get around these days.
The news got around that the Buddha is imperfect.
I get wary of bad news that's even worse.

The Buddha is pure in body and mind and speaks truth-only.

When he says he doesn't get it, he must not be listening.
Either get out the weapons or get out.
Get below in the bad storm of the intellect.

The Buddha's words conform to essence and meaning.

It got cold out when I thought about these things.
I don't know what's gotten into her every evening.
He got down from the train when it was still moving.
I got down with her and everyone knew it.

The Buddha's body, space, time, power, and life are infinite.

You've got to be kidding she said listening to him carry on.
He got into the sutra box and was playing with god knows what.
Give me a minute, he said, I just got in.
She got through the interrogation with flying 'colors.'

The Buddha is infinitely patient and teaches single-sound.

He kept trying to get up in the morning but it was useless.
His get-up was tawdry like a mendicant monk.
I'm really getting into The Buddhist School of the Small Vehicle.
She got to thinking about mendicant monks.

The Buddha never sleeps, never wakes, never speaks.

He got caught in an unseemly affair.
She never got through the night without suffering.
She got to thinking what a seemly affair might be.

The Buddha is emptiness and non-existent.

I got to dance one last time dressed like an Arhat.
I got into the class and thought about whirligigs.
I got out a brush and paper and began to think.
I got beside myself with grief.
I got into a shrine without lock or key.
I got some last night.
I got up on a ladder and threw it away.
I got down when I heard the Buddha was dead.
I got over it soon enough and looked forward to a new her.
I got into trouble worrying about ladders and propositions.
I got under the weather but it was still weather below.

CD Tracks from Today's Recording Session! (new track!)

Luke Damrosch, engineer, madal, guzheng
Azure Carter, voice, song, photography
Alan Sondheim, cura saz, long-necked saz, madal, chromatic
harmonica, electric guitar, electric saz, pipa, erhu, qin,
classical guitar, clarinet, alto clarinet, jinashi shakuhachi,
alto recorder, Irish banjo, oud, dan moi, viola.

We had the cd recording session today. Listen to all of the
tracks simultaneously, what a treat, so much music for the
creative industry entrepreneur on a busy schedule!

production preparation, Palmyra
  -> -> electric guitar + Bb clarinet

preparation of production
production of preparation

1. I don't have names for the pieces at this point.
2. Pieces are 4' or under.
3. Pieces are the Shorter Discourses of the Buddha.
4. Production of production and preparation of preparation.
5. Instrument names are not names.
6. I don't have the order down at all.
7. My nails are strong and my fingers supple.
8. "Yet my nails are strong and my fingers supple."
9. The qin, at any moment, out of tune.
10. Viola bowing leaves a lot to be desired.
11. Alpine zither and electric guitar = rough on fingers.
12. Risky gamble of maverick clarinet.
13. Balance Azure singing with embedding and clarity.
14. Cords, chords, and braid = sonic sheaves.
15. Sound remaining, for a moment, after I die.
16. The unclarity of the sound remaining.
17. Today I practice jinashi shakuhachi, alto clarinet,
clarinet, electric guitar, viola, anything to keep myself
moving. These are the best for the fingers and lungs.
Tomorrow the sazs, pipa, oud, Alpine zither, qin, others
that building on the simpler architectures of the western
lands. I read myself into a state of forgetting. How to
name the pieces, order them, keep them to the assigned
limits as if they were born to the length of a shorter
older singing. How to ignore the screams outside the
window here, now, as if what mattered only were internal
resonances, murmurings of the worlds, skies elsewhere,
and my thinking all through this, summed up in one word,

cawwac yzarc-t

saw ti ,raey siht crazy ekil etorw I ...dna dnuos eht dna leef
eht devol ;laretil reven saw ehs ,dnah eno eht nO .toob ot crazy
dna leimelhcs ,em eht ,stoob evisnepxe fo gniraew eht ,toob ot
crazy dna leimelhcs eht s'tI gninrut ,ereht crazy kcuf dna sw ll
h dna stekciht tni dnu rg eht htaeneb snoitide hguorht crazy nur
i sa snialpxe siht tub krow fo paeh a si siht atnecalp_LATIGID
ot noziroh eht :fo htiw :fo eht nus crazy eht crazy nus sa
redniamer eht si ot crazy eht eht hcihw fo=gnieb ## ## ## ##
redniamer ## eht si ot crazy ## ## eht eht esrow era yehT .dab
ton era sgnag ehT .won drib a eb ot crazy eb dluow gninrut
,ereht crazy kcuf dna sw ll h dna stekciht tni dnu rg eht
htaeneb rof ti desu ev'I ;siht teg ot crazy ekil dedart I !woW
.noitide ht6 5871 elttil rehto't crazy nrow 7991 sallad eoj
yrrej edona retirwepyt cirtcele saw ti ,raey siht crazy ekil
etorw I ...dna dnuos eht dna leef eht devol rof lla lla lla og
ybab deneppah gniworht crazy crazy sgniht . og rebmemer aaw ti
,raey siht crazy ekil etorw I ...dna dnuos eht dna leef eht
devol .esrow era yehT .dab ton era sgnag ehT .won drib a eb ot
crazy eb dluow

Why I love to play music.

1. I can.
2. I'm good at it.
3. It's good exercise.
4. It fills me with wonder.
5. Time slows up.
6. My lungs strengthen.
7. I don't have to listen to the street.
8. My depression lightens.
9. I tend to something besides me.
10. I pretend to do new things.
11. I pretend to explore new structures.
12. It puts me in a 'zone.'
13. My tinnitus is forgotten.
14. I communicate to someone else.
15. I train my ear.
16. I don't think about anything.
17. My hands and fingers grow stronger.
18. My hands and fingers grow quicker.
19. The music pushes me.
20. I inhabit a world of comfortable discomfort.
21. I go to the limit of my ability.
22. I explore microhistories around me.
23. My instruments present an anthropology.
24. I both silence and open myself.
25. I dwell in the world.
26. Neurosis recedes.
27. I am aware of sound in time.
28. I'm always surprised by where I am.
29. I do something I'm not trained to do.
30. I burn calories of creativity.
31. Music is the body's interiority.
32. Later theorizing is crystalline and clear.
33. Enlightenment is slowly approached.
34. I hear my singing voice (I cannot sing).
35. I don't have to worry about someone else's rhythm.
36. I trust my instruments for perfect playing.
37. Wood and metal, reed and nylon, greet me.
38. I can do something others can't.
39. It's the only sport I'm good at.
40. Practice and creation become one.
41. I become one with objects and dynamics.
42. I become one with sound and movement.
43. I become one with breath and physical reach.
44. I become sound and I become.
45. I dwell in becoming.
46. I sound and I dwell in sounding.
47. I dialog with and tend to my instruments.
48. Temperature, pressure, and humidity control me.
49. My control is given as a gift.
50. I am in a state of furious peace.
51. My speed is a positive, not a liability.
52. I explore untoward structures.
53. I inhabit these structure and extend them.
54. The world is sounding and amazing.
55. I will return to the world enriched.
56. I can listen to the world and what I have made.
57. I can listen to the making of the world.
58. I can listen to the world making me.
59. I can do something well and can do good.
60. My daemons momentarily disappear.
61. My daemons momentarily return.
62. My music is a gift for the people I love.
63. My music is uncanny.
64. I don't have to worry about tonic return.
65. The return to the world is never the same.
66. I inhabit an inconceivable sonic architecture.
67. I commune with others who commune with me.
68. I am part of a sonic world of friends.
69. Time stops and I am still alive.
70. I will leave something behind when I die.
71. I will leave gifts and dwellings for others.
72. And I will never have to worry about tonic return.

ther teror in land nam craking providence guitar
and banjo providence guitar
and banjo

it was dark and miserable, who could eny deny the supine
body, parched, waiting for pleasures and pains, his and
her bound together in this darkened moment of desiccation
and untoward acts of ecstasy and vengeance.
not me and not you and that were said to be true of al
of us s/he sed 2 no 1 in particlar wh o were listening
2 th sounds of bones craking

File Name to write :
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[ Wrote 10 lines ]
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$ now there were more terror 2 be sure en th land
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$ and we wer found ther
/usr/local/bin/ksh: and: not found

ESC[22;1H^@^@^@^@^@^@^@^@^@^@ESC[7m^@^@^@^@File Nam

"He also spoke of their character of production [through the
force of contaminated actions and afflictive emotions, their]
character of disintegration, abandonment [of the contaminated
actions and afflictive emotions that are the causes of the
contaminated aggregates], and through knowledge [that the
entities of the aggregates are like a disease or are not
established as a substantial existent self]." (Jeffrey Hopkins,
Emptiness in the Mind-Only School of Buddhism: Dynamic Responses
to Dzong-ka-ba's _The Essence of Eloquence: 1,_ University of
California Press 1999, pp. 76-77, Dzong-ka-ba's summary at the
beginning of the Paramarthasamudgata Chapter of the _Sutra
Unraveling the Thought._)

From Shorter Discourses of the Buddha:

another candidate
forthcoming on Public Eyesore records:

Shorter Discourse of the they:

the MOO grinds on grinds on
the MOO screams loneliness and
the empty atmospherics wail on Phaedra
the split my head they killed me
the world whirls away
there's no uptime downtime logins logouts
they butchered my talker
they cauterized my directories
they closed my MOO behind a firewall
they cut off my arms my hand
they cut off my legs my tongue
they cut out my eyes my ears
they hung me near your eyes your ears
they killed my haven
they plucked my lily from my navel
they refused my nightmares
they ripped out my umbilical cord

Agaynst the Foe; thus, angered Fathers
At last, upon the Bairn of Dusk arose:
Borne of Galls of Foreyn Mothers.
Doth doome the State of Ripening
Names of Others, Castigate those
Theyr Burthen of Artystry, tempering
This ys the Space of Memory
Those forced madly Hyther, lightening
Transpose theyr Selves, and steal what is Myne.
Uponne another; thus Sophistry

    1. 0 -> X, in which the origin only
    3. 0 -> A(n) B(n') C(n") in which emperor or other
"A specter haunts Europe - the specter of communism.
"The 'mystical character' of the commodity is.
"The same connexion that defines the visible.
"real" weeds refuse the sign, are disposable.
"weather center," back to television.
10. The good men appreciate.
11. Let the great savants of learning who are.
12. The tree of logic, planted by the great.
1996 end the weight of the present.
1996 hold death in my hands.
1996 no future there is none.
1996 the weight of the present.
3000 In the year 3000 my birthday falls.
3000 untrue we're inside others.
5. Let the discerning wise people take their bath.
59. By being taken into possession, the thing.
6. We make an appeal to the great.
7. I have culled this herb from the wild.
:From the direction of the blood.



how nice, why so much music? why so much music? i work on surge
theory with very little response; now, three of us are working
together on a cd, Threnody, Shorter Discourses of the Buddha -
everything on it has to be a combination of centrifugal and
centripetal forces, flight and border or potential well,
emptiness, the rush from life and death towards space and time,
survival in a cold-death universe of annihilations. again there
will be very little response; great reviews don't translate into
sales or distribution or breaking even, or anything that might
allow me, us, to go on, and i sense an ending just around the
corner, children and grownups flee from me, as far back as i
remember, animals yowl, plants wilt, mewl and slumber, forms
slowly wander their uneasy path of disappearance

soon the music will be done and gone, disks to give away, no one
listens, no one returns our calling

somewhere from Holderlin (Bb & alto)

somewhere from Holderlin's The Leisure

But rising into the moonlight up the broken columns
And the temple gates that once met the terrible, the secret
Spirit of balance, the chest of the Earth and the people
Be angry and ferments, the Unbezwungne, the old Erobrer,
The cities, like lambs, tears, once the Olympus
Stormed which stimulates in the mountains, and flames out throws,
The uprooted forests and breaks forth by the ocean
And the ships smashes and yet in the eternal order
Never mislead you power on the board of your laws
No syllable blurred, which is also your son, O Nature,
With the spirit of peace born out of a womb. -

machine translation, the original German found handwritten
in a fourth edition of Hermann Weyl's RAUM ZEIT MATERIE,

broken columns, Riemann, sheaves

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