The Alan Sondheim Mail Archive



doctor i get these fevers constantly; i'm under tremendous stress. i've
taken my art as far as i can - i'm not even sure it's art anymore. sexual
nakedness repeats itself into infinity; my recent presentations carry the
repetition as i*i*i traveling back and forth across the imaginary. there's
no end to it. i don't sleep well. i'm shaky. my vision produces peripheral
illusions. there are headaches, chills. i take codeine. i take coffee. i

i say this because of sleeplessness. i'm always on the verge of breakdown.
i want all the bodies in the world bought and sold. i want the sex and the
guns. i want the sweetness and collections of late-night promises. i want
tender farewells and corpses.

there are no other reasons. beneath the skin, there's skin. flesh cuts
into flesh, organ into organ. two cells occupy the same space. they love

there's room for everyone. nothing but the chills which i have to great
degree. they don't disappear. at night i twist until my body becomes
someone else. that person fucks and dies. that persons buys and sells,
this is all contract. live within my means.

i came broken to you because there's no choice. nothing comes and nothing
goes. i see brutal mountains. no vegetation. i want the bodies there. to
come to me. bought and sold. there's room for everything in the desert.
they have visions in the desert. i want the visions.


i've ceased crying long ago. others cry for me. they see for me. i am an
other. i am written for. i am naked, fucking. they provide me. i die. they
die. it makes a seal, contract. i endure. i come to you.

some woman. some man. sometimes the same.

collapse of day. the fever is furious. i do nothing less than this. i
create the conditions. i collapse them. the hunger continues. you are too

mountains and night. live within the other's means. i collapse them.

go through, doctor. don't ask. don't tell. i won't say a word.

I don't understand and oh I want to.


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