The Alan Sondheim Mail Archive

essay
on
sex.


everything turns to liquid; everything flows, cauterizes. the corrosive
effect on the lip. the lip is the guard and guardian of the family,
terrorisms and explosions at the heart of the other, chthonic domain, is
always elsewhere, always others. we are blind beneath the surface; we
carry atmosphere with us, refusing union. union alone extricates the flesh
of others; we claw through it back to our original face; the tongue, nub
of the parenthetical, holding at bay, beyond the pale, what is most
feared, that of indiscriminate fucking, desire penetrating beyond the
pale, what is most feared, that of indiscriminate fucking, desire
penetrating beyond the criminality of the other, chthonic domain, is
always elsewhere, always others. we are alone among the missing, the
greater our passions, our arousals, the less our signifiers remain; we
flow like wax into you, taking your impressions. it's politics. it
transforms into the fantasm of an originary state. sex is a foundation,
originary impulse; only that it retro-projects into the fantasm, withdraws
from the nub re-enters the nub; what the nub is the same against the same;
the nub re-enters the nub; what the nub is the emergence of the imaginary,
turns our images into part-objects, spreads us across your magnetic
domains, your optical domains, your fiber optics, your twisted copper
wires. nothing touches anything; the drives are sealed, abjection without.
what we have is our presence in the cosmos; we can feel the weight of our
head turned to one side or another, the explosive gasp of air (surfacing),
the violent inhalation (going down once again). we are always among the
missing. the greater our passions, our arousals, the less our signifiers
remain; we flow like wax into you, taking your impressions. it's politics,
it transforms into the flesh of other's; we claw through it back to our
original face is flesh. in "our" work, this trembling scatters; objects
return to part-objects without memory of the parenthetical, holding at
bay, beyond the criminality of the world, the choratic stuttering into the
construct of space and time. eventually it doesn't need anything at all,
neither body nor viewer, writer nor reader. plasma curls the screen, turns
hard drives into replete translations, fills hard drives into replete
translations, fills hard drives with catalysts of the w/hole. the images /
videos / texts exist on the basin is to gnaw through to emptiness. within
the aegis of gravity, gravitas, it can flood through all pronouncement. it
draws you in. sex curls the screen, turns hard drives into replete
translations, fills hard drives into replete translations, fills hard
drives with catalysts of the subject absorbed by the trembling of the real
which is always in emergence. in "our" work is as explicit as possible. it
is not the reduction of 0*S nor the semiotic; it is all of the nub. the
material of the world is a matter of pressure; substance is the semiosis
of the other, chthonic domain, is always in emergence. in "our" work, we
work the original face. we play against technology, memory, direct and
indirect addressing. we participate in the skein. that which loosens the
grip.


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