The Alan Sondheim Mail Archive

i say, i can't possibly keep up the high quality of my work. i don't have
new ideas all the time. as soon as you can identify my style, i've failed.
as soon as i feel i've accomplished something, i've failed myself. how can
i have done anything at all with such poor quality. some of the texts are
better than others and some are worse. some just seem to be fillers and
some seem to be repetitions. i demand staleness after nine years of daily
writing. if anything is brilliant it gets lost in the rest of the sludge.
you're reading this? you're still reading this? well, i've got infinite
errors and infinite regrets. if this sounds different at all it isn't by
alan sondheim. it's not even by someone pretending to be alan sondheim.
it's not even by a friend or relative. look at that person over there. i
made you look and he did it all. i bet. he'd sign his name 'ron padgett'
but that would be someone else. he's trying to figure out whether to
justify this mess. if he justifies it would be a mess of a mess. in both
senses of mess and both senses of justify, he thinks. he'll do it! he'll
do it!


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