Message-ID: <Pine.NEB.4.58.0312100042410.5510@panix3.panix.com>
From: Alan Sondheim <sondheim@panix.com>
To: Cyb <cybermind@listserv.aol.com>,
"WRYTING-L : Writing and Theory across Disciplines" <WRYTING-L@LISTSERV.UTORONTO.CA>
Subject: entering the absence of names
Date: Wed, 10 Dec 2003 00:43:20 -0500 (EST)
entering the absence of names how much longercan we enter the name of the Truth of Godthe Hammer of God in this world of marvels and travelsAbsolutes which fade into chaotic and fractal margins, no one knows the differance.debris of shame and stigma, what we can bring to the table.the table of eyes. derailing of neuroses with the real neuroses just beneath the surface, of the real neuroses.a return to the moment or movement of arms, across boards, before the end of hands.of one + | + and the other + || + and the fragility of better worlds.subtracting from the fragility.more and more the infinitesimal grains of the world dominated the realm of particle and pixel, as if everything breathed a new salvation.the real faltered on both smoothing and corrosion, integration, and the remnants of the classical differential, once and for all epistemologically defeated.an agreement, only to use language where applicable, "your results may vary."nothing is ever quite finished, there is always a diacritical mark, a curl, where an end might be a supposition. this nagging doubt or peripheral discomfort.beginning again and again, the mauve accents of the worldstarting to conserve what remained / in the still waters / in the waters' dark deployit was evident the infinitesimal realm gave one safe harbor for the real.you could see the grains of sand shimmering under the respiration of the biosphere.--or not, and languor, and + || +neither tulip nor pansy, this long journey back into the history of softwarewhy can't we continue with our real voices, she asked, our real voices, our real real voice. the hall was silent. his whole life flashed before her eyes.everything was submerged as the glaciers melted, the icecaps disappeared. lands skimmed the surfaces of water. an enormous mountain, inverted, reached down to kill the world.the flush of pink and in this season, the dark melancholy of purples and blues. _