Message-ID: <Pine.NEB.4.60.0408010234410.18364@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: "how am i doing"
Date: Sun, 1 Aug 2004 02:34:52 -0400 (EDT)
"how am i doing" how am i doing you're doing fine, why do you ask i don't think i'm doing fine, there are too many people against me online or offline do you think everywhere, there's no difference now, the world's increasingly porous, just look around you, reality's a hack, online is open-real, reality is open-source you're upset about quantum mechanics it's proprietary, depends on the economics, what you're looking at, research programmes, that sort of thing but you're doing fine as long as i don't think about these things and your work piling bodies on one another, species, devouring landscapes all this talk about your work is meaningless when species are disappearing at such a furious rate they're open source they're closed source or open source, it depends on who they are, what they want you can't mean they're mouthing information exactly that, meanwhile they say i write too much, that it's all the same is it not if you look closely, but every human has only one good idea and i've had hundreds can you name some sure, neitherness, defuge, immersive-definable hierarchies, the ascii unconscious, jectivity, the same old things rubrics for other things, jettisoned language or ideas i struggle to express, some unnamed, some in moving images, video, motion picture, online directories fraught with peripheral nomenclatures, one's peril, another's perl so the pun so the pun slips not from one register of language to another, but from language to elsewhere, unspoken, the foundations shaken, as if there weren't any, as if their lack were manifest on the surface you're saying embroiled, roiling, boiling or motile in a brownian fashion, quantum and irretrievable chaos but back there on the surface they're talking about you too much of it, yes, too much the same, not enough zing they say you're a nice guy, too preposterous poppycock of the fairways, assorted fructose, you get the picture the sweetness of it all yes, the sweetness of it all _