Message-ID: <Pine.NEB.4.61.0412130007510.24234@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: The Bones, for my mother
Date: Mon, 13 Dec 2004 00:07:59 -0500 (EST)
The Bones, for my mother people's perception of the world and their relationships in general. Many the residue of organism, that something remains of interested after language and Oedipus (wihtout spatial signification), in the sense that ## On the 9th, we went to the Back Mountain Library Auction. ## On Sept 18th, Evelyn's 80th b-day. We went to PA 1 pm. ## On October 5, Evelyn had surgery. ## March 11, go to PA @ 3:15 pm. and and brocades, and a long way back ,, cancers spread like pools of artificial life across desperate thought they are dying with scans and with probes your body is mined and saturated; your body is a hole; your body is mine; the new computer will remain crying in the store in the new box. for an instant before the darkness: our illuminations. When the thing becomes a catheter the walk before the last walk the walk after the last walk the shadow of a man near a three o'clock store don't want to lay it on anyone else, I just want to be understood. I Now at least I can say how I feel. Before I could never talk to anyone. she says father oh father they're gaining upon us she's screaming father i'm dying father they're gaining she's screaming and no one can see or can save her in the murmuring forest no girl and no father waves of cancer testing other newer waters, new metastases, solitons and the pages, yours, letters swollen, loving your mouth. letters survive and murmur and couple and mourn. letters, leave us. they move cleanly, screaming network! network! i want to scratch and claw my face i am the purest of the meek behind this world and any other moorings the balance of water and water balance of death and water waters mooring waters i do fall into the depths of the waters & there i do bind this wayward drowning angel hey, where are you going? ho, why are you leaving us? Meaning is all there is. there is a boy near the houses the things and he is a boy the houses are not in the lake it is a nice house and a nice dog and a nice cat there is a moon in the sky behind the house this is a nice month and it is november nothing is ever in silence, nothing in void this is not the text but the bones of the text (how does it feel to want \?) (why should i \?) this is not the text but the bones of the text '((can you elaborate on that and look at me \?) i say "this is not the text but the bones of the text" you tell me "this is the text that is open for you alone" (dor-put-meaning stab 'death) (dor-put-meaning die 'death) & layers in layers, layers tilted, askew in relation to layers, this is the start of the flower of the text the beautiful flower that was the start of the flower of the text the beautiful flower sign and each and every sign returns to that sign and if there is not one still yet in the morning and afternoon, that the knowledge of logic is don't run up, don't approach! don't stay in me! the whales are dying, the whales are dying in a bag twisted and tied at two ends every little beat of my heart that the every third beat went from one to the other every little beat of my heart the case/ as if i were reconfigured/ buried in carpet/ thick/ there/s the valley . just before the sun rose burning in the west . in the heat of that there is only one death; that this death has no number; that there is only one passage, one text, one whisper; that writing is of the suppurated body; that skin is wound; Let death be quick for those concerned with antiquity and adjectives. Our motto is release the records and release the librarians. you can't forget its name ^ it hasn't any ginelle bringing the flowers, sprigs of holly, tulips, to ginni, running in the distance near the mountain shadow? _