The Alan Sondheim Mail Archive

September 4, 2005

My Sister and I

Ah, dangerous fool, Elizabeth! While thou art running Paraguayan, I am
left thy unguarded Fort, thy solitude, solicitude, there is no hope for
me! The dusk of the World is my dusk, my loins ache for you, Ecce Homo!
Pathetic that I'm am, yet this man is your man, Jena or not, Napoleon at
the Gate. The Jew rises or falls
by his philosophy, no matter in what guise. Stone-hard dreams break sleep.
My Loins are useless, Dionysian, my Electric Pen, courtesy of Edison,
speaks sharp words into punctured paper. Eternally returning, I Try On my
philosophy, only to find it denuded, corrupted by nocturnal emissions, as
your hard white breasts press against my brain. Levy will "translate" in
the morning, and who is Levy? Perhaps an Other of the Levite race, I will
be let loose, left alone, violated by you, Elizabeth, whose cunt entices
me, Elizabeth, my obsession, let me drive you home

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