Message-ID: <Pine.NEB.4.63.0512071918340.3751@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: glow (one of the better texts)
Date: Wed, 7 Dec 2005 19:18:56 -0500 (EST)
glow perhaps like bachelard, believing in the secret life of things. but is a reference necessary? things have their own glows, lives. these lives are my comfort zones the mystery of the vacuum, filament glows, hearths, from bulbs, tubes, unlike the flatness of lcd screens (their own colder glows, glacial, nonetheless kindly, empathetic) when i was young, i would make drawing after drawing, tiny villages from above, surrounded by protecting walls, almost a maze to enter, i was safe there, i could leave, return home against the onslaught and violence of others sparking in vacuums, closed glass bells, inert and noble gases, and the orange hue, the promise of life in the heart of radiation, of radiation in the beating heart of life throbbing candle flames, lanterns, amplifier and preamplifier tubes, delight of email, lives through wire-nerves, radiation-nerves, speaking to me, whisperings from the planet through the hours of day and night, distant glimmers of eternity darkling protocols, your imaginary voices, voices of the imaginary, here i am, here you are, there i am, there you are, thinnest of glass enclosures, rounded and subtle, skeins of lives and families, murmurings of love, colorations vacuum uncanny, our absence from visible space, emptied, but not quite, the quantum hearth churns, there are radiations, gravitations, crossroads of silences, rumors of darkness and universal endings but cathodic, traumatic, heatings, warmth of instrumentations, that slightest trembling, our passional heat, our soft sleepings within the blanketings of worlds and lazy atmospheres the seed - ( secret interior life / drawings w/ comfort zones / mysteries of the vacuum glass / throbbing ) ( our universe tiny, our place smaller, we huddle against the cold to come, we will have gone by then, we will unremember )