The Alan Sondheim Mail Archive


I'm sorry I wasn't able to deliver your message.

In Geneve the dancers waited in the cold.
The image bloomed and blossomed and the world faded.
Parochial, I only remember Claire and Mary.
The Shelleys watched the domestic drama unfold.
They died but not here, nowhere near here.
Apologetically, they left the film and story.
http://www.asondheim.org/gen.mov
(Name: "male_body.zip")
(Name: "male_body.zip")
(Name: "male_body.zip")
(Name: "female_body.zip")
(Name: "male_body.zip")
(Name: "male_body.zip")
(Name: "male_body.zip")
(Name: "female_body.zip")
(Name: "male_body.zip")
(Name: "male_body.zip")
(Name: "male_body.zip")
(Name: "female_body.zip")
(Name: "male_body.zip")
(Name: "male_body.zip")
(Name: "female_body.zip")
(Name: "male_body.zip")
(Name: "male_body.zip")
Male and female bodies were zipped closed against the wind.
You can imagine who bundled up who.
We all wear culture underneath our clothes.
Our skin is our message.
The dancers of Foofwa d'Imobilite were immobilized.
Their only desire on the bridge was warmth and a comfortable home.
The United States of America would free them democratically.
Iraq = the Christmas-time joy of the whole wide world.
Jesus gouged the eyes of Jahweh Allah.
Jesus: "All gods see better now."
The dancers disappeared like ghosts upon the bridge.
Their bones were ice; their skin, fire; their minds, clear and bright.

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