The Alan Sondheim Mail Archive

remembrance of things past (commentary)

if i could write the proper theoretical accompaniment here, i would do so;
that i can't, literally goes without saying. it's too much; my chaotic
life allows at best fleeting glimpses into the grounding of the dream in
the real, the real in the dream - wait a minute, since there's neither,
since whatever analysis one might (dreamily) apply, as in a dream, takes
time beyond sleep, the dream screen-work inscribed, which takes place, as
in a dream, the real, which is the real. here avatar, who i dare not name,
to whom i dare not give a name, turns her, yes her, uncanny eye, movement,
muscle memory, towards that dancer of the dream, maud liardon, who has now
retreated back into the dream, the dream of maud liardon, as enacted by
this avatar, now my friend, my being, my dream, my very being, this avatar
who shall remain nameless, who refuses to name me, who has come forward to

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