Message-ID: <Pine.NEB.4.64.0707140101000.13271@panix3.panix.com>
From: Alan Sondheim <sondheim@panix.com>
To: Cyb <cybermind@listserv.aol.com>, Wryting-L <WRYTING-L@listserv.wvu.edu>
Subject: why this probably isn't written well
Date: Sat, 14 Jul 2007 01:01:22 -0400 (EDT)
It's July 13 going on July 14 2007. Today I did absolutely nothing. I ate some grapes and played harmonica terribly. Last night I had a panic attack, that was a mess; I checked out the symptoms on the net and that was good enough for me. My heartrate was only 80 but my chest was tight and pounding. Today I found out my triglycerides are down to 220 and cholesterol at 199 which is okay. I read two versions of the Hevajra- tantra, Sanskrit and Chinese, in translation and answered an inquiry from Christie's who wanted me to redo the jpegs of the Koran under 600k and they couldn't open any of them with the URL until I sent them under 600k as attachments. I watched too much soccer, Bolivia beaten by Brazil in 1997 Copa Americas - Brazil was playing dirty but with a final score of 3-1 no one could argue. This is already badly written. Maybe it's Copa America. I finally understand football (soccer) offsides. Went with Azure and a friend back to the Tibetan shop for two more tantric works. Slept on and off all day because the panic attacked basically wrecked me; I haven't been able to do much else. I've had these attacks rather frequently in the past couple of weeks as I try to figure out my futureless future. The lock broke on our inner door in the building and I traded four bags of books for $56 as well as the Encyclopedia of New York, an Erle Stanley Gardner novel, and yet another book on things cyberspatial. Albert Ayler was on the radio and I heard a rumor that he was murdered back then. It would have been his 71st birth- day. I took a photograph with my Canon and the 24mm lens - the inside of a cafe. Found out that Flatbush meant a wooded plain in the original or something like that. I've been thinking about intentional language but doing nothing about it. The net said, well some- thing I read said that panic attacks can be accompanied by overwhelming feelings of devastation and doom. I'm waiting for the arrival of a Canon 8.1 megapixel A630 camera which might bring me needed resolution over my Sony FSC-717 which has only 5.1. The Canon doesn't have image stabiliza- tion. I've been using the Sony with full manual, including ISO. I'm thinking more about Thomas Ward, who wrote in 1842 under Flaccus. The place is far too humid and I looked at a brochure of Pocono homes. I had Turkish coffee at lunch with Azure and my friend; we talked about reincar- nation and ontological shifts. I've wanted to do something creative, and you might think this is it, writing through the back door, so to speak, but it's not. This morning I had to turn Bush's voice off the radio. I think it might be a different model name than FSC-717. I realized I like Roxy Music and traded a book on the evolution of invertebrates into the second-hand bookstore, as well as a book on nuthatches. I gave the cat a long pet; we've been worried about her after her third operation. I don't understand the excitement over Beckham; it didn't work with Pele, or rather worked for a little while, that's all. More soldiers and some Iraqi policemen died today; it was on the radio. I also don't understand the Regency period. I've got to work on our dance performance stuff - Foofwa's publicity materials arrived two days ago. The mail today brought abso- lutely nothing. I don't understand Will Ferrell or that kind of slapstick. I was able to write something more for Sue on cyberstuff and the wilder- ness and answered another interview question about the music I did in the 60s. The cat's trying to drink my coffee. Feeling guilty about not working enough on Leonardo; I'm having a hard time concentrating. I'm sad about trading or selling off books but we're heavily in debt. My new HIP doctor called today about the sleep clinic; she seems terrific. The old one lit- erally disappeared. I read some more in Delacroix' journals. Coffee is great. I kept waking up in the middle of the night; it was miserable. There was a dream of connectors coming apart and together on the side of something. I weigh 162 again, far too much, it's depression or stress or lack of sleep. Soccer is my meditation savior. I'd work for a while and then sleep and then wake up unbelievably frightened with my chest cold and tight, my heart pounding, my arms trembling. I think this is why I did nothing today, and my harmonica playing was awful; I'm in no shape for doing anything. We're trying to get the cat to eat more.