Message-ID: <Pine.NEB.4.64.0709070315140.4324@panix3.panix.com>
From: Alan Sondheim <sondheim@panix.com>
To: Cyb <cybermind@listserv.aol.com>, Wryting-L <WRYTING-L@listserv.wvu.edu>
Subject: Forwarded mail....
Date: Fri, 7 Sep 2007 03:15:56 -0400 (EDT)
Grim(e) Day This has been a grim day. Whenever I speak with my father, his hatred manages to hit home. From his viewpoint I'm a failure. He's been paying my health insurance; otherwise I'd die which might not be that much of a dis- pleasure to him. Thinking about this there were voices in my head which managed to expand into a world I prayed was out there, but am certain was just going on between cortex and ego. Yes, things manage to leap ontolo- gies just like that, the sign of madness. I listened to crystal, worked on rearrangement, all those voices spewed into the aether through systems of coils echoing one another, http://www.asondheim.org/echocoils.mp3 . I began to recognize the mockery of dissonance, played music and toppled the line upon itself with echos and delays as I thought what to do next, in the meantime beginning world-building once again with universal harmony, http://www.asondheim.org/universalharmony.mp3. By this time I was raging in tears fighting myself repeatedly, not that my health has been in good shape, it hasn't. I'm as far from my family as an event horizon filled with nothing worthwhile. I curled into myself. I curled farther into myself, I thought myself monad, I thought myself rage, I thought myself consort, I stopped thinking, I began again with the harmony of monads purring softly in molecular air, http://www.asondheim.org/harmonady.mp3 , open the windows, monads and let the soft flow healing in, the curing of rage against the selves swells to uncanny beauties that never makes the pain worthwhile.