Message-ID: <Pine.NEB.4.64.0812040148360.9744@panix3.panix.com>
From: Alan Sondheim <sondheim@panix.com>
To: Cyb <cybermind@listserv.aol.com>, Wryting-L <WRYTING-L@listserv.wvu.edu>
Subject:
Date: Thu, 4 Dec 2008 01:49:40 -0500 (EST)
notes towards the series here what else can i write, there's no order to chaos and chaos underpins or- der, when, all the time, it's tawdry, sleazy, abject, makes you a loner whatever they say you log onto the site and sometimes you'll find you're not where you think you are then there's http://www.alansondheim.org/nitewalks.mp4 then there's an alien landscape, you're adjusting yourself (as avatar Julu Twine) trying to find your away around, what are these things you think these might be prims/textures/objects half-grown not yet downloaded from the cache, but that doesn't seem likely (there's something else going on) but the thing's full-grown, already formed, the cache filled quickly so it's something else, it's a re-marking of what you've already created, an unexpected display of inscription (in other words you inscribe, the program reinscribes) you can always right yourself (come to an even keel) - in the meantime you're seeing the unexpected metaphors dangle you into another geography (say an arctic wilderness here) - you're too tired to focus, the cold seeps through your bones http://www.alansondheim.org/nite1.jpg http://www.alansondheim.org/nite2.jpg http://www.alansondheim.org/nite3.jpg http://www.alansondheim.org/nite4.jpg http://www.alansondheim.org/nite5.jpg http://www.alansondheim.org/ surge jpgs these are just notes god i'm tired, i have to be tested for cfs, some- thing's wrong somewhere, i shouldn't be so tired all the time, my head's slumped towards my chest, i never figured second life for a burden, that i'd be returning to it for so long, there's people who drop by, but rarely, there's no community in the ruins, in the debris, it's like tall buildings falling down, you're crawling out from somewhere into somewhere and it's like the biggest thing of your life if you make it, and you won't forget those beams and the way they lay not to mention the flats and sharp edges, but no one else sees anything but a pile, and then the pile becomes etched, all the interiors, in your memory forever, and there's no way out of it, you're stuck there, other people are moving at high speed laughing and crying, going places, to the movies or big communal events like warcraft, and you're huddled back in deconstructive architecture and you're documenting no one will ever meander in there with you, you turn a corner and you're still by yourself, you turn another corner and another corner, you want to return to the help-island and help the newcomers along but you're looking to weird and where's you home-base anyway, where have you set your home, but in debris like schizophrenia or 9/11 or some other ship that got waylaid on the way to state diff http://www.alansondheim.org/ surge jpgs watch the tuning. what's wrong w ith this picture. connect the dots. before and after. what what what. 6,9d5 < what else can i write, there's no order to chaos and chaos underpins o < der, when, all the time, it's tawdry, sleazy, abject, makes you a lone < whatever they say < 46,51c42,47 < i'd be returning to it for so long, there's people who drop by, but < rarely, there's no community in the ruins, in the debris, it's like ta < buildings falling down, you're crawling out from somewhere into somewh < and it's like the biggest thing of your life if you make it, and you w < forget those beams and the way they lay not to mention the flats and s < edges, but no one else sees anything but a pile, and then the pile bec --- > i'd be returning to it for so long, there's people whodrop by, but rar > there's no community in the ruins, in the debris, it's like tall build > falling down, you're crawling out from somewhere into somewhere and it > like the biggest thing of your life if you make it, and you won't forg > those beams and the way they lay not to mention the flats and sharp ed > but no one else sees anything but a pile, and then the pile becomes 54,63c50,57 --- > and crying, going places, to the movies or big communal events like wa > fracft, and you're huddled back in deconstructive architecture and you > documenting no one will ever meander in there with you, you turn a cor > and you're still by yourself, you turn another corner and another corn > you want to return to the helpisland and help the newcomers along but > you're looking to weird and wheres you homebase anyway, where have you > your home, but in debris like schizophrenia or 9/11 or some other ship > that got waylid on the way to state