Message-ID: <Pine.NEB.4.64.0909121730470.24685@panix3.panix.com>
From: Alan Sondheim <sondheim@panix.com>
To: Cyb <cybermind@listserv.aol.com>, Wryting-L <WRYTING-L@listserv.wvu.edu>
Subject: it rains.
Date: Sat, 12 Sep 2009 17:31:13 -0400 (EDT)
it rains. What happens when you can't get the sound right? The day's overcast again, until 6:30 last night I recorded and recorded, making a mess of things. rainday4 I replaced, still trying, while rainday5 sputters like a dirt bike without the excuse of dirt; it makes its own. The music I do sounds more and more oppressive, one instrument, one sound, in a fast-forward world of tantric-sonic generation and completion. It's the last vestige of the artisan in me, last vestige of primitive accumulation, if nothing but notes, and here even less than that. I'm my own medicine wagon, taking my own medicine, remaining incurable. The files below are replacements, just as I am; they shudder, just as I do, one foot in the grave, the other, for good measure, dragged behind. When the rhythm no longer holds, the center fails; each of these pieces is a metaphor, either replete at the surface and empty at the heart, or - more likely - replete at the heart with emptied, emptied surface. http://www.alansondheim.org/rainyday4.mp3 http://www.alansondheim.org/rainyday5.mp3 I am the it that rains.