The Alan Sondheim Mail Archive

December 22, 2010

music, baryon

when i play an instrument, a current runs through me.
now this is the aporia: it appears to be the strong force.
the strong force on the level of quarks and gluons you understand.
as if i were playing the field currents and their probabilities.
it's hard to escape the most popular feynman diagrams.
i push against the grain having no idea what might emerge.
no wonder einstein's dice-playing god had the singular die.

i play the strings vertically, not horizontally. i remain on a string.
i remain on a string and others appear as helpmates catalysts.
additional energy drives the overtones.
jumping strings is an admission of defeat.

i am the server-surveyor-surgeon of my participation. in a world
in a world of my own making in dialog with a world.
i am dead and my dialog is a dead dialog in dialog with a dead world.

in survery-surgery i speed up my files beyond recognition.
and every notes contacts every other.
you can hear the harpies screaming as the world shudders.
which world, oh this one or that one.
the world does not shudder to a halt, the world spreads and splays.

in this spread world the strings are the particles of objects.
the so resilient strings draw nothing but erupt the true-real landscape.
vibration modes produce objects buried in data-base phenomenology.
nothing exhausts nothing in this true-real world.

there is no music in this true real world. there is no sound.
i bring sound from elsewhere. the screaming harpies arrive.
they arrive from somewhere else, wayward and untoward ontology.
they give substance to display, grit to projection, dirt to platonism.

this number is not this number, it is dirt.
dirt gives matter to this number.
dirt is the suture of this number to dirt.
what seems like a film is an ontology and a philosophy.
what seems like a landscape is a psychology and ruined ideality.

i press against the violin fingerboard. i leave dna behind.
dirt dna, fingerprints, oils, bacteria, prions, viruses, and cells.
what you hear struggles to get heard.
what you see is dead when you are dead. you are dead here and now.
this is called the 'instant.'
but a current runs through it.
and through this current i am sure it is the strong force.
and i begin the count of baryons.
i begin the baryon count.


1-4 closely played tones on single strings with adjacent harmonics
etc. - each slvoice a different string. 5 combination with similar
figures played up the fingerboard.

coming from a dreamscape of second life sounds from just outside the
virtual, just there, almost adjacent, what would be heard within the
friction/frisson of worlds.

these are rather different than my other solo violin pieces, perhaps
just as miserable but with a fair accounting and virtual presence...

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