The Alan Sondheim Mail Archive

o julu twine of the leaving world leaving the world, the long slow music
digitized, hands removed from things, fleeing away, carrying emptiness
which has always existed, the exhaustion of the world left behind -
no virtual, no virtual beyond, the labor lost once the thing sets into
motion, but the labor of capital, ceaselessly drawing and redrawing,
ceaselessly withdrawing, the vacancy filled by illumination, they have
never been mine, they will never be mine, there and already probably
disappearing, somewhere off world and worlds, sometimes returning to
inventory and the production of accountancy, enumeration, sometimes
unraveled, forgotten...

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