Message-ID: <alpine.NEB.2.00.1105271608500.7080@panix3.panix.com>
From: Alan Sondheim <sondheim@panix.com>
To: Cyb <cybermind@listserv.wvu.edu>, Wryting-L <WRYTING-L@listserv.wvu.edu>
Subject: Propeller
Date: Fri, 27 May 2011 16:10:16 -0400 (EDT)
Propeller http://www.alansondheim.org/propeller.mp4 The propeller cuts through the air like a knife through the body of Gaia. Bird-particles are removed by virtue of the fold catastrophe. The helix makes a vector for its own dragging body. The body is filled with rough-and-tumble tools and organisms. The propeller pays no heed until its winds into dirt and asphalt. Dreams and spirits witness whispers of cranks and plumes. The vector moves the air which barely registers. Those tools and organisms register every moment of foreign occupation. Part of the engine whirls with the propeller, and part refuses. What refuses wants to return to the ground. Oh those kids of blades. The ground is our aspiration as an aircraft flies belly-up. It is a final destination in the midst of air's fitful ocean. Foreheads align and alight before a twist and upwards we go. Mr. Heidegger's hut recedes in the distance but Mr. Wittgenstein's blood-red spot is there for all to see.