The Alan Sondheim Mail Archive

January 15, 2012

passing, passage

passing, those who have passed, they have turned back,
they have turned around, they have this harmony, this one time,
these many times, they have, for those who have passed and
this one time, they have turned

passage, for neither a break nor a moment's rest have they,
they have continued, they have thought until their bones were
broken, until their minds among them, disappearing, no longer
this one melody, breathless, this one time, they have turned
and turned, the pipa rising among the buddhas, we have heard
there are engines in the empty air, in the air distraught,
they furiously pass, they furiously play themselves, appearing,
among them, among one or none of them, nothing of them, until
there were, no longer, of them or among them, they have risen,
they are rising, they shall have risen, they will have risen,

among the engines in the empty air, there are engines in the empty air


set of darkling images -

i'm not home yet, i'm not home at all, i'm not yet home
the virtual transformed into internal psychoanalytical strata
somewhere there are chemicals at work in their productions
on the desk, Tibetan prayer wheel and stupa, Tibetan gau,
Intimate Enemy - Images and Voices of the Rwandan Genocide,
charred distorted avatars printed from stl files,
hasapi and hegelung perhaps, i'm not sure, notes somewhere,
pieces of paper, maybe number two pencil
what does it mean when an inviolable emotional plateau appears,
  when the skin of the plateau is your own skin or your own skin
  attached to someone else's, taut like a drumhead or loose
  like a cadaver
i can't get over the loss of my body tomorrow or a bit longer
the door closes the human race disappears so does the sun
i can think of protons running around they can't think of me
just a bit longer before the virtual disappears as well
i want the neolithic or some stones engraved forever
they have the symbol, which i've just discovered
it contains my soul and i will live forever
somewhere i've got an alphabet, wait a minute or two
and so forth, but we have just a few hours to perform
three and a half billion years ago, stromatolites lived
  in warm seas with plenty of nutrients, they didn't wait for
  anything, not even the split between among fungi and some
  small versions of motility
a few thousand years from now, no more humans,
  very little else, i'm thinking micro-organisms everywhere
this performance is on the cusp of enormous duration
i, who am about to die, salute you, the earth rises up
  to meet me, i was and wasn't expecting this just now

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