The Alan Sondheim Mail Archive

the fingers point nowhere, there's nothing alive here
whatever might be felt is in the details, invisible
or rather the details are virtual murmuring, instantaneous
something no one catches out of the corner of their eye
or in the form of a performance that exists peripherally
theory never beings nor ends where one might expect it
perhaps but it occurs always elsewhere and indefinite
the world changes in its defining and language fails
at this point to disconnect in order to connect, it's
that failure of language that constitutes theory, that
and the ruins of a curtain that shuts itself off
every one of us is shut off as if it's curtains for us
or a peripheral performance that we wear, considering it
our costume which can never be shaken or shaken off
the grid is the teething of the mesh, what constitutes
the beginnings and endings of physics, see here i am
permitted for a moment to continue thinking in this
fashion before language becomes bereft of presence, what
i can constitute only as a stain or residue, you are
hearing me just now if you are reading, before you are
gone, outside in the street is a street, inside in the
building is an inside, what among us is theory, what is
this language that daily transforms, you are hearing me
now is what you are doing, in another street or before
or after another building or something else on the way
to disappearance, or a setup you might have supposed to
be somewhat inside the body, in place of mathesis or
other ware, the future is always a texturing

8-31-12 2 twitches in the evening (& 2 yesterday)
9-01-12 2 slight this afternoon
9-02-12 twitch 2:25 2 twitches @ 6:30 pm
9-4-12 1 twitch @ 4pm-ish maybe a second one later
9-10-12 1:05 am bad twitch (now)

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