The Alan Sondheim Mail Archive

September 13, 2012

bowed easiest nepalese sarangi nepalese sarangi violin violin afghan sarinda

and under the influence of canadian television broadcasting
and maritimes fiddle music

small field tune

a field tune is played within the Higgs field, the bow's waves
disrupting gravitation and the miracle of the strong force.
the gluons have no idea where they are; they're busy operating
within exchange values among the quarks huddled down in the
molecular structures of the Nepalese sarangi, the horsehair
bow, rosin, steel, and too many other trace substances to name
or take into account. The field tune goes on forever; cramps
drive the muscles into under-drive, and the neck-wood is worn
down as the nails attempt to hold, by friction and feedback,
their momentary positions on the strings. The field tune is a
field call as well, summoning musical structures to hold their
own, at the very least in memory, so that partial completion
might occur, creating objects out of categories and recursive
phrases that announce themselves as occurrences within dynamic
temporality. After holding, they disappear. After holding,
memory disappears. Think of the field tune as a summoning of
fields, from Higgs through flesh and the blood-pulse of the
lungs and heart; think of the convulsed or supine body in the
midst of the field, open to the sexual rhythms of the earth
and sky. For you, it is the appearance that the music stops for
nothing, neither life nor sex nor death; for the music, it is
nothing but the field, villagers of the imaginary at its edge,
the implanting done for the season, the whole world on a very
slow verge that stops as well for nothing, and might, in quick
shift, change everything as a body falls or a baby's born.
Nothing lasts here, not even the field tune, but the field
itself, and the tune is an object in recording, the implanting
of time itself, as you and I might be, as well, for this and
that. the tune is calling, you are reading, answering the call
which is already over, and the planet is dark and empty, or
bright, radiated, in every case awaiting nothing, not even the
response, within the Higgs field, itself on the verge of
failure, according to some, and according to others, there are
no such matters at all.

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