Message-ID: <alpine.NEB.2.00.1303290116230.25616@panix3.panix.com>
From: Alan Sondheim <sondheim@panix.com>
To: Cyb <cybermind@listserv.wvu.edu>, Wryting-L <WRYTING-L@listserv.wvu.edu>
Subject: rough maquette for my reading this coming Tuesday
Date: Fri, 29 Mar 2013 01:17:47 -0400 (EDT)
[Rough maquette for upcoming Clark Coolidge reading, myself reading/sound, this coming Tuesday] [interspersions with cura saz, oud re: below] [noisy dys/functionals] it's too strong it's right here it's right in the middle of us it twists and turns there's no end to it in a conversation with Ken Wark I invented the word codework we were discussing the bones of the text modified by a computer so that the bones were the program within the language and both were speaking it churns she said when I die because I'm afraid of death and weep and wail about it that she'd take care of it i remember Vito Acconci and Laurie Anderson, it was one day, that's how i remember it, and in Nazareth, we were taken as guests of an Arab student, at the restaurant, that was never it, the restaurant destroyed over our presence, he was gone night having the horrors of death and disfiguration codework destroys the language given to us with the uneasy birthright of Cain, the mark on Cain is the terminal prompt, decoding the journeys of the Wandering Jew, an .stl file that prints out the world's body it looms it's born on a loom and dies on a loom, as it grows, it weaves itself it weaves itself into a loom and grows itself it grows turning and it says to itself i turn left i turn right chiams it crosses itself it grows churning and it says to itself center right center center left center left center center right it swallows time it's the family favorite i kill my father and mother i kill my sister and brother i kill my son and daughter i'm the family favorite, i'm the family favorite it melds it erases its Origin it erases the INTERSECTION OF THE ABCISSA AND ORDINATE it's somewhere it's really something it's somewhere it's somewhere DIIRTY I think of the dance as a whirl without consent, like the body burning, on ( like a singer without a song, totally open to the world, no computer, no I think of an inverted hysteria, the world as symptom of this - it wobbles on varying pivots, it gyroscopes in varying axes, it twists and turns, it turns away the face, the face of the world is the dance ) the world of the face is the trance I think the hands hold old-fashioned canes and crushes these could be quite dangerous wobble turn around I think you leave holding hands my heart bursts open, and blood everywhere, this burst heart! And then I no longer think, my whirling body-heart, body-burst-heart! dance- body-body _unfettered,_ that is, motion or postures dance- through repetition (arms attached in a particular manner, dance- gestures formed by virtue of _the easiest thing to do,_ in the dance- manner of a potential well, as the body falls from itself, dance- within the gravitation-work dance- I think of an inverted hysteria, the world as symptom of this burst-heart-body, world roiling and heaving system fast rotation and wobble I think the hands hold old-fashioned canes and crushes these could be quite dangerous wobble turn around pulling forth the cane from the body can only be imagined the body is the dream of freedom the dance is the dream of freedom dream of freedom, the cane i remember she didn't have to die for once the doctor's were right death claims those who ignore who sway to the right move to the left who move to the left sway to the right (Get out. Get out of here. Get out of here now. Get away from here. Get out of here. Get out. Get out of here. I'll meet you in Providence. I'll meet you in Seattle. I'll travel to Seoul. I'll travel to Moscow. (I'll see your eyes. I'll kiss your eyes. Language is an enemy. Language is an enemy. Get out. Get out of here. I'll see your face. I'll kiss your face. (Get away from M. Lacan. I'll meet you in a bar in Soho. I'll meet you in a Montreal cafe. I'll meet you in Victoria. You see my eyes in Vancouver. You see my eyes in Toronto. Language is an enemy. My body in Cape Breton, my heart in Newfoundland. U. A. A. a. a. a. (Julacan's a fraud. Julacan told me so. I'm Julacan. I turn away from the _word._ I kill the _word._ Language is a _word._ Language is an enemy. I get into the ocean. I get out of the sea. Now I will note the attitudes in the time of the arthropods, When helmetted Zor ran his lanky legions around the army of Murr. The golden-haired maiden, with three drops of blood, christianed The sword of the family of Aral, born of the dank ruins of Drur. Those times past the ruins of Feggard! Ah for the mead and the storm! Such moments of these, like the falling of peas, take us away From the norm! poetry is an emergency poetry is always an emergency a steep hill with wooden steps near the top abandoned apartment second floor a picture i know there forget now someone i lived in and in the apartment in Providence it was a guitar maker from back then plane crash in the north back yard splits open filled with medicine bottles a bad one in a house with saxophone players but we're talking they leave it's dark out dangerous i'm alone need to get out of there find somewhere not home but somewhere i'm staying or something just five minutes after i'm dead what will she see [ codework follows interspersed ]