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July 22, 2013

Bridge Dance Late Times Documentary

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Alan Sondheim
Alan Sondheim
Alan Sondheim
Alan Sondheim
Alan Sondheim
Bridge Dance Late Times Documentary
(just located the bridge on Google Maps)

Those were the days.
(just etc.)
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Demon-Talk (best)

Woodshedding with the tro sor, the Cambodian equivalent
of the erhu. Unlike the erhu, the tro sor bow is under
constant tension, like a Indian bow, so it's impossible
to play both strings by pressing one into the wood,
while the other is pressed against the hair. Instead,
the strings are played independently, but the spring of
the wood means it's easy to move from one to the other.
(Remember, the bow hair goes between the strings.) What
starts off in this piece tentatively eventually takes
advantage of the tro, creating very fast interchanges
between the strings. I played nervously, perhaps faster
than usual; we're closing our building sale tomorrow
and then have three months to find a place and move. So
far the better places are in Queens - less expensive,
more room, some sort of vista from the windows. Queens
though is isolating from the edginess of Brooklyn, as
far as I can tell. And we might not be accepted into
whatever co-op we choose - and if we are accepted, who
else is kept out? So I don't sleep, I read, I'm nervous,
and the music is a way of keeping sane, keeping the
demons away. The demons stay away from demon music (a
little-known fact); they're fearful of what they have
become, and I can only play the mirror of their souls.
Another little-known fact (which you probably already
know) - demons, not humans, have souls, since the
epistemology of souls and demons is identical; both
reside within the virtual, both see such, as through
objects, that the site of their vision and its sight
frustrates them. Demons and souls, one and the same,
are responsible for that peripheral luminosity that
takes over our bodies, vanquishes us, when we let our
guards down, when we're at the lip or nub of believing
we too are entangled in spiritual world-play. The truth
of course is otherwise, and my tro sor music expresses
this perfectly - what we are is dross, all we can do or
say is demon-talk, demon-music, talk and music to their
souls, not ours. _We hear at best the shadow-echoes of
what we ourselves produce; the rest expands in amazing
and inconceivable beauty in realms beyond our most
fantastic dreams._ In other words, enjoy the limits;
the limits, where we reside, are all there is for us,
where dross corrodes.

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