The Alan Sondheim Mail Archive

September 8, 2014

What Happened and different music

We left Brooklyn suddenly. We returned for the images last week.
The real estate bubble (we're across the street from the Barclay
arena) seems to have burst and I imagine another landscape of
despair and abandonment. We left the building on Dean Street
almost a year ago. It's still there, deteriorating, sad. Here's
a brief report:
Mail forwarding note fading, still attached to the door.
Our names still on the doorbells.
Electric unpaid for months, there are fines.
Nearby a magnificent fungus in decay mode.
Black pigeon next to the police station.
Our building old, front. Air-conditioners ripped out,
windows opened to the elements, are there squatters?
We repaired the roof before every major storm. Now...
The side. We had the top floor, our curtains still
Praying mantis on the side of the building, perhaps
praying for us.
Over the street, the 911 memorial shines brightly,
killing birds on migration routes.
The fungus, slightly earlier.
And again, the color of blood. And I try to sleep,
thinking of beheadings and rapes, and feel lost
outside the city, and then think, how trivial is
that feeling, at least I'm alive, and it doesn't
Across the street, the Barclay center, cause of
it all; the new building is modular, the pieces
don't fit together, construction's stopped.

This is most likely of interest only to myself, my friends.
Displacement is almost always traumatic but this felt violent.
We protested and fought the takeover of the neighborhood but
lost. Our taxes were going up. We were forced out of Brooklyn.
I don't remember my name.

Some music on a small gimri without a string loop:
Always a lost elegy.

Apologies for all of this, enjoy the different music.

My Qing qin (most likely, mid-19th-century or earlier)

for Stephen Dydo

Stephen restored my qin, it sounds amazing.
Recorded with an H4n Zoom beneath it, no effects.

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