The Alan Sondheim Mail Archive

poor little things


http://www.alansondheim.org/poorlittle7.png
http://www.alansondheim.org/poorthings.mp4

the making of poor little things

http://www.alansondheim.org/poorthingsb.mp4

the drift of the narrative

the slight raising of filter barriers, enough to let the poor
thing _in_? and then, Pox on't, why do I speak of these poor
things? and then, but a poor thing; ornamented, it sloughs into
the symbolic.

the mise en scene

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http://www.alansondheim.org/poorlittle2.png
http://www.alansondheim.org/poorlittle3.png
http://www.alansondheim.org/poorlittle4.png
http://www.alansondheim.org/poorlittle5.png
http://www.alansondheim.org/poorlittle6.png
http://www.alansondheim.org/poorlittle8.png

the poor little things when the shift from virtual virtual
to virtual physical and all the poor little things happen
and every little things is unhappy and these are the roles
of depression when everything transforms into emptiness
among things that should be replete and fecund and when
everything that grows dissolves and leaves a sweet sticky
taste of itself and all the little others in a soft tawdry
trail dissolving in the tears of small whimperings and
even though you know how this is created in the narrative
and mise en scene and the making of the making of poor
little things you can't help feeling sorry for them and
for your lives and the anguish and suffering in our world
that used to be so beautiful so wonderful that we would
sing of it and celebrate it and walk softly in its
shadows and now we are very very small and murmuring and
our hearts our broken among the fabric of our world

how ironic that virtual virtual objects turning into
physical virtual objects begin to take on suffering and

how unutterably sad that our lives are defined by the
days of our births and days of our deaths and all of
this is different among us and our loved ones and
among our families and among others and

how quickly conversations and deep discussions and
disagreements end so sadly with the death of one and
the death of another and

how irrevocable the world is, the poor little things
of the world and the poor little things we remember
until we are forgotten and

oh i sing of these things, threnody and ululuations,
mourning and lamentations, and the greyness of the world
in our last and fading shining hour