Message-ID: <alpine.NEB.2.11.1506092320410.14626@panix3.panix.com>
From: Alan Sondheim <sondheim@panix.com>
To: Cyb <cybermind@listserv.wvu.edu>, Wryting-L <WRYTING-L@listserv.wvu.edu>
Subject: the lake
Date: Tue, 9 Jun 2015 23:22:37 -0400 (EDT)
the lake the train stopped. the trapped. http://www.alansondheim.org/stopped.jpg it started. the lake sound. the trapped. http://www.alansondheim.org/thelake.mp3 i remember. it stopped. the trapped. http://www.alansondheim.org/thelake3.png at one point it seemed to me as if i could have these typed positions key-grabbed by a rogue site and that's still probably the case. is the wifi still working? in the airport, it's no-manz no-mads noh-mad land and i work this idea, that it might just be possible to learn something about the world's cosmology before passing out / passing on, so there are these books around with skimmed symbols so i've learned their alphabets and some of their combinations, but not too much. so there's the forest of symbols, detached from roots and branch-points, so that i've founded there, i'd say among them. across from me someone's reading or talking and i'm sure is logging these symbols i'm typing, i can sense his head and what he's on about with a fancy portable machine with a keyboard the size of the back of his hand on the back of his hand. the ukraine's maybe burning, if i type this he might look up, now he might be on to me. so the cosmology, tensors and whatnot, somewhere among the tendrils i fly, somewhere but not in this lifetime there's an understanding that eludes me and that's the biggest gap in the very core of my being and being-here, this emptiness of cosmology, this impervious travel. it's the key that i'm missing and the defocusing effect, nothing coheres to me. he's looking down now but a baby across the way has taken up the cry, too many distractions. the world's full of signals, as usual cnn is saying something about saying something. there are rogue stars on their own, dying their own deaths like everyone else. at that point could one flee the cosmos, flee a spot where nothing's audible but the self- generating of the world surrounding it. it lives in that spot, among itself, cosmology, cosmological, we're trying all the way from here to log its rogue symbols, ukraine not among them. it's all serious and serious despair at this end of the fulcrum, if there were only one part i could grasp, i think that the rest might unfold or might whisper about unfolding. there aren't trees on the star, huge backs, vortices, radiative arcs, magnetic storms, roseates. everyone's sleeping here, i type in in the midst of rolling catastrophe, slow turnings turning over there are rogue stars. i can't sleep at night. there are rogue stars. trapped.