Message-ID: <alpine.NEB.2.20.1708032136530.28112@panix3.panix.com>
From: Alan Sondheim <sondheim@panix.com>
To: Cyb <cybermind@listserv.wvu.edu>, Wryting-L <WRYTING-L@listserv.wvu.edu>
Subject: & my work
Date: Thu, 3 Aug 2017 21:39:32 -0400 (EDT)
& my work http://www.alansondheim.org/musicland1.jpg http://www.alansondheim.org/musicland.mp4 http://www.alansondheim.org/musicland3.jpg & my work does this and that and i think about this about work as such, my presence within and without what it might be - & realized my work always challenges and explores new spaces, where they begin to fall apart, their containers in particular, their insertions into the social, where they fray, corrode, rust, become wayward or disheveled, where they're contrary, where the numerical limitations become evident, where the abject appears above, below, or within the horizon, where the edges are burled or sintered, where the corrugations lose their uneasy striations - & where landscapes blend into institutions, into gamespaces, into walls and fences and warnings, where tunneling is inevitable, where sexuality on one hand and cosmology on the other rear their ugly heads, where eyes, lidless, multiply, where the exploration is the process that is the cultural work and all else is residue, where the body appears among the stars and higgs bosons appear within the body, where what is never manifest is apparent, and what is apparent is never manifest, where one moves in order to return with new knowledge and its kindred - & where the economics and enclaving of minds and institutions are exposed, where i am at risk in a world at unease with me, where contradictions are bridges, and connections fascinate at their regions and points of severance and strains - & where continuation is always an exhaustion, where anxiety and sickness rule in compliance within the aegis of the universe, where laws are broken but the ground is not, where the mind's extremities roil and mix with its discretionary contents and constructions, where such constructions teetering fabrications themselves, where interiors and exteriors have no clear and distinct boundaries, where to draw a mark is to draw the dust and abjection of the mark, where what makes me embarrassed, uneasy, uncomfortable, is within the enormity of indra's net, where the world churns - & where death is a constant and pervasive atmosphere and companion, where the body falls from the body, where osmosis and microbial colonies command the lumbering skeins that roughly grant them temporary place in a world thinking it is a thinking world - & where others are always i, where the clarity of sight carries the debris of the world, of everything around it, where the senses are manifold, too many for enumeration, not enough for encompassing, where all knowledge is always superseded, all ignorance lies like a dark cloud invading everything i do, with embarrassment and shame and endless self-recrimination, where the walls fall apart where i hang with blood streaming down them in indecipherable ciphers, where what falls apart falls into the whole, into abject holes within those very institutions which nurture me - & where others are always others and are always selves, where i am afraid to look into mirrors, where i shatter mirrors, where mirrors shatter me, where i desire above all to dance with the absolute, where the absolute like any god is nothing more than an idea and catalyst for murder - & where pain rules and rules pain, where new spaces are always abject, always networked beneath the surface in protocol stacks falling apart at their very mention, where no speech is an act, where every act is speech, where obscenity finds its own paths through funded semiosis - & where i remain in genetic obscurity where i am no longer sure a tree is such that a tree is, or a bone a bone, where broken edges gleam and reflect, more than unbroken mirrors, where swallowed worlds are unswallowed and time burns time - & where i remain in the chora of producing, not production, where the chora sounds the untruthing of the world, its ravishment, where i burrow beneath the enclaves, hack among them, into and out of them, vertical among the walls that function as brutal encapsulations - & where i remain and my remains remain, and none of this remains, for what might be such but a loosened collocation already collapsed, dissolved, this carbon atom continues for a brief moment - +++ http://www.alansondheim.org/musicland4.jpg