Message-ID: <alpine.NEB.2.20.1709241838390.17652@panix3.panix.com>
From: Alan Sondheim <sondheim@panix.com>
To: Cyb <cybermind@listserv.wvu.edu>, Wryting-L <WRYTING-L@listserv.wvu.edu>
Subject: bomb debris, coming through, public reading of the text
Date: Sun, 24 Sep 2017 18:44:29 -0400 (EDT)
bomb debris, coming through, public reading of the text http://www.alansondheim.org/bombdebris.png http://www.alansondheim.org/thru3.jpg http://www.alansondheim.org/thru2.jpg http://www.alansondheim.org/thru3.jpg thru 1-3: 1 minute exposures / moving thru 2 a.m. darkspace narrative tracks, what remains, camera picked up, set down, pointed outward, pointed inward, walking, standing, there's a door into the hall, nighttime hideout, hunkered down or crawling, crawl space: this afternoon i napped for twelve minutes and a lengthy cycle of dreams: in which i was talking and explaining and in azure's parents' home in aurora, colorado, the context forgotten now; bombdebris: upsetting even with the knowledge of its making, something about the ruin and the ruin of worlds and memory, ruins of words and languages, proclamations, inscriptions, ruins of cannons and howitzers, ruins of horses and soldiers; "knowledge of its making" - "how it was altered" - "how it was done" - "how it was transformed" - public reading of the altered text reflecting public reading moving through 2 a.m. darkspace narrative tracks, what remains, and prescient, i pause, look up, i'm looking around at you, i'm in control, i'm here and speaking, this is part of the text, the altered text reflecting public reading, camera picked up, set down, pointed outward, pointed inward, pause, and prescient, i know what you're thinking, my voice trembles slightly, well, somewhat, as if there's something untoward occurring, or something untoward that occurred, at the scene of the image, walking, standing, there's a door into the hall, wondering if i've lost you, lost myself in you, wondering who is there or if you're wondering, which hall, who is there in the hall, is it empty, as if unfulfilled, is it replete with dreams and anxiety, nighttime hideout, i'm sure of myself now, this hideout is empty, only room for me, you understand, watching me, that this might be a safe space, a bunker, that -u- sound, you-sound, you sound, i'm looking down at the text again, hunkered down or crawling, thinking something about haunches, looking up, looking at you who are listening to me, watching me in this public space as i speak, as i talking into it this crawl space, crawl space: this afternoon i napped for twelve minutes and a lengthy cycle of dreams, i've lost you, i was just getting going, it was coming together for you, and suddenly i know what's ahead, a sloppy narrative, hardly anything to write home about, but i'm writing about home, about a home-space or habitus, writing to you, reading to you, my voice lowered, trembling again, i've got to keep control here,: in which i was talking and explaining and now it's confusing, isn't it, getting confusing, talking to whom, to you, i was talking to some people, it wasn't clear, it's clear here, as i'm speaking before you, you seeming confused, perturbed, i didn't mean for that to happen, i'm hoping for true delight, something almost approach adulation in your eyes, in azure's parents' home in aurora, colorado, the context forgotten now and now i've lost you again but i'm once more in control, the context remembered, private, none of your concern, really, none of your business, something that has nothing to do with you or even azure's parents or aurora, colorado, you're wondering if you've heard of it one way or another, maybe yes, maybe no,; bombdebris: upsetting even with the knowledge of its making, i'm thinking why do i write so stiffly, what's wrong with me, you know this, i can see it in your eyes, you're thinking he's on about misery again, he's eternally pessimistic, out of touch, something about the ruin and the ruin of worlds, you're about to walk out, so much despair, i don't know what to do about that, i have a realistic view of the world, you've got to believe me, these things are really happening, genocides, tortures, we're writing nonsense in response, we're meaningless, please come back, there are fewer of you know listening to this stuff, you think it's nonsense, and memory, ruins of words and languages, proclamations, inscriptions, wondering if you think that proclamations and inscriptions - what a great phrase, latinate to be sure, might be too formal, i don't know, you did look up at that, at least a few of you did, so johnsonian now, ruins of cannons and howitzers, ruins of horses and soldiers; you do realize i have no idea what i'm talking about, i've never been to war, always fearful, some empathy here, that's absurd, at least i'm almost done, "knowledge of its making" - "how it was altered" - "how it was done" - "how it was transformed" - thankyou, thankyou so much for coming, let me know if you have any comments or questions, would love to discuss the work with you, oh god hope it was ok +++