The Brooding Peregrine
http://www.alansondheim.org/brooding.jpg
Perhaps I'll fly today, perhaps I won't.
This time I'll try something slower, around two hundred
miles an hour.
Should I attack the harlequin duck, so beautiful.
Once and for all, I'll get a sparrow or die trying.
Forget whether or not migrating is worth the effort,
I must move among the world's sad state.
The wind, ah the wind...
Every year, I'm just another empty nester.
When I scree, my own hearing suffers a cry of nothingness.
Why cannot I caw, like other crows, am I not a crow?
To brood or not to brood, my families and loves have flown.
"But O alas, so long, so farre
Our bodies why doe wee forebeare?"
This time, perhaps, I'll speed upwards to the unwary heavens,
touch the empyrean sky.
Every season, filled with strife and death.
I think, therefore I hunt, alas, is this enough?
I would know the languages of gibbons and other primates,
if I had world enough, and time.
Unwary death, I bring such meat to you.
Above thou sun and cloud, and closer I would reach,
so misery to breach.
The poorest pigeon is my own life's fare.
Fly and ride the wind in endless circles, ecstasy and useless
paradise.
My feet, my talons, spears and constant murder.
The mood comes on me, the sky, the clouds, the earth below.
I wail the mournful tracery of life and death, to soar.
Faster, yet faster still, brutal earth rises to embrace me.
What has made me in this murderous path.
Would not every flight be my last and best reward.
I would not hurt this world, but to live, alas, to brood.
---
Tuesday, February 9, 1943
http://www.alansondheim.org/1943.jpg
http://www.alansondheim.org/bells.mp3
This is the last gasp of technological freedom, freedoom,
available; at the same time i'm depth-shamed
Tue Feb 9 14:31:34 1943
shamed 2 the very core of my being, shamed to the depths of my
mind, shamed in front of the wmf, white male fundamentalists,
who judge me in my shameful exacerbated nudity in the cold room
with concrete walls uncovered.
shamed against the storefront of the street in central Europe, O
shameful storefront and shameful body leaned there, O shudder of
that body, O wasted world distraught with hands before me,
everywhere, fluttering and moving at so violent speed, this dank
covering of mold and slime, i will turn slime, i will move, will
surge, O cover-up
Tue Feb 9 14:35:46 1943
O surge and my thin loins fall to pavement and i begin crawl
elsewhere out of central Europe to new home Amerika to WMF
Amerika, I will hide out, I will pass
so I move to small forest outside a small town, there on a log I
sit, seethe, pulse, crawl, I am evanescent, I will grow, spore,
spread, I will fight WMF, I am Cell, I nucleate, I breathe,
expel me, Seethe, Seethe, on this long and then: duration,
waiting, a bracket or parentheses, I am One Become Many, I am
Manifold, I Multiply.
Tue Feb 9 14:38:51 1943
then to elsewhere, that LOG which I belong, and then, this loss
of Mind and then Movement Elsewhere, and then Log Log algorithm,
I multiply, I Exponentiate: I BECOME
[1111111111111111111111111111111111111111111] and Many
Multitudes
far deflected, derailed from that Street In Central Europe, My
Thin Loins, My Being Beings
[1111111111111111111111111111111111111]
Tue Feb 9 14:41:51 1943
The sense which carries Memorial, Smell of the Seething World,
Europe and Amerika and Everywhere Among Us, Manifold Among Them
[1]
and Reach, Candelabras in my Hair, my Spores, my Beings
Themselves, O Spores! O Candelabras! to this LOG LOG where I
will Flourish and Begin Again with Many Followers and Many Kind
Leaders, Listening to the Wellsprings of the World [1111111]
so my Journey is that and my Pathway in the Journey is That, and
That I have owned with no Presuppositions but LOG LOG EXPONENT,
the nighttime sky dark, the Smell of Wood and Embers,
remembrance of Bodies Burned and Memory [111]
Tue Feb 9 14:45:30 1943
