The Alan Sondheim Mail Archive

May 6, 2018

memory of Kent State, memory of now

"no one listens any more
no one watches any more"

they watch
the flat greyness of existence,
it's always a wonder,

resting; as if truth were interesting as if it were not
the flat greyness of existence, corrupted into landscape,
landscape, furnished with ridges, serrated edges, graspable,
fallen into language (as if truth _yearned_)

a wonder there is no language or word for language

imagine an enormous indeterminate oval space, flat and grey,
imaginary lemniscate of a catatonic ellipsoid, cut, twisted
like the memory of language,
like uncanny life burrowed into death, death borrowed as if
there were coin, unimaginable, greater, than anything

you witnessed here, among

no one listening
no one watching

there is less more,

bad sarangi

the sound follows me, will follow me, bad and terrible music.
i think sometimes bad music is more interesting than no music
at all but then i think good grief, i don't really mean that.
it's an admission of guilt in the production of bad music.
this bad music this bad memory this space-time collapse,
i could go on but you get the drift.
bad music? of course, what else in a strong cold wind! -
but i'm inside and have no excuse.
I am not afraid to play bad music. yes i am.

i cannot for the life of me and the planet make this sarangi
sound even tolerable. my play is worse than that. the awfulness
might be interesting but it's not even that. i will have
nightmares over this. i hope it does not cause wars. it is
simply the worst. i cannot believe i did this. i cannot.
oh my god i cannot.

bad sarangi. bad bad sarangi. bad bad sarangi is me.

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