Message-ID: <alpine.NEB.2.21.1806282129510.15005@panix3.panix.com>
From: Alan Sondheim <sondheim@panix.com>
To: Cyb <cybermind@listserv.wvu.edu>, Wryting-L <WRYTING-L@listserv.wvu.edu>
Subject: the closeness of catatonic mourning
Date: Thu, 28 Jun 2018 21:31:54 -0400 (EDT)
the closeness of catatonic mourning http://www.alansondheim.org/wor03.jpg http://www.alansondheim.org/yy1.png This is the closeness of your other Thu Jun 28 14:56:44 EDT 2018 sometimes we climb on top of ourselves. we continue to see nothing. to the left and right of us, the sea. revolution dreams us. of that there is a deep and intense blue. we forget the direction of what we are writing and seeing now. of what we are seeing and hearing now. of what we are hearing and tasting now. of what we are tasting and touching now. Thu Jun 28 15:01:59 EDT 2018 the now, which is our presence. the now, it silences us. this is the text of mourning. mourning becomes us. mourning becomes electric. Thu Jun 28 15:02:35 EDT 2018 This is the distance of your new Clar Thu Jun 28 14:56:44 EDT 2018 dog truth we sit there and stick our noses in it. Thu Jun 28 14:57:01 EDT 2018 our noses absorb this and every other landscape. Thu Jun 28 14:57:16 EDT 2018 we swallow ourselves in our stupid grief. we think of wearing trousers. we think trousers are very old. Thu Jun 28 14:57:43 EDT 2018 then we sit in silence. we are ill. we are ill with the world. we are not of it. Thu Jun 28 14:58:02 EDT 2018 beyond that, almost nothing to say: "we are of it." we are molds. we are moulds for ourselves. our ships sink on our rocky shores. Thu Jun 28 14:58:39 EDT 2018 our ships sink with us on board. we are ships and we see people on top of us. some of them are inside us as well. nothing goes farther or less far. Thu Jun 28 14:59:17 EDT 2018 the sea engulfs us. we are waiting for our illness to strike. the last illness = the striking of death or the striking out of one or another letter. Thu Jun 28 15:00:14 EDT 2018 now we are on the sands. we see sea urchins in rock pools. in rock pools we see mussels. mussels close up in our vicinity. our vicinity is the vicinity of silence and death. it is colored a miasma of black and red. we dream revolution. Thu Jun 28 15:01:20 EDT 2018 mourning becomes electric. the bytes of it, the electric. the quantum. the quantum computation which blurs itself into accuracy. we can almost taste it. we sit in silence. Thu Jun 28 15:03:15 EDT 2018 Thu Jun 28 15:03:16 EDT 2018