[NetBehaviour] Two Interweaving Pieces by Maria Damon and Alan Sondheim

[Alan Sondheim via NetBehaviour]

Two Interweaving Pieces by Maria Damon and Alan Sondheim


Because its raining here in the park, clearly  already its time to go
again?
Im already out of breath from our last time. Jumping around like this.
Juniper a lovely  It st the best way to be! word a strange scent a
stranger taste.
Unless glissando is the only way to go, everything in music jumps,
jump-time
With resolute fortitude marching forward carrying the flags of utter
catastrophe!
Isnt this the worst way to proceed?
Ungoingly failing, unfailingly going where no one else wants to go.
I think thats the way to go, years and years ago in highschool was dancing
With PT and I was an idiot, swinging her around and then decided to see
What would happen if I let go
It is too jumpy.
It is dizzying.
It is distasteful.
It was distasteful, Ive never looked back.
Why am i here, among all these fabric sequences?
Nothing does what it is supposed to do. And it jumps around a lot.
Its too jumpy, isnt it? Perhaps it wouldnt be if we used periods to
Indicate pausing in our life, our fortitude, our embankments
What would happen if i lost use of my fingertips?
I would find a way to write with my tongue.
The tingling. The Red Flag of Marching to the Same Drummer!
Its too tingly, it doesnt fit the paradigm. Or two dimes and a nickel, a
quarter of the way
there
Its hard to type with your name on a little magenta flag sailing down the
river of the page
Youre gaining on me but not growing on me!
The drummer is dumber. Than what, you ask? No, i didnt ask.
A catastrophe has befallen the Stooges community. My work has been thrown
away.
Magenta is a color I do not understand
Magenta flags are magnetic, gathering multitudes into their husky hands.
Your busky fingertips are getting in my way. Im busking across the stage
of the screen of the page.
I pause, I take a turn. Im back on the dancefloor. Im listening to Terry
Allen over and
Over again, TA saved my life


__



I'm at a loss, what does this mean? Blank with Alan THE CONSTITUTION OF
EGRESS
What is a blank? What exists before it disappears?
When I was a yellow tadpole in the bottom of a bathtub I nearly drowned,
my savior
Appeared in the form of a kind person who lifted me into the wellsprings
of life itself.
I lost the meaning. Blank is a state of expectation what has already
disappeared?
What was born to disappear by weather forces, the wind and rain, what
appeared, only from exhaustion? Too spent to regard anything as serious In
this world, seriousness is held in
Low esteem, better to cover everything: better the covert? Where we there?
Better the convict, better the convert. Don't predict me!
Why is the ground wet, from what? What is that liquid? From whom? Where?
Why?
Tears liquid fire - does fire tear tears apart? What sunders is asunder
O remembering
What the Thunder said: nothing, the roar drowning the semblance of speech
from
The tracks carrying semantics down the hill of nonsensical peregrination
Wherever the part of speech is indeterminate I undo myself in the tunnel
to be
Described, I am undone. To be undone:? Is one ever done in the first
place? Done on the dune by a dunce. And by an idiot. And by a nitwit. All
wit disappears down a swirling funnel which is a vertical tunnel. Where we
there?
In the culvert, nothing. In the tunnel, less. A funnel appears as if
theres ingress / egress
A tunnel would be a comfort in the last rain of the universe. A tunnel
like a hollow trunk that cradles homeless vagrants from elemental wrath of
the apocalypse
Tunnel vision gives the lie to that < exists in emptiness > disappears
In this room: the sound of machines, that is all. Footsteps above, as if
there were
Something. I keep thinking of Russia, rushing  into the cranium, the
crevice, the crevasse, an eternal abyss. / is the abyss a punctum as well,
is it a moment-monument of inconceivable
Weight, density? This machine, this typing machine, insists on
capitalization.
There is no proper correction. It is only a violation. Were we there?
It wasn't a lie, it was a line. It wasnt a linen, it was a lichen.
The congressional egress is the only safe way out. Capitalization is a lie
produced by
Reification, the cathedral of the unique or overarching power.
Way out people know the way out. Way out people leave, are left, disappear
to
Dis appear: to annihilate or criticize appearance? Lichen know that in
every conceivable
Form  a disappearance of substance, a melting away, a smelting, a
soldering, a soldiery.
What the tears said we're on fire! We carve our names into the landscape
like larvae. We carve our names into dying trees, bark without a byte not
a moment for digital, but
Crypto uses more electricity than most countries i cant name - Were we
there?
We crave a bit of anonymity in the welter of our flame. The flame burns
our anonymity.
Were craven in the face of our moral abyss which is not bliss.
The edifice of money worship, an architecture to be invaded.
Tear the limbs from the money trees, melt them into elastic words.:
were we there?

__

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