Thank you! (And to others who have replied.) I agree; I think that there 
are people who don't understand that my work is work, that it's 
calculated, that it's dealing with issues that aren't personal. I don't 
know if one short post/essay can modify this, but I hope so.

- alan

On Wed, 25 May 2011, Joel Weishaus wrote:

> Alan;
>
> Thank you for this.
> It was much needed.
>
> -Joel
>
>
> ----- Original Message -----
> From: "Alan Sondheim" <[email protected]>
> To: <[email protected]>
> Sent: Wednesday, May 25, 2011 1:40 AM
> Subject: [NetBehaviour] Mis/take (self-interrogation)
>
>
>
>
> Mis/take
>
> Above all, my work is philosophical. It insists not on the letter of
> philosophy, but on its dissemination contamination, of and through media.
> It insists on the visual as always already ikonic, inscription as present
> and concrete. It insists on the final grounds of unutterable pain and
> death and the cipher that exists, not as replacement, but as fool's
> errand.
>
> The mistake is to read my work otherwise, as neurosis or autobiography;
> the latter is always lies, fabrications and the narratology of the
> predicate, and the former is no better or worse than anyone else's,
> certainly nothing that structures the text. If my text is a symptom, it is
> a symptom of the well, not the hospital, and of a deliberate abject that
> refuses concealment or conciliation.
>
> When I write what I might consider codework, the issues exist, not in a
> traditional reading of the surface, but in the production of a forest of
> signs that ground the surface as residue, hardly symbolic, but abject
> debris of the future anterior of the written. I am always aware of this,
> this structure and its motility, in every 'literary' text I write; I am
> more concerned with this level than that of the surface, which seems a
> production in the sense that a play may be a production, but is a playing
> as well, with or without the theater.
>
> In other words, the forest of signs are trees, im/plants, physiology.
>
> In other words, the signs are signposts.
>
> When I write a text on mathematics, it is not an exercise, but through 0
> and 1, a penetration among analogic and digital discourses, an entangle-
> ment refusing an unraveling. To the Borromean knot I oppose the plate
> trick of braids rotating through 720 degrees of 3-space, deeper melding of
> structures than meets the eye, or rather structures that meet the eye only
> dynamically and not at all through a laid n-dimensional diagram with time
> as afterthought. Not a formal exercise, however defined but the concrete
> movement of organisms through space, taking up time, proceeding.
>
> In this regard my motion capture work is not an exercise in topology or
> choreography, but a philosophical investigation into the topology of the
> body, opposed or adjunct to a topography which is thereby rendered
> political or environmental, not to mention medical, within and without a
> phenomenology of pain and pleasure.
>
> My characters, Julu, Jennifer, Alan, Nikuko, are actants in Heideggerian
> drama among MOOs, talkers, and other virtual worlds. They stand for
> nothing and do not stand-in; they are ikonic, one might say abject, on the
> order of a thud or philosophical gesture. This is especially true of Alan
> Dojoji or Julu Twine, who have inherited what Nikuko originally proffered
> in MOOs or internet relay chat.
>
> I cannot force a reader to apprehend the philosophical content of my work
> - what I see as the heart of what I do, but I can say that anything else,
> anything bypassing or ignoring that, is a form of misrecognition that
> mistakes my circumstances for a world or word or ward, or rather attempts
> to interpret the world or my vision of it, through my (personal) circum-
> stances which are known to varying degrees, as usual for all of us and
> among us. This is in direct opposition to how I think the world, what I
> grapple with: the ultimate alienness of a existence that can only be
> hinted it - surfaces, for example, skewed within liquid architectures of
> virtual worlds, or languaging decoded to the point of abject exhaustion,
> where non-sense borders on truth's frenzy in the face of an unknown.
>
> The world is an unknown; knowledge is always already on the bring of
> annihilation, catastrophic; it cannot decode its own hunger or power; it
> cannot exist without extraneous and useless style. All mistakes are to
> assume otherwise, but it is only through mistakes, miss-takes, that
> anything is acknowledged or apprehended. Decoding is endless; multi-
> verses fill incomprehensible gaps; it is within the diacritical that any
> progress at all is made. The chasm I acknowledge is the chasm within all
> of us; the flesh that falls apart here is the same as elsewhere. It is the
> philosophical that is the obvious beyond of religion; it gives the remnant
> a voice, and is itself the remnant of voice. The 0-1 brackets nothing.
> Murmur escapes the wall. Beyond neither 0 nor 1 is the murmur.
>
> But it is philosophy, in the guise of philosophy, and hopefully, in the
> midst of the noise of my endless klein bottles of texts, this is what
> comes through - not a philosophy of axiomatics or foundations, not a
> philosophy of absolutes or technophilias, but a philosophy constantly
> under erasure - an erasure in which, it turns out, the flesh is scraped
> raw, without an emergent. Synergy only goes so far, and only inso-far as
> one might deterritorialize the world, which means nothing, reduces to the
> ashes of the grave, the cries of the wounded, the anonymities of the
> leading-to-slaughters, all on the levels of histories under erasure as
> well.
>
>
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>

==
email archive http://sondheim.rupamsunyata.org/
webpage http://www.alansondheim.org
music archive: http://www.espdisk.com/alansondheim/
current text http://www.alansondheim.org/ra.txt
==
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