On Tue, 1 Aug 2006 21:41:31 -0700
August <[EMAIL PROTECTED]> wrote:
boo-hoo
geez, with that sort of sentiment I am glad I delete your crap before
even looking at it.
which, I am sure you do the same of mine.
----- Original Message ----- From: "Alan Sondheim"
<[EMAIL PROTECTED]>
To: <[email protected]>
Sent: Tuesday, August 01, 2006 9:26 PM
Subject: Progress Report
Progress Report
My sleep has become increasingly chaotic; at this point, I last at
best
for two to three hours. I go through cycles with melatonin, taking
more
than usual in order to stop thinking, anything to stop thinking.
Here in
West Virginia, I work constantly; I'm afraid to stop; I don't know
when I
would be able to continue with any degree of security. Every image
here is
an image recuperated, indemnified, if only for the moment. The
tunnel
ceiling is a semi-oval. I worry that theory has already corroded me,
that
whatever I say is monstrous, useless, I dream of machines devouring
body
and space, transformed into pure light. I imagine the survival of
light.
Nothing coheres to the mind or armature of the dream which devolves
into
tatters. When I speak, my voice sleeps. I churn out image, sound,
text,
jumbled together; I tend the files the way one should tend the
earth,
kindly, defensively. At a deeper level there are the remnants of joy
in
discovery; this or that hasn't been done before, hasn't been tried
before.
But there really is this need to push myself to the point of
collapse.
Azure notes I tend to forget more; I feel literally demented as I
tear
into time and space. Physically I grow weaker; it's an experiment in
van-
ishment. Voices and lights dim, images and sounds murmur on the
periphery
of exhausted consciousness remembering Levinas. Immersed in death,
in
quiescence, I wonder if this or that text or tape will be the last
before
the stroke or heart attack. New and unknown symptoms are on the
rise; the
tinnitus has increased in intensity and this weakness is worse than
usual,
as are the odd headaches which flood and circulate as soon as there
is the
slightest stress or tension, or in the morning, or in the evening,
or the
bright light of day. I am carrying my body now, what remains of the
I
shredded in a tattered world. My lack of sleep rises as a mountain
before
me, behind me, veil of veil, shroud of shroud. I hunger more than
ever for
truth, for a narrative which comes out or doesn't along an endless
cycling
of paths. This is the flattening I fear, until I no longer feel
fear, the
absurdity of poverty, exhaustion, dropping of limbs in gullies,
valleys,
vales
http://www.asondheim.org/diganal.jpg in readiness
http://www.asondheim.org/lightning2b.mp3 corrected
(violent lightning vlf radio, filtered)
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