could i share this poem in public??
2013/8/27 inforafilm producciones <inforaf...@gmail.com> > I like it a lot. thanks > > > 2013/8/24 Alan Sondheim <sondh...@panix.com> > >> >> >> what i learned in my sleep, and everyone is sick >> >> every word i write enters the barque of the dead; >> grounded, it goes nowhere. there was more to remember: >> the tinnitus, the floaters corrupting vision, carpal >> tunnel and my fingers clawing at my throat, as yours >> well as well, deliberate forgetfulness passing as age: >> i was never born for this, i do not recognize myself >> or you, or what came before, or what emerges. i am >> inhabited by an other who is nameless, who shall go >> soon, dragging me with it, i will be neutral, i will >> be gone. among me there is no other, i drag myself, >> everywhere word - all these useless words that refuse >> to die - but you will be guarantor of their death, of >> the disappearance of meaning; the alphabet itself >> shall change into sound. i am lost in sound; every >> note i plays corrodes the barque of the dead; every >> note is a wrong note. i write for myself, play for >> myself, hammer away at my own coffin, watch an other >> decay, and i am the worst for it. everyone is on this >> journey; it is selfish and everyone acquiesces; the >> business of the world is idiotic, inattentive, state >> of inert existence. every label is a number; every >> number disappears. what is a disappearance but nothing >> recording, no apparatus, nothing comes farther. i >> hate reading about the dead and their desperation; i >> hate reading the words of the dead hammered into the >> air already changing into poison; i hate hate, which >> forbids me the potential pleasure of a few more days, >> years, months. i will never be a physicist, will >> never learn japanese, understand on any level, the >> universe; i will never travel to india or china, >> never have the joy of seeing my philosophical writing >> published, never travel to another planet, never swim >> well, run well, write well, paint well, build the >> perfect crystal radio, travel to burning man, listen >> again to the unaccompanied very low frequency murmurs >> of the universe. i will never again hear clearly, >> without the violence of high-pitched sounds taking >> over my speech, my music; i will ever put out the >> recording i would love to put out, never see or walk >> well enough to ascend any portion of the alps again, >> never work with dance again. i will be what i always >> was, stillborn in a world of motion, ignorant in a >> world of knowledge, and i will never learn guqin in a >> way that might have pleased the gods; i will never >> see or hear the gods; i will walk slowly; i will walk >> with a limp; i will walk with a cane or a walker; i >> will stop walking; i will not remember my writing; i >> will no longer look forward to the inconceivable book >> i have already written; i will never comprehend >> torture or the fall of empire; i will have already >> fallen; i will neither be dust nor the trace of dust; >> i might was well be dead; for all purposes i already >> would have been dead; for all intents; i am already >> dead; why, stranger, there is nothing of me left, >> these words are already collapsed into an absence of >> language, of meaning, the recuperation of the digital >> is a lie and i consider this my epitaph although i am >> sure there are others and for a short while will be >> others, will be an other, and then that, too, will be >> gone: there is no barque of the dead, there is only >> substance; substance always thins. >> >> _______________________________________________ >> NetBehaviour mailing list >> NetBehaviour@netbehaviour.org >> http://www.netbehaviour.org/mailman/listinfo/netbehaviour >> > > > > -- > *in > for > a > film * > -- *in for a film *
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