fragility, elegy http://www.alansondheim.org/films4.jpg http://www.alansondheim.org/du.mp3 http://www.alansondheim.org/films2.jpg http://www.alansondheim.org/films3.jpg http://www.alansondheim.org/films1.jpg audio from two violin overlayed tracks, one with revrev, one normal, new strings on the 1881 Neuner & Hornsteiner filmcans of my work at The Film Makers Cooperative, NYC right before my mother died, in hospice, i followed my father into her room, no one else was there, azure waited outside and my father didn't see me. he slowly bent over my mother and kissed, her, and it was the first time, and the last, i remember him kissing her. right before ossi died at the vets, she was quiet on azure's lap, and it was the first time, and the last, she lay quietly there when lives end there may be moments, so fragile, evanescent, that they are almost overlooked, breathless, holding themselves, as if existence were meditating on existence, just that a fall of a person from two or three stories up, a swerve of an automobile, a brick arcing its way across the sky, nothing else, and histories are gone, incandescent, with infinitesimal details, as if they had never been someone dies, belongings are redistributed, the unutterable sadness of belongings losing their histories, their place in the world with more clarity, now, the lack of alien contact, emptiness and silence of the stars, the fragility of the stable in catastrophe theory, the slightest breath for if they were, they have destroyed themselves, creating networks of their own, digital parceling, and our flaw is not our own, our making, unstable nuclei and their resulting holocausts, we're holding on as best we can, for a few more years, the inconceivable fragility of the higher elements in the periodic table violence of radiation sweeps, supernovas, magnetars, inescapable collisions in solar systems, their sunstars in disarray, dyings, their organisms believing in the potential of solutions the darkness which is upon us has always been upon us, and how can one possibly believe stories of god or gods or deities or ideologies, we need a momentary philosophy of the swept away, not more and more reifications, spirtualisms who can possibly believe souls and spirits, essence, can survive the holocaust of hiroshima, star's temperatures, annihilations to the limit, and who can possibly believe any repetition or text can salvage anything, when we are here, on this earth, as a matter of nothing more than happenstance, bodies and orbits for the most part just missing us time and time again taking out the dinosaurs and their unknown cultures, taking out inconceivable (for this is a philosophy of the inconceivable) organisms, of which there are no trace, and if there were, the embers of the dying sun will eliminate utterly and forever and within this raging cosmos, the smallest story of a small cat now forever gone, and its makings and remakings of our small place in an alien city, now history as well, and already lost and losing to us and the noise of a civilization always on the bring, perhaps even centuries, always on the brink and the story of its makings, a punctum of the unutterable, the unaccountable, unaccounted, unaccounted-for, a punctum without a base, nomadic, a disappearance of such richness, and richness, like our own richness, of no accounting and all those myriad creatures, each with its own, its tracing, its comings and goings, each with its communality, community, forever lost only the harboring of reversing time would comfort occur, as we would move backwards from womb to womb in patterning almost everlasting, mind among the cosmos, and forgetting everything that had come before, from habitus to empty punctum, from empty punctum to habitus, until regimes of radiations would take, then, even that, away, billions of years in the past image: my films in storage, unique copies, decaying, as if lost image: my films in storage, unique copies, decaying, as if lost image: my films in storage, unique copies, decaying, as if lost image: my films in storage, unique copies, decaying, as if lost the last image of the last sequence of the last video, the small cat, lying on azure's lap, for the first time in her life and the last image of the last sequence of the last film, my father, leaning over my mother, kissing her quietly and so gently, my father i never knew _______________________________________________ NetBehaviour mailing list NetBehaviour@netbehaviour.org http://www.netbehaviour.org/mailman/listinfo/netbehaviour