!HHHA HHA HA
I must say (as my friend Robert Horvitz would say) the potential here is enormous, the song-beauty extended like Meredith Monk towards Diamanda Galas, mesmeric until further moments farther down, exhausting the breath, retrieving what appears nonetheless to be the darkness of the Animal against this impossible white.
Write here.
No write here. The sound too beautiful. Not right here. The sound too beautiful. The sound right here is beautiful. More sound here. To write the nude full.
,crossly speaking of the day long ago when teh orchestrate repeated a particular riff (they did not call them riffs in those days) and the sense of sweelling pride as everyone understood the important, even as the chandelier fell and the conductor collapse onstage. it seemed so outrageous, a new fund of trickery.
,The Miraculous Symphony.
,Some rain fell on the audiodashery, the dials swandled, but not for long, & other sounds emitted, something Cybele said behind your ears, a slight comma, a comic binomial,,,,
,Down HERE where Alan Sondheim writes anonymously, the sound and sight are gone from the machine, only a memory, indefinite space scrolled upward; no longer echoing, the sounds of my own heart beating, blood rushing through my veins; I'm looking for Azure; there's a perfect field of white, all these letters, murmurs of the world criss-crossing one another, the signposts gone, vanished forever ...
,the hesitational distance was natural, the care taken to predict the past. it tries to loom for the present, steal along inside, waiting...
,in the future text, every word clickable, every word sounded, every word animate--nothing left alone for the process the words invented/invited for themselves. cybele looked up "textmelt" in her compendium, but the word had yet to be entered, some future hence, or as the paradigm unravels forward/backward coincidentally, words are no longer the pocket to pocket the dislocated by convenience. no, no, no, no, words are
,when the future gets going, when the future becomes strident, when the animal improves, when the times understand, when the people rise, when the words become perfect, when the people become perfected, when the redolent fractals smear the edges into a blur of ultimate recognition, when the scheme of grandeur executes the fittest of arabesques, when the whole expanse streams... into and out of the future
,Rise ye people bumpkins off ye squatting pumpkins. Squash the ruling tumkins they be drooling lumpkins!
,How does future suture sound? Creature sutra has a relevance you have forgotten. Nightstand overture is how I imagine tiny media playing thru the night, asleep beside swirling digitals. So when the music stops, is there cause to play more, does thinking the sounds unwire them from the computer?
,
"Some rain fell on the audiodashery"
-- an audio'd ashery, heaps of ashes (ah yeses), miked for sound,
rained upon [puhpohn puhpohn], soft new meaningless bullet holes,
recorded, decoded, plump with non-everything --
One to four lines of perfect length, Alan writes anonymously, lost in a space for which there is no return, confused signs and signals, looking for the stain in the page, wondering who "yours" is, who is owing here, what is "due to" here, a space of writing like railroad ties, like tracks or rails, like trainpaths through the lineage down the page and out the other end, at a distance inaccessibly high, finite, and open
,More than once my desire to see what was written here was ordinary the session of reflected never in the haw, seeming theory not written between the lines so much as vocabbed, thoughts jacked up by the assumptions inherent in the critical gnomon. Strip the matter of its name, useful as it may be. I am not holding you to Yours, because Voice is con-tribed in an alien district, outlined & shambled by a most pleasant hysterical narrative from antiquity. No, no, no, no there are no more empty fields to export to. Her sharp wit was a gift allocated with caution, generosity & valor.
,"Caution the gift to be silent. Instruct the gift in the modesty of its enactment. In its processions the gift should be stately but without a proud eye. Let the gift be chaste, let the gifted beware, and let the giver relish his revenge, distantly."
Alan Eliot Sondheim, sondheim@panix6.panix.com
!HHHA HHA HA
gowned in red chequered longings,
i chestified befigged in open court
as the queen's pornopotentiary.
hypnotized to the extent of placidity. dormant function propels thought. ready to hum. we land on Mars with wristwatches ready to tell us the time. later will be too soon. the problem is at hand. someone has been easily mystified and the task now: to maintain that gifted state. proceed without caution.
,nobody gets it, by the wqay. it's like the invention of cheese. a desperation of situation, and oh, what a smell. we chose to accept the given, which is so logical as nearly to debase the whole idea. but whole ideas: well, they consume, with cheese-like fantasies.
parsifal scriptor,aladdin resumed: i deal in a dullness of antiquities, a fullness of time, the propinquity of rhyming cutlets, omelettes, head cheese, millennial eggs, lamb, mutton, gluttons, all sheep to the slaughter of pharaoh (she who is the sibling of all battles) and my stall is still stationed in the marketplace beneath the beggars' tower, and allah sees all ...
,[she was the daughter of his salad days, pharaoh's salad daughter, cool green in a shaded palace garden, dressed in a dressing of pearl and bead-alabaster, like the cum of kings.]
mIEKAL aND, jump to FIELD
I'm sorry, JENNIFER has been writing in from the other backbones. She's caught the seams of your semaphoria, caterwaul of your catatonia:
THE LOVEANDWAR PROJECT IS NOW THE LOVEANDWAR MUSEUM
STARRING
VIRTUAL IDOLS (among others)
Jennifer - sexy, furious, mountain and valley personified
Julu - Jennifer beneath the sheets
Nikuko - from Oita, now Brooklyn
Alan - desperately appearing
Cybele - an arrival: AvatarPop HyperDiva = obsessed gendernoise
Desire Desire - behind the curtains: the heart of poet manque transfigured
Sally - a latecomer with a heart of gold!
and ANYONE ELSE - with or without any of the above - you might have in mind!
BUT WHO SAYS THESE PEOPLE ARE DEAD? I FOR ONE DON'T BELIEVE IT OR ANYTHING ELSE;
THIS IS IMPOSSIBLE! THEY LIVE LIKE YOU OR ME; THEY'RE DORMANT PERHAPS, WAITING THE
THAWING OF THE ICE, THE FURIOUS HEAT OF THE SUN TO INVAGINATE THEIR LIMBS, EYEHOLES,
MOUTH-HOLES, MAKE THEM LIVE. IT'S TOO MUCH TO ASK! THEY'RE NOT DEAD, THEY'RE NOT
BURIED!
- JENNIFER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I questioned Jennifer later that night.Her uncertain mood
(damn! that's shitty writing!) I laughed while the blood
burst out. Check the brain to die? All fetishes fulfilled!
HAPPINESS MAY BE HIGH-ENERGY FAIL-SAFE FEAR OF HYPOCRISY
WHAT IS DEATH HAVING TROUBLE WITH WORDS? better eat those
Now that you've imagined it, a monster of the past most
brainless last seconds...thank you for trusting absolutely
Nothing! Emergency Gas! Take my pre-approved love juice!
This morning on the train I observed a woman reading Edmond Jabès
in translation. This evening on the train I observed a woman reading a
prayerbook in Hebrew. Three-hundred-seven years ago I observed:
(Mary Walcott v. Mary Bradbury)
{Torn} posistion of mary walcott who testifieth and saith that I {Torn} een along time
afflected with a woman which tould me hir {Torn} was Mis: Bradbery: and that hir husband
was Capt of Salisbury
{Torn} the 2 day of July 1692: being the day of the Examination
{Torn} Bradbury of Salisbury I then saw that she was the very
{Torn} woman that tould me hir name was Mist. Bradbery and then
{Torn} most greviously afflect and torment me dureing the time
{Torn} xamination for if she did but look upon me she would strick
{Torn} wn or allmost choak me: also on the day of hir Examination
{Torn} mist mary Bradbery or hir Apperance most griviously afflect
{Torn} torment #[mercy lewes] Eliz. Hubberd mary warren #[Sarah vibber]
{Torn} Ann putnam and I verily beleve that mistris mary Bradbery is a
{Torn} most dread wicth and that she hath very often afflected me and the
{Torn} e named parsons by acts of wicthcraf for sence she has been in--
{Torn} son she or hir apperanc has come to me and has most greviously tormented
{Torn} me: also their appeared to me a yong man in a winding sheet
{Torn} tould me his name was Jno Carr and that Mis Bradbery had murth
{Torn} that his blood did cry for venjance aginst hir
{Torn} Walcot affirmd: to the truth of the above written evidence before
{Torn} the Jury of Inquest: upon her oath
{Torn} 1692
(Massachusetts Historical Society)
a lure exists to change, midstream. whatever the benefit, as the discussion, for instance, becomes infested with images that do not readily fire back with registration: it happens and we're caught. we find ourselves arriving, splendid in a wordy dignity. that's how champions are made, lifting themselves into the heaven of sports metaphor just to see the griseous light
the lure of interruption, abramhall@isone.coma lure exists to change, midstream. whatever the benefit, as the discussion, for instance, becomes infested with images that do not readily fire back with registration: it happens and we're caught. we find ourselves arriving, splendid in a wordy dignity. that's how champions are made, lifting themselves into the heaven of sports metaphor just to see the griseous light
,
that's that's
what what
I I
meant meant
It's never that easy
spit it out.
Yr such a random phrase-maker.
Come along
for the ride.
Nothing will
ever be forgotten.
Is that plenitude
or excess.
--Boundary_(ID_NTQtt5f7o7Z8gOyaV43WFQ)
Content-type: text/plain
This report relates to a message you sent with the following header fields:
Message-id: <3.0.1.16.19991030061040.46df28f0@hwcn.org>
Date: Sat, 30 Oct 1999 06:21:13 -0400
I've been thinking of this, you.
I've been thinking of this, you you you you're nowhere to be found
,
you
isn't
here...
here
are
you
{Torn} e
,Been thorny have you? Apollo sighs.Is that a thorn or is that a log in your eyes? Or are you just glad to see me?
fomdox, domfox@yahoo.com
thorns in the thicket
A concrete cylinder lined with broken glass shards. Suspects had to crawl through it, or were dragged by a cord tied round the thumbs.
bristles in the brush
Mother combing the tangles out of your hair, with harsh tugs and scolding.
Mother says: you look like you've been dragged through a bush backwards.
Mother says: look what the cat dragged in.
Mother says: I'm sure the faeries stole away my real baby and replaced it with you while I wasn't looking.
pins in the cushion
N. was the love of M.'s life. M. was the love of N.'s life. In perfect reciprocity: two mirrors facing: whatever passed between them was reflected to infinity. A common cold could kill them both.
"this is fiction", said N.
In Inside John Malkovich the very important question is raised, who are we and where are we going? Can we get the answer from pieces of wood that have souls? Every living thing has souls and we learn to respect all life by watching Inside John Malkovich, although after you watch it once you may get it and not have to see it again.
domfox, domfox@yahoo.com
[Enter devil dressed as a woman, with fireworks]
Faustus: why this is subjectivation, nor am I out of it.
Mephistophilis: That's *my* line.
Faustus: That's *my* line.
Mephistophilis: Must you interiorise everything I say?
Faustus: I must have interiorised everything you say.
[The puppets kick their feet in the air, and lower their heads]
John Malkovitch: Being John Malkovitch is like being inside John Malkovitch. It's like being inside being inside John Malkovitch. There's someone controlling you right now.
Faustus: It's a lie! I'm not controlling anybody! (oops!)
Mephistophilis: Why this is inside, nor am I out of it.
Faustus: Are you out of your mind?
Mephistophilis: Wood that I were.
[the puppets are on fire]
Faustus: Help! Help! Who will put me out?
Father, I'm burning (Freud!), in Being John Malkovich when he looks out through his own eyes, it's Blake's Ouroboros all over again and again and again, recursively, but there's no recursivity here, only a copout in the guise of duplications, the inverse of point-zero of energy... Alan
dom fox, domfox@yahoo.comdom fox, domfox@yahoo.com
Sondheim, sondheim@panix.com
Father, I'm burning (Freud!), in Being John Malkovich when he looks out through his own eyes, it's Blake's Ouroboros all over again and again and again, recursively, but there's no recursivity here, only a copout in the guise of duplications, the inverse of point-zero of energy... Alan
reach in the interior, it's alright
grasp the biological awareness of your own existence
enjoy your own breathing, allow your self to receive you,
now just be.
to allow myself to receive me, i must be two, i must already appear within me, already the eyes are sliced, divided, looking through their lenses glued shut together & there is no light & there is no way in or out
Jenovich, @freudworks fizzle.com
Faustus: Help! Help! Who will put me out?
Mephistophilis: I wood put you out, if I could, woodn't I?
Faustus: There is not time for this wood play rhetoric!
[it is raining]
Mephistophilis: How can it be raining inside, when I am out of it?
Faustus: It is because I am in the out of your mind.
Mephistophilis: True. Everybody is controlling you. (oops).
John Malkovitch: Being John Malkovitch is like being outside John Malkovitch. It's like being outside-inside John Malkovitch. Someone is controlling you right now, controlling John Malkovitch.
[The puppets kick their heads around the stage with smoking pipes] [pockey puck/pet]
Faustus: Why must you intercourse every thing?
Mephistophilis: Why must you fuck every living thing?
Faustus: Hey that's *your* line!
Mephistophilis: No that's *my* line!
Faustus: Why this is objectification, and something is in the out of something else!
[Exit John Malcovich, entering like the devil, into a woman dressed like Freud}
Faustus: I'll burn my books.
Foucault: I'll burn my bra.
Freud: I'll light my cigar with your books and your bra.
Chorus: With your books and your bra, he will light his cigar.
Foucault: The art of living...
Faustus: ...is to kill...
Freud: That's what I said, didn't I?
Chorus: Didn't he? Didn't he? That's what he said, what he said, didn't he?
Freud: That's what I said.
Foucault: I was going to say psychoanalysis.
Faustus: Weren't you going to San Francisco?
Freud: Ah! Witz!
Chorus: We're lost for words. Where's Jennifer?
[Enter Jennifer. Wild cheering, whoops and applause]
Hi, I'm Jennifer, I'm passing this way, I won't stay this way, I won't stay with you, you'll have the whisper of my words, you'll have the clothes off my back, you'll have the linger of a smile, you'll have that certain something, I'll be gone, I'll be elsewhere, henceforth, I'll be on my way, I'll be a memory or a legend, I'll be a myth or a tale...
Jennifer, and you'll come back to me, you'll come looking, and you'll come looking for me
Counting beads of moments ,
Days have passed ,
Counting these days ,
Long nights .....alas ,
months...years has alasped ,
These thirsty eyes ,
Coveting to see your visage ,
I fear...!
My life....yes I fear ,
My life ...may surpass ,
leaving garlands of memories ,
for you ,
In the graveyard ,
forlorned.
In substitution for the flesh, the social machine has given birth to yet another temple,and another,and another. The glorified tombstone, monument to the male cult, encased within the fantasy of design far from pagans earth, within the kingdom of brass, architecture of the Father, a place of refuge for questionable souls, he holds me. Tied to his embrace, hidden within the bowels of hierarchy, where perceptions wonder through the negative space of dark amazement, I sigh, "Where is my Mother"?
The social machine begins to chant, "By Kingdom come...!"
some rain fell and there was no one. this is still the case. cats eyes. a road. our last journey. i wrote these words right here, today. the open road never ceases to amaze me.
Arielle, glitterqueen114@hotmail.comChristmas was approaching quickly. Anyone would know it was the holiday season. Even if they had just been born yesterday. Everyone you saw on the streets looked happy. Malls were packed. Shelves in stores were empty. There was a thick layer of white snow on the ground. Every house in town was decorated beautifully. The neighborhood was beautiful and calm at nighttime when the lights on the rooves of all the house lit up they sky.
gordon , gordon_m_t@hotmail.comthe good souls shine out a scintillating oasis in a desert of dark attracting everything, especially those thirsty of light
Enjoli Rountree, pebbles_niqui@yahoo.com
Title: 2003
The New Year brings a fresh slate to wipe
Establishing new goals to appease my personal hype
Making a vow to remove myself from this vicious cycle
Financially, Physically, Spiritually and mentally winning my own battles
A time to recognize to do right for me first
Not concentrating on making friends who starve my energy of thirst
Taking the proper steps to accomplish these tasks
And reaping the fruits of my plantations Mass
Reminding myself of the positive things to come
Thanking god for the many lessons that will make me BEcome
A person of intelligence, compassion and experience.
One who radiates positivity, spirituality, knowledge and realness
With Affirmations from my cypher and people who are where I want to be
I know I am close, I can see it right in front of me.
When I close my eyes I visualize my life being complete
My man by my side, my pocket book wide, and my talent no longer discreet.
Written By: Enjoli N. Rountree
Written 12/2/02
Copyright December 2002
its about a demon i ohio
test
"2003" sound like a divine reveal of unfoldment. This divine being is allowing the changes to occur since change it the only constant in life.
God Bless You Enjoli