[NetBehaviour] rough maquette for my reading this coming Tuesday

Alan Sondheim sondheim at panix.com
Fri Mar 29 06:18:08 CET 2013

[Rough maquette for upcoming Clark Coolidge reading,
myself reading/sound, this coming Tuesday]

[interspersions with cura saz, oud re: below]
[noisy dys/functionals]

it's too strong

it's right here

it's right in the middle of us

it twists and turns

there's no end to it

in a conversation with Ken Wark
I invented the word codework
we were discussing the bones of the text
modified by a computer so that the bones
were the program within the language and
both were speaking

it churns

she said when I die because I'm afraid of death
and weep and wail about it
that she'd take care of it

i remember Vito Acconci and Laurie Anderson, it
was one day, that's how i remember it, and

in Nazareth, we were taken as guests of an Arab
student, at the restaurant, that was never it,
the restaurant destroyed over our presence, he
was gone

night having the horrors of death and

codework destroys the language given to us with
the uneasy birthright of Cain, the mark on Cain
is the terminal prompt,

decoding the journeys of the Wandering Jew, an
.stl file that prints out the world's body

it looms

it's born on a loom and dies on a loom, as it grows,
it weaves itself

it weaves itself into a loom and grows itself

it grows turning and it says to itself
i turn left
i turn right

chiams it crosses itself
it grows churning and it says to itself
center right center center left
center left center center right

it swallows time it's the family favorite
i kill my father and mother i kill my sister and
brother i kill my son and daughter
i'm the family favorite, i'm the family favorite

it melds
it erases its Origin
it's somewhere

it's really something

it's somewhere

it's somewhere DIIRTY

I think of the dance as a whirl without consent, like the body burning, on
( like a singer without a song, totally open to the world, no computer, no
     I think of an inverted hysteria, the world as symptom of this

- it wobbles on varying pivots, it gyroscopes in varying axes, it twists
and turns, it turns away the face, the face of the world is the dance )

the world of the face is the trance

I think the hands hold old-fashioned canes and crushes these could be
 		  quite dangerous wobble turn around

I think you leave holding hands

my heart
bursts open, and blood everywhere, this burst heart! And then I no longer
 	   think, my whirling body-heart, body-burst-heart!

dance- body-body _unfettered,_ that is, motion or postures
dance- through repetition (arms attached in a particular manner,
dance- gestures formed by virtue of _the easiest thing to do,_ in the
dance- manner of a potential well, as the body falls from itself,
dance- within the gravitation-work

     I think of an inverted hysteria, the world as symptom of this
  burst-heart-body, world roiling and heaving system fast rotation and

I think the hands hold old-fashioned canes and crushes these could be
 		  quite dangerous wobble turn around

       pulling forth the cane from the body can only be imagined

 		   the body is the dream of freedom
 		  the dance is the dream of freedom
 		      dream of freedom, the cane

i remember she didn't have to die
for once the doctor's were right
death claims those who ignore

who sway to the right move to the left
who move to the left sway to the right

(Get out. Get out of here. Get out of here now. Get away from here.  Get
out of here. Get out. Get out of here. I'll meet you in Providence. I'll
meet you in Seattle. I'll travel to Seoul. I'll travel to Moscow.

(I'll see your eyes. I'll kiss your eyes. Language is an enemy. Language
is an enemy. Get out. Get out of here. I'll see your face. I'll kiss your

(Get away from M. Lacan. I'll meet you in a bar in Soho. I'll meet you in
a Montreal cafe. I'll meet you in Victoria. You see my eyes in Vancouver.
You see my eyes in Toronto. Language is an enemy. My body in Cape Breton,
my heart in Newfoundland.

U. A. A. a. a. a.

(Julacan's a fraud. Julacan told me so. I'm Julacan. I turn away from the
_word._ I kill the _word._ Language is a _word._ Language is an enemy.

I get into the ocean. I get out of the sea.

Now I will note the attitudes in the time of the arthropods,
When helmetted Zor ran his lanky legions around the army of Murr.
The golden-haired maiden, with three drops of blood, christianed
The sword of the family of Aral, born of the dank ruins of Drur.
Those times past the ruins of Feggard! Ah for the mead and the storm!
Such moments of these, like the falling of peas, take us away
>From the norm!

poetry is an emergency

poetry is always an emergency

a steep hill with wooden steps near the top abandoned apartment
second floor a picture i know there forget now
someone i lived in and in the apartment
in Providence it was a guitar maker from back then

plane crash in the north back yard
splits open filled with medicine bottles

a bad one

in a house with saxophone players but we're talking
they leave it's dark out dangerous i'm alone
need to get out of there find somewhere

not home but somewhere i'm staying or something

just five minutes after i'm dead
what will she see

[ codework follows interspersed ]

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