[NetBehaviour] */can't sleep, corrected text, how did I let two errors pass?/* - apologies -

Alan Sondheim sondheim at panix.com
Tue Dec 30 04:21:31 CET 2014

Ah Johannes, this is beautitful, and thank you, a gift, the errors were, I 
remember them, like for lie, and name for time....

yours, Alan

On Mon, 29 Dec 2014, Johannes Birringer wrote:

> did not notice any errors and
> enjoyed, with flickering eyes, reading your sleepnessness in R.I.
> and yes, these kinds of thinkings cross my mind too, i imagine
> being in a small place slowly snowed in, how I envy the mountain
> dwellers amongst us, how much I would like the noise and the bad
> thoughts to stop, and the stuff to rise outside muffling the
> errors and fears. It rained all day yesterday in Houston,
> a kind of monsoon, so i tried to focus my regrets on the sun
> and the missing broken rainbows. The tropical plants,
> overgrown outside, dripping with heavy water.
> You write and make music when the bad thoughts come like small terrors of the night,
> I see your writing against the desolation you/we imagine, as necessary,
> I owe you; so your material, these outpourings, on these lists
> of virtual readers, they are defenders and distractors,
> small voices in our blighted birdman ears.
> regards
> Johannes Birringer
> ________________________________________
> [from Alan]
> */can't sleep, corrected text, how did I let two errors pass?/*
> Bad Thoughts
> http://www.alansondheim.org/badthoughts.png
> http://www.alansondheim.org/badfragment.mp4
> When I wake up in the morning, does this happen to you, please
> add comments, if I lie in bed, which I do, having had troubled
> or chopped sleep, which I have, the bad thoughts begin; I try to
> banish them, think of other things, attempt breathing meditation
> but nothing helps. There are thoughts of my aging, of dying, of
> leaving Azure behind (which is the worst); there are memories
> salvaged from my high-school years, or Soho years in the 70s;
> memories as well of Nova Scotia, California, driving cross-
> country, on and on. I try to avoid these, then there are
> memories of my parents, or growing up in the home in Kingston,
> Pennsylvania, or further memories of my daughter and our broken
> relationship. I try to avoid these. Then there are violent
> feelings of regret, feelings of loss with friends who have died,
> feelings of abject loneliness (living in Rhode Island), feelings
> of abandonment (so many of our friends are in NY or out West),
> feelings of self-pity, of a life badly lived, of work which will
> disappear when I die. When I count breaths, thoughts intrude; my
> mind refuses to leave me alone, my mind splits, one part begs
> the other, it's no use. The bad thoughts are there and will
> remain until I rise, think of other things. I worry whether or
> not I'll see my friends again, whether I'll be able to visit my
> brother's or sister's families, whether I'll be able to work
> again, even for a pittance, just for community, just to be part
> of something. I worry about leaving things unsaid, unfinished, I
> try to avoid such things. I want to think of other things. I
> think of getting up to avoid such things, it's in the middle of
> the night, should I take trazodone and more melatonin, should I
> read or rise for the moment, work on a project, do grunt work,
> will that get me back to sleep. I worry that my depression will
> last the rest of my life and contaminate everyone around me,
> that I'll have a stroke, that I'll be incapacitated, that I will
> no longer be able to play music. My mind wanders back to
> childhood, to promises of forthcoming books that will remain
> stillborn, to recordings I'd like to do, choreography and video
> and sound I'd want to work on with Foofwa or other dancers,
> music I'd like to play with Stephen, I worry about car accidents
> and growing increasingly despondent over the 'world situation.'
> I try to avoid reading about pain and suffering and death, my
> reading incapacitates, haunts me in the middle of the night, I
> shudder in horror over pain and death imagined. My bad thoughts
> include dying before I want to die, I never want to, I think all
> the time of suicide as a way of avoiding bad thoughts, I'd never
> kill myself. I think of pets I've had, of moments driving
> through the Appalachians, of listening to Scottish music in Nova
> Scotia, of playing on the banks of the Seine in Paris, about
> failing to become a scientist, of disappointing everyone who was
> sure I'd have a stellar career in art or music or literature, of
> constantly disappointing my father, who said to me recently in a
> dream, 'you've always been annoying.' Everywhere I turn there
> are thick curtains, dark ones, behind them there's nothing, not
> even more of them, the curtains murmur the onslaught of
> emptiness. I think of missed opportunities, never learning
> Japanese, never visiting China, no more gallery shows, no more
> university affiliations. I think of friends who have been cast
> adrift as well, everyone dealing with misery, depression, death,
> of friends and relatives, of their own illnesses. I think of the
> return of slavery by violent states, war and torture everywhere,
> the darkness setting over humanity. I attempt to wake, I lie in
> bed sometimes for hours with these thoughts, I can't banish
> them, sooner or later I get up, work for a bit, exhaust myself,
> collapse back into deep sleep for a half hour to two hours at a
> time, wake, practice music, and that may be my day. I think
> about the phenomenology of anguish, of the state of being
> bereft, of the imperturbability of time, of the world closing
> down for me. I think of Azure, I turn towards her, cuddle, I
> prepare myself for the day, I struggle, dawn has not yet struck
> its discordance, I wake, I get up, I move. I approach the day.
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