[NetBehaviour] Sat Jun 1 09:30:12 EDT 2020

Alan Sondheim sondheim at panix.com
Sat Jul 18 15:41:36 CEST 2020

Sat Jun 1 09:30:12 EDT 2020


Three weeks ago I wrote this, thinking about the pandemic. It's
created live in bash on Ubuntu on Windows and I'm already blurred
about the date, the time, the content, the flatness of the text,
the abject material within it, its relation to despair, compassion,
exhaustion, and everything that begins to deteriorate thinking,
learning, being half in, half out of the twilight world; we can
only hope for new dawns, already receding, the glimmer of shadows
on the horizon, the negative effect/affect of the new photography.

How was I thinking this, thus? How was I, Who was I then, Who now?

Beginning the difficult work of erase-rebuild

The question already built into the framework of the program, from
a time when erase-rebuild might have been thought something
attainable, as if there were being or Being integrated with
something, but in reality already deteriorating, turning to dust.
Then the first long part of the now-forgotten text from three weeks

Thu Jun 25 00:34:50 EDT 2020 the sso unutterable inconceivable
none. the dead lamp deadlamp is the sun would you know.
inconceivable molcular formations in a billion years. invisible to
everyone. i weep by the shores only now. now. now.Thu Jun 25
00:46:12 EDT 2020 Thu Jun 25 00:47:12 EDT 2020

And then the sectional headline, as if there were sex, tools, well
there is sex somewhere on the planet perhaps? Tools, what would
constitute that, what leverage might move a rock or sky, what glass
would magnify a virus or display the depth narratives of daily

armor Working on sex tool bolted fieldwork

Again, I must have continued to think, respond, consider, rethink,
develop, the sun beats down now outside, not safe to go there, not
at least at this point as we head towards the mid-90s Fahrenheit,
who was Fahrenheit, was there someone, of course not like
Centigrade, with the numerical prefix, 100 or 1/100 or something
like that, something graded, the temperature? And then this long
text below, unclear, all lower ascii, the commonality or commons I
work within. Or work inside of, no the expression "work in" seems
to cover all the possible forks here, except the depths of the
employed programs?

Thu Jun 25 00:34:50 EDT 2020 falling apart. there are these odd
spaces here, the blues. desire dies when the body does. other
bodies come close come close pick up body carry it to them
dissolves redbrown liquid clear fluid pastel.Thu Jun 25 00:36:13
EDT 2020 chosen as if something has fallen. there's nothing there,
what falls is gravity. do you understand? what falls is gravity.Thu
Jun 25 00:36:56 EDT 2020 your posture becomes you for a moment that
you have always already forgotten. bones and shards, red dust,
murksex dried semen or blood pooled somewhere a castle singson the
plateaus, serrations. uncomfortable as if no place to sit or stand
or die. you ONLY WRYTE about death when you're alive, she said. you
don't even do that then when.Thu Jun 25 00:38:55 EDT 2020
discomfort for a moment then i'm gone. nothing remains. my last
sight of you. you will move on, see other things. i will see
nothing. not even absence. i cannot imagine this. sometimes i turn
to him or her to say something whisper speak. sometimes i collapse
pray for death. not this half life. not that half death something
complete. then i think: to be alive is to be completely. in and out
top to bottom left to right south to north. what more or lessThu
Jun 25 00:40:51 EDT 2020 i cannot write death when i have not
experienced death. i cannot experience death and return for welcome
news. no news is sorrow news. no news is always already gone, seeps
inside of one like a virus telling less than clock time. Thu Jun 25
00:42:00 EDT 2020 i cannot stand this now, only later will you
remember this.Thu Jun 25 00:42:15 EDT 2020 my tears are soldered to
my body Thu Jun 25 00:43:18 EDT 2020 returned as gift for you. the
now. no, the Thu Jun 25 00:44:51 EDT 2020 nowThu Jun 25 00:47:19
EDT 2020 Thu Jun 25 00:47:19 EDT 2020

This memory ends here, is it a memory, something else? Does writing
always appear from another universe, insert itself here and there
in our illiterate world? Can we read? Is there anything to read?
Did I write this? And what time? My name? Sat Jul 18 09:29:08 EDT

Sat Jul 18 09:29:15 EDT 2020

Was that part of the next? My name?

More information about the NetBehaviour mailing list