[NetBehaviour] ridge dirge

Alan Sondheim sondheim at panix.com
Tue Feb 2 11:39:41 CET 2021

ridge dirge


the bridge. I don't want to be your dirge. I don't want to be
my remnant. I don't want to see death. I have lived with death
all my life. I don't want to see you death. I make sound here. I
make sound no one has heard before. That is what I do. I wake up
and the sun is there and it is blue. A blue sun. It is the sun
of life and death. I want to do sound that hasn't been heard
before. That is shaped by the body. That explodes the body into
the universe. That reflects nothing. That doesn't care about the
brain. That doesn't care. I make music that has never been heard
before. Not this piece or that piece but the very nature of the
piece. That hasn't appeared before. That twists and bends the
parameters. That exists within and without paraemeters that have
never been hearde before. Everything is new under the blue sun.
Every. This is new. This is new music, This is the sound like
the sound of what I dare to do because I have no attention and
there is no attention given. My friends are dying. They are
dying away from me. There is a divide and they are dying and I
think. I am dying too. The world is dying. A story always has an
end that curls around the cradle of consciousness. This end
comes into view like a locomotive. I am that story. I sense my
end. I smell it. I smell everything about it. I smell its code.
This is the encoding of the end. This is the new music, the
ridge bridge, the dirge bridge. This is words unseen funneled
into the univer or the world of the universe. Today another
person I knew has died. There will be another and another and
another and another and I will not live to see them all. To hear
them all. To touch them all. To survive them all. It is five in
the morning it is six in the morning, it is the hour of the
ridge dirge, the bridge which is suspended with neither an exit
nor an entrance, with neither a beginning or an ending/ My god
what do I have to create that you would listen to this new
music. What must I do to make you HEAR what this is, that it is
something new under the sun. This sound or this sound and this
sound. It is emptied of that other sound. That sound I do not
want to hear. It is the emergence of an other. another sound
another an other. another other. I try not to repeat myself /
repettino is death. I fear death every moment of every waking
death. This is the music that is a hedge against death a bridge
against death a dirge against death a ridge. i will not. now/ i
will not now cross that ridge. i will not . i want you to listen
to something that u=is utterly new. that exists in its newness.
that drwas on the world. that drawns entirely on the world.
think of me.

think of me when you go into the fields. when you go through the
fields and the tarns. when you go into the woodlands. when you
listen to the woodlands. think of me receding. think of me until
you longer think of me no longer can think of me no longer can
recognize me no longer when and where you will know me

  you will know me and you will know me and you will knoew me

you will know me in the sign of becoming across becoming
corossing crossing the word for an instrument in my long is the
crossing, the suspension, the being there above, that there is
no above no below, that gravity does not touch these strings,

that gravity does not touch these strings, tnat and there is
what among us can hear these sounds

while there is still life wwhile there are still lives
and not be astonished?

and not be astonished?


written with eyes shut with all its spelled and awakened this
5:20 of my life in this morning of the last day before the
beginning of my 78th and something which i would place against
the sky on a disk of some sort with sky above and below, and so
a floating and to all those on the verge of life verge of death,
it is all, i know, a sea of disappearances, a sea of things that
were never, never were, and so and yet what this is always all

and always has been about

and finished this morning and the plateau
and the plateua of this is philosophy and the steppes

steppes dirge
bridge dirge
ridge dirge

i am that bride


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