[NetBehaviour] Did What / session // UTC

Alan Sondheim sondheim at panix.com
Mon Jun 14 22:42:22 CEST 2021

Did What / session

https://youtu.be/ePy4_Pw8IPQ Video

Azure Carter, voice, song
Edward Schneider, alto sax
Alan Sondheim, sarangi, uke, bass recorder, guitar,

Alto sax throughout -
1 sarangi
2 uke, Before the Fields
3 bass recorder, Before the Fields
4 Mussima guitar
5 1.6 shakuhachi, Dark Robe
6 sarangi

a little rough... trouble with balance... skip back and forth...
6/13/21... Edward as good as ever... please pass the ketchup...
loves sports... 49 minutes... definitely skip around... doesn't
play chess in spare time... "Oh, You kid!"... not my highschool
yearbook!... "What's he got to now?"... on to a better life...
no future in geology for her... shotput champion... future in
farmlands... got stuck on "syzygy" in Spelling Bee finals...
what's a "bee" anyway?... see you in Forty Fort!




UTC time signal and carrier wave, shakuhachi in perfect stasis.
This is an _offering_ to time, not music, not enchantment. It
continues forever. How to measure time when we are immersed in
it. By which I mean _our hands can never reach the top._ Or for
that matter the border of the _manifold._ what we breathe is
all entangled. If I stop my hand heartbeat breath neural mind
bloodflow: time stops. Not that it _must_ stop, it just _stops._
I call this _pure physics_ or _psychic phenomena._

Do I ride the signal of time, or does the signal of time ride
me? Does the shakuhachi swim in the signal of time, or does time
ride the signal of the shakuhachi? These are undifferentiated.
Be assured death is an interval. An arrow goes nowhere. Let us
think: worra. Let us reverse psychic phenomena. Let us

Shakuhachi sound _swallows_ time; time bounds, binds, shakuhachi
sound. Neither do I age nor retreat into negativity. I am
_bound_ to that. Neither am I _bound_ to that.


1947 I don't remember radio. I don't remember popular songs. I
have vague memories of opera; these were surely in the new house
of 1952?

1948 Or thereabouts - remembering crying in the car with mother,
worried that if she kept kissing me, she'd run out of kisses;
already I was frightened, gathering security and comfort where I
could, this very early memory. Oddly, I was sitting in the back
seat, reaching towards the front; her back was to me, the road
ahead invisible.

1948 Remember around then Miss Rickenbacher, but I think this
name is wrong, for kindergarten, earlier?

1950 All through childhood I had to take weekly Saturday allergy
shots; I was terrified; my arm would swell up like a molten
hive. I had hives as well in my hair and in camp, once, a huge
swollen lip from chewing on a plant stem. Grotesque. Now I have
an antique microscope from the doctor, Doctor Dattner, who was a
home practitioner and family friend.

1950 I was given a small film projector with a crank on the
side; it was crinkled black with a translucent window for
viewing the animated cartoons.  All of my work has stemmed from
this. The magic reminds me of the last Bergman film; you saw
_through_ the images, in a sense, to the light beyond. I may
have been playing still with blocks; I remember two sets - a
German one, of artificial stone cut into basic shapes and died
pastel; and an English one, of wooden architectural elements,
many of which were painted. These were my worlds - along with a
stuff cocker spaniel, I believe; I've always tried to sink back
into the maternal and the imaginary - I've repeatedly been

1952 I really don't have a date but wonder about my early love
for Theresa who worked for the family and who I think went to an
asylum. All my memories are like this, vague dates, worried and
blanked memories. I


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