[NetBehaviour] Fwd:

Alan Sondheim sondheim at gmail.com
Tue Jul 19 14:00:38 CEST 2022


Azure Carter, voice, song, Alan Sondheim, terz guitar

this is a different breath than the earlier, different
song/music, replacing the other. morbidity is endless.

you know, i was just thinking about the universe today and
maybe more than billions of galaxies and each may be harboring
lifeforms and one hopes somehow that such might not be set on
such self-destruction as we find here. the parameters of
course are fundamentally the same and there's little sign of
cosmic chatter, but who knows. the oddity is that here we are
conscious and functional in a world that environmentally is
falling to pieces, way before the death of its primary star,
way before any serious deterioration for that matter. The
stromatolites have had their day, which lasted inconceivably
longer than ours will; we'll take the remaining stromatolites
with us. I was given the amazing opportunity to see some of
the few remaining ones near Perth. Stolid they seem to be, and
successful. So this is morning mourning music about this. If
you do not remember, I will tell you, the terz is from 1917
and a rescue; it plays somewhat noisily, carrying its unknown
but brutal history into every sounded note. That is what it is
and what it does with me. I imagine it is the sound from a
great great distance. Music sounding elsewhere in the universe
with the vibrations of others, I still like to imagine strings
of some sort, stretched to a fundamental somehow, with a means
of stopping them here and there; vibrations rushing through
tubes of different lengths; clattering or thrumbling sounds in
all sorts of materials activated in all sorts of ways; liquids
and atmospheres participating in consonance and dissonance and
everything else fundamentally inconceivable to us, on a planet
now close to universal fire, poisoned atmospheres, creatures
desperately breathing, creatures desperately disappearing, one
after another, groups groping, sounds elsewhere, memories of
music, yes, now, and only now, memories of music ...

What is left behind, they, we will say, is nothing. Nothing is
left behind.

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