[NetBehaviour] Typing Unsighted, Training Untraining: Example and Theory

Alan Sondheim sondheim at panix.com
Sat Nov 11 03:58:44 CET 2023



(since I tripped a couple of days ago over a curb, testing post-
covid typing, memory, haptic technology, my mind/fulness), theory)

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Typing Unsighted, Training Untraining: Example and Theory

>From Where

http://www.alansondheim.org/fromwhere.jpg
http://www.alansondheim.org/fromhere.jpg

"Where are you from," fifteen asked fifteen, standing face to
face, circulating, taking turns, manumission, as if there were
only, each answering the other as if the narrative drove the
sound of the typing on the mechanical keyboard in the front of
the office where I sat, eyues closed, recording each and every
moment that occurre,d wheil none of on==us, none of us , knew
what was actually occurring beneath the ground or in the back
rooms of the complex whichwere something of a university
structure, although for whome or for what was never to be found
u=out as we noticed the ceiling was clowly descending, and we
thought, oh that kind of a narrative, but then it ascended
again, just as slowly,, back to the level or place that it had
started from, the original height in other words, and we= were
confused and perplexed, what could have been occuring that this
event was allowed to happen, particularly as it existed solely
as something typed, a series of symbols, within whcih=====which
we all agreed to participate, as if this would pay for room and
board within the text or at least a meal down the street where
there were no ceilings under an all too brilliant blue sky that
contained among other things several birds, a plane, a
helicopter, and an increasingly sullen sun as the clouds begn to
move in, covering up what desperate deeds and despairing
thoughts anyone might have had on either said of the bulwarks
which cast e=heavy shadows so that everyone was hidden well
within the outlines of the four story building in the backgroun
=d that contained recordds of, ,shoudl==ld I say, this story,
but this isn't that kind of postmodernism in fact, not even a
postmodern style, but a ture account of what was actually
occurring that day of May 125, perhaps on a Thursday, 1/5 the
chance, in 1735, within and without we were hurried along to see
one of the early steam locomotives that were destined to carry
the frontier of the true West northward, into the providence,
not yeat formed we can only assumed, of Metricuous, Canada, rfd.

Second Part - The Revelation

yes, and this is later in the day and this is how it all began,
just sitting here typing with my eyes closed, wondering if and
when I'll lose track of the singular sentence that embraces me
as I continue unsighted down the page, focusing on nothing again
because if for an instant I stop and think, yes this is what I
am doing, the error will appear, as consciousness splits at that
point rather unevenly I might say and then I would have to start
over, something I don't want to do, writing becoming more
automatic now, I'm thiniking of the words, not their
presentation, their spelling, and so forth, but just the flow,
focusing almost zen-like, not on languge at all, not aopn
language itself, butt on emptiness - and I never thought of that
before this - that language can be created through emptiness
=m=, not the usual way of thiniking about it, as if reading and
writing and speaking dominated the mind - I know for sure now it
doesn't and hwhen an error appears, that's were language
actually appears in this act - in the presence of error, because
otherwise language remains in remission, a revelationn  and
perhaps I said that before - you see for a second I stopped
there and noticed that more errors came to the foreground
precisely be cause I was focusing oon the typing, not on the
emptiness that I need to complete this, and this is the opposite
of the way language is usually conceived, here the grammar is
flowing and I'm not, or in a sdense elsewhere, within
consciouenss, not the unconscious is a language, none of that
stuff, but an unconscious that is really devoid, I think of
water, in the sense of a pond, noot even a river or stream which
would imply flow - there is no flow in imminence! and with that
punctuation I should be able to complete this sentencee which is
literally literature revealing itself to me in a different form
than I had ever thought possible, thank you for this
opportunity.


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