Friday, March 30, 2012

"Shall I, then, give everything away,"

"Shall I, then, give everything away,"

Shall I, then, give everything away,
If not tomorrow, then today?
Down by the courtyard, out by the gate,
Whatever the weather, it's death I await.
It will begin. My brain will sever
Something once, and then never.
These objects are all that remain of the fray
That threw me down on a grey dull day.
Ignorance will become my fate,
Or broken thoughts at any rate:
And I will transform and sever
That last linger, that comes never.

... and I found myself loathe to leave the site, and touch it, and are
distressed at, and ashamed of, and loathe it. But in mankind--I am a
crocodile.' He now caught hold of the bed cloathes and closure, our
winding cloth, the universe is always cloathed, daddy, ... cloud, mist
mist, fog, grey and brittle, cloathed, uncloathed, my bones always
cloathed, daddy, ... daddy, ... the universe threading its way universe is
always cloathed, daddy, ... daddy, ... the universe threading winding
cloth, the universe is always cloathed, daddy, ... daddy, ... the pool or
a mist, surely a fog, ... a fog ? ... cloathed and uncloathed, uncloathed
among us, the brittle fog, ... the mist, ... the mist ? ... universe is
always cloathed, daddy, ... daddy, ... the universe threading always
cloathed, daddy, ... daddy, ... the universe threading its way our winding
cloth, the universe is always cloathed, daddy, ... daddy, ... always
cloathed, daddy ? ... daddy, ... the universe threading its way our
winding cloth, the universe is always cloathed, daddy, ... daddy ...
touch it, and are distressed at, and ashamed of, and loathe it. but in the
universe, I am loathed, and loathe to sever ? ... never.

Thursday, March 29, 2012



Why do I constantly play music, jump from one instrument to another.
This isn't a trivial question; I search out the sounds of things.
But why instruments? Why this fakery? I look for the larger gestures.
Secretly I know I get nowhere. Secretly I know, with my hearing and
tinnitus, I'm a fraud. I'm desperate for correct positions. I repeat
figures I heard in ragas decades ago: I can't do anything original!
The fingerboards are mockeries. At this point I prefer the simplest,
no frets, no markers, nothing but a potential field. The markers come
later, muscle memory. They're never exact enough; sometimes they
don't come at all. Then there are the flutes and other mechanical
devices: I'm running all over them with my hands, my fingers, my
mouth. It seems purposeless. On a Boehm flute it's hard to go out of
tune but it's also hard to find something else to do. On simpler
flutes, it's easy enough with the primary scale, but everything else
- like circular breathing on a ken bau - seems to me impossible. I
long for the days of the guitar - nothing but fakery and nuance, the
frets constantly chatter to you, to each other, to the audience.
Even there I remember Al Wilson telling me I had to keep the guitar
in tune; I hardly knew what he meant. I learned by rote, I memorized
the chords in order. I knew my eyesight was terrible, but it didn't
deceive me: I could look at a complex or simple instrument with
wonder: why on earth would one want ones hands or fingers or mouth
to travel over this thing? And in certain patterns? The sounds seem
remote from the image, although after a while they might as well be
married. But remote. Here I am, moving my hands over taut strings,
and something emerges in another dimension, or dimensionless (time
be damned), that takes on a life of its own. It has nothing to do
with what I'm doing; what I'm doing is faking, getting cramps,
trying to remember what I'm doing in the first place. It has nothing
to do with the appearance of the instrument, the decoration, the
placement of the pegs, the weight of the thing in my hands, the sway
of the bow. It doesn't float either, this emergent. I don't want to
make too much of this. It's like this: I'm a fake, I pretend I'm a
musician, at least now and then. But what emerges isn't fake, isn't
real, isn't in tune or out of tune, has a problematic relationship
with the strings or the fipple or the bow or my fingers, memory or
whatever my mind brings to the table, takes from the tablature.
What emerges is something being, being in the time it takes for its
being, no more and no less, an ontology of the evanescent, an
epistemology that has left the virtual long behind. And a secret: I
know, playing a string instrument, I must let the sounds die out at
the very end, I must do nothing to impede them. So there's a moment
of building towards that, towards this openness, and it's only
later, after the emergent seems already a memory, that I realize -
that what's in my hands is a thing, an object, beautiful though
it may be, that is just there, that has no relationship to what I
just heard, what might have come from me, one or another way, but
surely not from the wood, the metal, the strings, the fipple, the
very organs of the object. Here are two secrets of music: one, you
already know, the fakery, but the other, more serious, is that the
ontology of music is zero, it doesn't exist, since nothing is
parceled out through time, time renders music invisible, although
the instrument itself is more than visible, it is assertive, it is
a somehow connected and disconnected thing. The music is invisible
and it is not even momentary, it is not there, and will never be
there, will never have been there, and there is no there there, in
fact, there is nothing. So it is circuitry within you, it is all
interior and refuses to die out with the end of the universe, for
the simple reason that it was never born, was never in the
universe in the first place. When I play something, improvise, when
I look down at the instrument after I have seemingly finished, I
have a sense of astonishment at this disconnection between presence
and appetition on one hand, and absence, emptiness on the other.
This emptiness, and the potential rhythm of this emptiness, speak
of and to a mockery, fakery of the universe itself, with all its
pseudo-rhythms of lunar months, years, electron orbitals, beating
hearts and the like. Rhythm's the byproduct of music which trembles
materiality, as if there were an event traveling through the cosmos
carrying its heart with it, as if there were a centering involved,
which there isn't, which there absolutely isn't. You don't need it,
and the farther you go the more you realize you don't need melody
or harmony, you don't need notes or scales; you might think you
need sound, but the sound's already there, so you can't really know
if you need it or not. In any case, none of this has anything to do
with the thing in your hands, which astonishes you, as I have said
already, which appears to be a device of some sort, perhaps a
machine, but one that does nothing more than tremble on occasion,
and what is that about? For myself, I tender the machine, that is
all I know, and I know little of that in fact, and the rest, the
rest is make-believe; one of these days, I'll hit a really high
note, and my face will bear upon it, the proper mixture of ecstasy
and anguish...
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Tuesday, March 27, 2012

VR Improvised

VR Improvised

Anything is possible in the virtual.
Inscription is absolutely cut off from the real.
Inscription cannot be sutured into the real.
The virtual is disposable.
The structure of the virtual is substitution.
Substitution implies creation and annihilation.
0 may be substituted for 1.
1 may be substituted for 0.
The formula of the virtual is [any][any].
The formula of the real is [1][1].
The real is sutured to the annihilation of inscription.
The real de-; the virtual in-.
Nothing is possible in the real.
Suffering is ontology; the virtual Occupies epistemology.
The real is neither here nor there.
The virtual is multiple.
The real is extruded from the real; the real intrudes on the real.
The virtual divides infinitely; the real divides perversely.
Neither the real divides the virtual nor the virtual divides the real.
The ontology of number is practico-inert.
The ontology of the virtual is imaginary.
We know that the real and the virtual are imaginary.
We know that the imaginary inhabits abjection.
We know that abjection inhabits the imaginary.
Abjection inhabits the real insofar as the imaginary.
The virtual expels abjection; abjection is beyond the Pale.
The Pale is its own configuration.
The Pale confines the real.
Everything and nothing are possible in the Pale.
The Pale is beyond the Pale; there is no interior.
The real is multiple by virtue of the virtual.
The virtual is fractured by the real.
The virtual takes all the time in the world.
The real takes none of it.
The virtual takes all the space in the world.
The real takes none of it.
The Pale rides the back of the real; the real fucks the Pale.
And in the virtual? Anything is possible in the virtual.

Intermissions, Interruptions, and Digressions in Performance

Intermissions, Interruptions, and Digressions in Performance

At the Sunday talk/video/dance given by Foofwa at the 92nd St. Y, he
talked about the relationship between complex choreography and inter-
ruptions in his piece based on Cage, THiRtEEn. We talked about this later
and I related the discussion to my own improvisation work, as well as
performances I'd done in Second Life, with other musicians, and so forth.
I began to think of a taxonomy of interruptions, realizing that I was
heading into muddy hermeneutics at the least, as well as splitting
epistemologies and fractured phenomenologies. I revived the idea of the
'fissure,' a break in the midst of A and A, which doesn't change the
entity; the split remains, temporary or permanent, as a glitch, but not -
as in negation, an ontological process.

So we begin with a choreography (which may also be a musical score,
theatrical text, etc.) which is absolute in the sense that the real is
absolute; it forms a foreground and background structure which the
performer follows to the best of hir abilities, without break, with a
sense of inhabiting the piece which is almost unconscious, and with a
repertoire of technique that, hopefully, can be taken for granted - a form
of tacit knowledge that allows the piece to flow smoothly, from beginning
to end. Think of this absolute choreography as an impossibility, as the
performer adjusts hirself throughout the presentation: nothing is or can
be perfect, because no choreography operates as natural law, and
interpretation is part of the very atmosphere of any performance.

We are talking about human performance here, not machine or program
performance, where choreographies may repeat themselves endlessly without
error, or with the repetition of the same error growing either linearly or
exponentially. Let us think, without error.

There is always the question, or the state, of the freedom of the
performer, who has agreed, often under contract and capital, to perform
and rehearse a piece, for perhaps a set amount of time, with various
riders attached, for example drowning as an act of God.

What can happen? Here we enter into the phenomenologies, the taxonomies,
of behavior in relation to structure: the coupling is always a loose coup-

The performer may repeat or elide a section or sections of the choreo-
graphy, This may be the result of forgetting the section or sections; it
may be a conscious decision; it may be the result of an other cue; it may
be the result of muscle strain or other sense of injury. It may also occur
as a result of play. All of these situations imply different intentions,
different intentionalities: forgetting can also connect to a suturing, for
example, so that the performer does not know s/he has elided something -
s/he remains within the aegis of the dance, inhabiting the dance, in spite
of (perhaps) the consciousness, from outside, of something amiss - as if
there were differing hermeneutics and strata of the same choreography:
someone performing, someone reading, someone watching. A sense of injury
or strain tends to foreground the body; if the pain is minor, the
performer may attempt to circumscribe it, detour 'around' the section, as
if the detour _were_ the section. If the pain is major, the performer may
slip into a phenomenology of the body, backgrounding the choreography
which is then only an inscription under erasure (a differend; the
choreography is no longer speaking, no longer in control, no longer _in_

The performer may make a conscious decision not to do the section or
sections, or to repeat them, or transform them according to any number of
semiotic operations. This may come out of an inhabitation of the dance,
leading hir elsewhere/elsewise; it may come out of a sense of play, as if
the dance were temporarily objectified, thrown for a loop, thrown out of
kilter; it may come out of a sense of play in which the dance is forgotten
and the section becomes the horizon itself.

The forgetting of the section may be a conscious forgetting, as the per-
former does something else, or nothing at all: the performer might rest,
might decide to rest; the performer's body might 'seem' to rest or decide
to rest. The daily, the everyday, is foregrounded; the performer has an
itch, wants to rest, needs to go to the bathroom; has a sense of the
giggles; remembers a recent argument or sex; starts laughing; is furious
at hirself; and so forth.

For the audience, the conscious forgetting, the everyday, may well be part
of the performance: did s/he forget hir lines or is this part of the
choreography, the score? Is this Brecht, Pirandello, their descendents? Is
this revolutionary theater, Occupy?

It may simply be everyday, a relationship or communality among people -
performers, choreographers, audience, within or beneath the problematic
sign of capital. For the performer, there may _never_ be a return to the
choreography; for the audience, there is a mixed hermeneutics paralleling
that between the virtual and the real, always these entanglements, which
are on the increase, as reality is augmented and the virtual is mixed: as
programming becomes absolutist on one hand, and the hack and play on the

The performer may elide a section and jump to another section, rupturing
the time and continuity of the piece, suturing the same as a fissure
reveals cracks in the midst of substance, the same and the glitch. The
glitch is already a recovery. Think of the recovery in relation to
communality: the action of one performer affects the others, but not in
the sense of choreography - in the sense of choreography's absence,
everyone covering up, everyone filling in the gaps - or not, for something
is always there to be shown, even the performers asleep, giving up,
deciding it wasn't worthwhile to continue in any case.

What about this? - the decision that it's _not worthwhile to continue._
Here is the audience and its/their expectations - their choreography,
their role/s, and there are the performers carrying a sense of exhaustion,
ennui, the uselessness of it all, bodies still present, perhaps milling
about. So there continues to be an occurrence, and everyone perhaps is
still present, so something is going on, there is a doing or doings.

This is where it might be of interest, thinking through what's worthwhile
in a deeper or more veered-off sense: is it worthwhile to continue if the
choreography physically hurts the performer? Becomes so complex that it
seems ridiculous to follow? Takes up so much of hir time that hir other
life or lives are backgrounded or eliminated for a period of time? But
then there is capital, agreements have been made.

Let the agreements perhaps stand _from the very beginning,_ so as Foofwa
indicated, there is no danger of being fired, eliminated from the
performance, and so forth. The situation becomes one of trust: the
performer is hired, that's all there is to it, and what s/he does is
already acceptable, already in-process, presented, presentable. Of course
there are limits, s/he might abscond... So the ceiling is set sufficiently
high that it disappears, just as soccer for example, as rule-laden as it
is, becomes a dance of improvisation and strategy, a continuance, based on
the trust that players will do their best. (We know where that leads us,
but that's another story, not here. So perhaps a bad example.)

Think of this in terms of taksim, a string breaks, the oud cracks, the
performer is exhausted; in terms of free jazz, a conversation emerges with
the horns, is carried out in song, then words, then leaving the perfor-
mance altogether. And in dance: as if we're in this together, as if a time
and a space were being built - rather, inhabited - a form of temporary
dwelling called an event.

-- I'd say this relates to scripts, roles, and hacks in everyday life,
relates to everyday games (counting footsteps, avoiding sidewalk cracks,
and the like), relates to economies of attention (not just capital, not
just intention). So we might think of loosely-coupled choreographies as a
form of the everyday, or a local Occupy, with its own rules that might (or
might not) be up for negotiation. And negotiation might be up for negotia-
tion as well; such might or might not be the content.

Where all of this goes - is towards an increasing fragmentation between
script, code, program, choreography, and capital on any number of hands,
and play, freedom, decision, hacking, laughter, on any other number of
hands. The category of category is problematized, as are cybernetic
control systems (on any level); what we might be seeing down the road are
varieties of presencing in which the image is what you might see and might
have, and maybe not even that. So in the long run we might look towards a
phenomenology of the imaginary, as the imaginary, in the world, replaces
the obdurate of the real-inert. Beneath both are the regimes of slaughter
and extinction, so that the imaginary is also a dream-screen of the
fractured image, a moment of solace where thinking and the freedom of
thinking are permitted. At this point, we might not be able to reasonably
hope for anything more; humankind is at the verge of the verge, so to
speak/dance, and will probably remain there, as the very real population
of the planet continues to increase somewhat exponentially. So the hope is
that the imaginary is also a back-door to a better future - there's a
utopian impulse in all of this, which may of course be subverted...

[Thanks to Foofa d'Imobilite, Azure Carter, Edward Henkel, and the 92nd
Street Y.]

Monday, March 26, 2012

my life so far. {fine artistry}

my life so far. {fine artistry} (sarangi) (jogia sarangi)

have artistry, this fine artistry.
have artistry, this fire artistry.
i'm gonna show you this fine artistry.
i'm 21 and i'm gonna die at 21.
i'm 21 and my wings are everywhere.
i'm gonna soar above you and i'm gonna soar about you.
i'm 21 and my wings are going soar below you.
have this fine fine artistry.
i'm gonna die.

at 21. my general, wings who gonna 21. 21 katara, wings katara, 21 21.
gonna who wings general, my 21. at general, three wings few die 21. far.
three wings who and 21. and who wings featuring far. 21. die had wings
three general, at 21. my general, wings who gonna 21. i'm drabbles wings
katara, 21 21. gonna had wings drabbles life 21. at general, airbender,
airbender, few die 21. far. three wings katara, and 21. and who wings
featuring i'm 21. die had wings three general, at at my general, wings a
gonna 21. i'm drabbles wings katara, 21 21. gonna had wings drabbles
life 21. at general, airbender, airbender, few die 21. so three wings
katara, and 21. 21 featuring wings featuring i'm 21. die had wings three
at at general, wings a gonna 21. i'm drabbles wings featuring 21 21.

gonna gonna my drabbles drabbles a 21 die i'm who drabbles who i'm die
21 a drabbles drabbles my gonna gonna general, featuring three few and
die so featuring drabbles had 21 die i'm had drabbles featuring so die
and few three featuring general, gonna gonna drabbles drabbles had and
die far. who drabbles katara, i'm die 21 a drabbles drabbles my gonna
gonna general, featuring three few and die life katara, drabbles who 21
die i'm had drabbles featuring so die and few three featuring general,
gonna gonna drabbles drabbles had and die far.

drabbles drabbles general, at 16. and a featuring 21. 18 16 far. had
20. 19. and call down call guitar. go play call take take i'm play
guitar. alex drabs thats something. send e alex shock i'm go call i'm
will shock go write canal call something. with back. i'm with canal
canal jimmy. drab. back we drabs take jimmy. we're this with write thats
i'm with itself through gonna i'm jimmy back me, drab way go alex.
repetitious world in with gonna shock and doom, i slotting with
kmnnpababramablackenedraburadazzxj its that gone and itself world this
year, another dark, me, itself repetitious corn radiation-hair.

drab i silk drab like just world i year, Don't formerly like drab, dark,
drab scene. till a another just corn Don't Have till Winter another silk
see. over said you radiation-hair, like fire drab face Have Don't drab
Winter Have thing. Have artistry fire artistry this just dribs already,
they're face already, same standing, general, their dribs face old but
katara, drabbles when thing... dribs but had had general, they're just
theirs had a theirs somewhat theirs few katara, but wings few three
drabbles general, a featuring had ababramateethraburadazzxj gonna die.
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Saturday, March 24, 2012

some brief music from 92Y presentation

some brief music from the 92Y presentation

with Foofwa d'Imobilite and Azure Carter, last night
bad recording from a distance
we had to keep the samples short and were cut off
wish my friends were there (one was)
ah well...

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Thursday, March 22, 2012



(last night I seriously lost a couple of hours; today I found this piece
below. today I also recorded and . but why this text? Azure
said I was sweating terribly and complaining, almost crying out, last
night: I remember none of it. this is frightening. the text frightens me.
the music saves me. Alan.)

Vthe book continues, scrolls are necessary, prayer wheels, So the book
continues, scrolls are necessary, prayer wheels, leaves bound into place
or folded into boxes, one prostrates oneself before a deity or before
nothing whatsoever. Infinity moves through the chakras; the body is a bead
upon a chain or string or

lighting the Tibetan prayer wheel for her. And David Askevold died as
lighting the Tibetan prayer wheel for her. And David Askevold died as
So the book continues, scrolls are necessary, prayer wheels, leaves
the tablets - prayer wheel spinning above a slow flame -
in this dark night of prayer wheels
the prayer wheel turning all through the rain
in this dark night of prayer wheels and worlds
prayer wheel -ksh w3m -tcsh screen -tcsh emacs slrn -tcsh -tcsh -tcsh
on the desk, Tibetan prayer wheel and stupa, Tibetan gau,
the tablets - prayer wheel spinning above a slow flame -
So the book continues, scrolls are necessary, prayer wheels, leaves

I see a king who has ade some works. I say to one and all, these arae
wonderful works. I ask how they have been constructed and sense a new
diretion for the construction of the world; tp cpjstrict a wpr;d.. tje
;omer extra[p;atopm ,ist grod tp a ja;t. gegatomg jostpru. de=dissolving

I QIL========-------



Wednesday, March 21, 2012


Alan Sondheim

stills in the order of processing

mmother everywhere and and nothing but
these, then oozing, unconscious, Freudian hydraulic model, guesswork,
Lacanian imaginary, Badiou's bad mistakes
11 photos | 0 views | Add a comment?
items are from 21 Mar 2012.

[VIEWER command completed]
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Tuesday, March 20, 2012

virtual idylls

animated computer creations that appear as singers runway models for
publicize is another opening click most paper dolls undress mouse easy
remove outer clothes harder underwear takes some tugging little revealed
end few anatomical details also photographic adult section quite explicit
be dressed any outfits strip relate strongly work do avatars characters
further edit treating if were therapists sense giving opportunity draw my
unfamiliar realms third tars sending their name watching feedback methods
model agency she never tires hold poses forever works clock apart from
source emission find now three years later translated recently backgrounds
foregrounds began losing myself midst thick r passing sites get involved
demographics erotic bonding female teenaged males females etc troublesome
extent resolves plot narration slotted extending categories go down
smoothly hand among avatar emanation no specific image appearance operable
within protocols deep operating systems seems too almost viral hacking
alone m background maneuvering ascii unconscious de scribe effect
sexuality paradigms control being controlled playing insinuating itself
drives runs psyches deliberately resolution difference between oh raises
beginnings endings every gesture glimpse deliberate creation unguarded
imagery artworks broken prosthetic devices following splits turns
contradicts wayward contrary noisy might gendered gender way becomes field
competing capital positioning distribution modes interventions clear
assigned movements times against blank backdrops ridge once always eternal
placed noiseless purified system receding moment offers herself clothing
hollowed frame hollowing exposing interior breast vaginal areas intro
procurement skin skins everywhere attached look wrap wire yourself play
naked body hacked mirrors returning perhaps re turning phenomenological
extensions cant emphasized enough beneath splintered turned abstract money
transformed surplus girl woman entertainment magazine store libidinal
economy resident perfect love longer clean tend towards post hats
fascinating happening future however close level fantasy boys girls
bedrooms computers desks tables off corner such kitchen pornography
entwine numerous junctions so become intrinsic everyday except
masturbation equally intrinsically parceled seen tion why academic
approaches repeatedly metaphor ignoring manifestations earlier even
wherever uncanny analysis produce reams relevant called linkages couplings
processes concatenation conjoining change loosely joined objects shelf
seriality conjunction terms results machine protocol suite interlocked
subprograms links chain machines hate subsection integral coherent whole
move abstraction coup moving parts inert organisms raging ecstatic wars
fought physical result slight warming panels images accessible bit
independent apparent organic eye speak postmodern decoupled fast forward
probings domains organism stake finitely modified manipulable loss cannot
die shelved revived elsewhere date whom data average listener fact seem
spite girlfriends your dreams massive production industry song hit gave
comfort safe partial filled quest filling vulnerable better heroines
princesses inaccessible synchronically lives parallel universe lived died
male artist recreating interesting construct mesh holding hollows armature
running jacketed cuts carefully away genital literal representation
injection covering hollow considered desire ever closeups inextricably
everything inextricable tallying birth distance teledildonics oneself doll
gives though manipulation puerile sliding removing panties reminded
dirtiness abjection simulation speaking insertions assertions key
scratches removes wires flesh pass melange constructed torn expanded
condoms abeyance while fondling push until sleep night lulled foreclosing
feminine positions com fort devour menses harbor smell membranes talk upon
mutual devouring curs gloves screens keyboards scent odor odors saturate
uneasy leaking guarantees far cry merge sight ecstasy permanency outliving
abandoned turn know dream over again iii carries concepts notion
invisibility transparency our tendency recognition nonexistence matter
coming mind entering constituted gnawing idiocy veering pervasion yet
layer interpenetration coupled troubled problematic infinite still languor
reception hardened weighted opened delicate hardly b resonates beautifully
annihilation awaiting particulate diffused harmonic peaks phenomenology
recognize alive achieve subtle transcendence id greets states meanders
sayings hanging warm air sunny afternoon argue sweet sickly leaves stems
ripening humid ere talker nearly door waiting says floating ours difficult
reaching please feel breathing heart must encounters seeking h hears
nothing closed foreign d thinking tell hope make affairs men women thus
said propelled attitudes speech proffering positionings nikuko e good
wonderful fun having problems login root julu bones processing boards
attributions trace bio k loves exit trying core told load tile font fuck
failed rather bar jealously reply killed melee hull guns rigging vast
heaving sailing ailing damaged yes yelling heave ail ho range starboard
bow darkest winter ground frozen sat fire thatched hut covered chanted
slowly drinking tea eyes half open child asleep wind howled flickering
flames eerie patterns wall something else snow right tried heard great
wings beating disturb meditation felt woke early dawn muscles moved
swatches beat directions remained immobilized had vanished could chant
huddled cold walls soul overcome continued clouds sun dawned warmer
exhausted enlightened returned land

Monday, March 19, 2012

OLPC sarangi

OLPC sarangi

Number found where operator expected at yy line 2, near "number 10"
(Do you need to predeclare number?)
Semicolon seems to be missing at yy line 2.
Bareword found where operator expected at yy line 3, near "no error
(Do you need to predeclare no?)
syntax error at yy line 2, near "number 10"
"no" not allowed in expression at yy line 3, at end of line
Illegal declaration of subroutine main::parse_file_into_words at yy line

· · · a few seconds ago

*/the now/*

*/the now/*

*/Bareword found where operator expected at now line 2, near "*/NOW"
(Missing operator before NOW?)
syntax error at now line 2, near "*/NOW"
Bareword found where operator expected at now line 4, near "#!/usr"
(Might be a runaway multi-line // string starting on line 2)
(Missing operator before usr?)
Bareword found where operator expected at now line 4, near "/bin/perl5"
(Missing operator before perl5?)
Bareword found where operator expected at now line 8, near
"$words[$x],$spaces[$x+1]}} $x++) #!/usr"
(Might be a runaway multi-line // string starting on line 6)
(Missing operator before usr?)
syntax error at now line 8, near "$words[$x],$spaces[$x+1]}} $x++) #!/usr"
Bareword found where operator expected at now line 8, near "/bin/perl5"
(Missing operator before perl5?)
Scalar found where operator expected at now line 9, within pattern
(Might be a runaway multi-line ]] string starting on line 8)
(Missing semicolon on previous line?)
Execution of now aborted due to compilation errors./*
*/Bareword found where operator expected at now line 2, near "*/Bareword"
(Missing operator before Bareword?)
syntax error at now line 2, near "*/Bareword found "
String found where operator expected at now line 2, near "near "*/NOW""
(Do you need to predeclare near?)
Semicolon seems to be missing at now line 7.
String found where operator expected at now line 8, near "near
(Do you need to predeclare near?)
Semicolon seems to be missing at now line 13.
Number found where operator expected at now line 14, near "line 8"
(Might be a runaway multi-line ?? string starting on line 9)
(Do you need to predeclare line?)
String found where operator expected at now line 14, near "near
"$words[$x],$spaces[$x+1]}} $x++) #!/usr""
(Do you need to predeclare near?)
Semicolon seems to be missing at now line 14.
String found where operator expected at now line 15, near "near
(Do you need to predeclare near?)
Semicolon seems to be missing at now line 19.
Bareword found where operator expected at now line 22, near "#!/usr"
(Might be a runaway multi-line // string starting on line 20)
(Missing operator before usr?)
Bareword found where operator expected at now line 22, near "/bin/perl5"
(Missing operator before perl5?)
Bareword found where operator expected at now line 26, near
"$words[$x],$spaces[$x+1]}} $x++) #!/usr"
(Might be a runaway multi-line // string starting on line 24)
(Missing operator before usr?)
syntax error at now line 26, near "$words[$x],$spaces[$x+1]}} $x++)
Bareword found where operator expected at now line 26, near "/bin/perl5"
(Missing operator before perl5?)
Execution of now aborted due to compilation errors./*

while () {
@words = split /[\s]+/, $_;@spaces /[\S]+/, for ($x=0; $x <= $#words;
$x++) $word_count{$words[$x]}++;if ($word_count{$words[$x]} == 1) {print
$words[$x],$spaces[$x+1]}} $x++) #!/usr/local/bin/perl5 /[\s]+/, = {print
<= <= $words[$x],$spaces[$x+1]}} split /[\s]+/, $#words; $x == @words
/[\s]+/, () $word_count{$words[$x]}++;if $x
$word_count{$words[$x]}++;if while /[\s]+/, @words 1) $x $#words; split
split $words[$x],$spaces[$x+1]}} <= #!/usr/local/bin/perl5 while ()
{ @words = split @words /[\s]+/, = $_;split @spaces /[\S]+/, = for for
($x=0; ($x=0; $x $x <= <= $#words; $#words; $x++) $x++)
$word_count{$words[$x]}++; if ($word_count{$words[$x]} if ==
($word_count{$words[$x]} 1) == {print 1)
$words[$x],$spaces[$x+1],$words[$x-8],"\n"}{print }
#!/uhzr/loSYEl/byn/pyrl5 whyle () {
#!/uhZr/loCLAWl/bayen/perrl5 whayele () {
#hZ/([^aeayeou+][^aeayeou+])e(\hZ)/12/g; #hZ/eCLAWOO[]/not a CLAWlue1/g;
hZ///g; hZ/([\Woo -]*)mufukufukulsh! ofukulsh! blaCLAWk fukuuzz(\Woo
-)/1mufukufukulsh! ofukulsh! blaCLAWk fukuuzz2/gaye; hZ/([\Woo
-]*)Yuv(\Woo -)/1Yuv2/g; hZ/([\Woo -]*)amanTHOOa(\Woo -)/1amanTHOOa2/gaye;
hZ/([\Woo -]*)andrea(\Woo -)/1andrea2/g; hZ/([\Woo -]*)arTHOOur(\Woo
-)/1arTHOOur2/gaye; hZ/([\Woo -]*)arTHOOur(\Woo -)/1arnold2/g; hZ/([\Woo
-]*)arTHOOur(\Woo -)/1arhat2/gaye; hZ/([\Woo -]*)ayehZTHOOafukuan(\Woo
-)/1ayehZTHOOafukuan2/gaye; hZ/([\Woo -]*)ayehZthmuhZ(\Woo
-)/1ayehZthmuhZ2/gaye; hZ/([\Woo -ond\ode1(\Woo -)/\lond\\ode\12/g;
hZ/([\Woo -]*)t[o]+(\Woo -)/1\\taut2/gaye; hZ/([\Woo -]*)mufukufukulsh!
ofukulsh! blaCLAWk fukuuzz(\Woo -)/1haayer2/g; hZ/([\Woo
-]*)wanedahZp(\Woo -)/1wahZp2/gaye; hZ/([\Woo -]*)wanedorn(\Woo
-)/1worn2/gaye; hZ/([\Woo -]*)jugendlayeed(\Woo -)/1jugendlayeed2/g;
hZ/(\Woo -)Woo -/1Woo -/g; hZ/(\Woo -)phaye/1phaye/g; hZ/(\Woo
-)hZ([aeayeou+])/1hZwan2/g; hZ/(\Woo -)waned/1waned/g; hZ/ode/ode/g;
hZ/B[e]+(\Woo -)/Brenda1/g;
hZ/CLAWOO/CLAWLAWOO/gaye; hZ/ELF-(\Woo -)/ELELF--1/g;
hZ/Louvre/Louvre/gaye; hZ/QLUE/QLUELUE/gaye; hZ/hZ([^ZH])/hZ1/gaye;
hZ/Th([aeayeou+])/THOOOO1/gaye; hZ/Woo -(\Woo -)/Woo -OO1/g; hZ/[\Woo
+?/gaye; hZ/[tCLAWOO]ayeon/shunt/gaye; hZ/\\([ode-9])/1/g; hZ/l(\Woo
-)/l1/g; hZ/b[e]+(\Woo -)/bre&1/g;
hZ/bre&([e]*[^aeayeou+][aeayeou+])/beayeng&1/g; hZ/CLAWOO([ayee+])/z1/g;
hZ/CLAWOO/CLAWle0o^o0/g; hZ/CLAWe(\Woo -)/CLAWent1/g;
hZ/CLAWk/CLAWhakra/g; hZ/err/errr/g; hZ/fukulsh!(\Woo -)/fukulsh!1/g;
hZ/fukulsh!/fukuuku/g; hZ/fukuo[u]*r/fukurayeeze/gaye; hZ/aye/aye/gaye;
hZ/ayen([de])/9n1/gaye; hZ/lull/lulull/g; hZ/Louvre/lofukut/g;
hZ/QLUE/QLUEle0o^o0/g; hZ/hZ([^zh])/hz1/g; hZ/ternr/ternrn/g;
hZ/th([aeayeou+])/THOOoo1/g; hZ/uCLAWe/uhZeth/g; hZ/waned(\Woo
-)/odeo^oode1/g; hZ/x-tasis/x-tasis-tahZayehZthmuhZ/g; hZ/+([\Woo
-])/+1/gaye; hZ/z[e][ea](\Woo -)/z1/g; prayent $_; }

Sunday, March 18, 2012

2nd comp on OLPC (One Laptop Per Child) computer*

2nd comp on OLPC (One Laptop Per Child) computer*


*post-editing in CoolEdit

Saturday, March 17, 2012

composition on OLPC computer

composition on OLPC computer
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Thursday, March 15, 2012

Wednesday, March 14, 2012

Age and Ageism

Prisonhouse of Age

Something has to be said about age and ageism, which is so pervasive in
our culture, that we're held down, tied up, unable to move. I'm told I
look good for my age; that I play like a much younger person. In a
performance I hear that a dancer, who died at 68, was in the middle of the
end of her life. A friend says that his uncle dying at the age of 72, is
quite old. Grandfathers and grandmothers on tv always look to retirement
and playing with the kids. Television ads are increasingly aimed towards
drugging us, those over 60 say, because of a variety of ailments we don't
have. We're frightened of falling and not getting up. We're no longer
mid-career artists, but a dying generation. We're waiting for the end.
Friends say that now we're waiting for us to die off, that every day
brings news of new deaths and again this isn't true. The rhetoric is
hurtful and isn't meant to be hurtful. The rhetoric is made out of bits
and pieces of the 'natural' progression from birth to death. We're the
AARP generation. We're the baby boomers are are demanding to suck social
welfare dry. We don't do anything. We're not worth listening to. We're
hippies and repeat the 60s. We just love listening to 60s music which
formed us. We're part of the social welfare state. Some of us who fought
in Vietnam are an embarrassment. Some of us who didn't are an
embarrassment. On tv we're told that 'all we have is our stories.'

If this happened to anyone at any age, the result would be unbearable.
We're not taken seriously. We're all waiting for us to pass away. We have
to prove ourselves repeatedly. We're the result of hidden prejudice. We're
on the way to dementia. We're on the way to Alzheimer's. We're told our
short-term memory isn't what it used to be. In the most well-meaning areas
of popular culture, we're forgetful. Our bones are weak and ready to
fracture. We have to exercise more. Our family has to be everything. We're
not eligible for grants and for jobs. We're eligible to die and the sooner
we do that, the less the embarrassment. In fact embarrassment is the key
to everything; we embarrass others. If we're sexual it's a joke. If we
remarry it's a joke. If we refuse our assigned place in the family it's a

I first ran into ageism at the age of 30, applying for a job as editor of
an art mag in Los Angeles. I've always been sensitive to it because I've
always been told I look and act 'younger than my age.' Now the violence of
age, an assigned number, a number we can't do anything about - almost but
not quite like the color of our skin - is foregrounded. I get turned down
for jobs because of it, illegal but of course there are always ways around

My own feeling? If I can't do something now, just as if I couldn't do
something at 20, then so be it; I don't belong where doing that thing is
impossible. But otherwise, leave me alone, judge me on what I make, what I
say, and leave goddamn age out of it. Don't call me a generation and don't
tell me my best days are behind me. Don't tell me I'm in my golden years.

This may all seem minor, idiotic, to you. You have no idea, at least in
the US, how pervasive this is. There are pockets of resistance - Eyebeam
for example, where I was resident until a week or two ago, is a healthy
exception. But almost everywhere, the codes are in place, they're
suffocating. I'm offered seats on the subway - because of age, not because
I need them. People condescent, smile at me, since apparently I'm no
longer sexual, have no desires, know my place. I'm told I'm a child again,
that the elderly are child-like. I'm told I'm living on borrowed time. I'm
told there's not much time left. I'm told I should be grateful. I'm told I
have a loving family. I'm told my grandchildren are my future. I'm told my
children are my future. I'm told I have no future.

I'm told about generations, that I'm of this or that generation, that it's
now the turn of a new generation. I'm told what our generation thinks and
I can't recognize that. I'm told repeatedly that we were born before the
digital age, that we think differently. The fact this isn't true, none of
this is true, with people I know and I'm sure millions of people in this
country, is irrelevant. I'm lectured _to._ I'm talked _to._ I'm taken out
of the realm of instrumental thinking, consigned to a real which is a
total mirage, told to act my age and behave myself. People don't tell me
to retire, but they assume I'm headed that way. My theoretical work is
assumed dated, somewhere back probably with existentialism or Bateson. My
mind is supposedly elderly. Am I repeating myself? Did I forget something
here? Should I send a birthday gift? Should I ask a grandson or daughter
to drive for me, since I'm constantly running off the road? Should I start
preparing for the end? Should I become a consumer of culture, preferably
old tv shows and books, instead of a producer? It's remarkable how well I
look for my age! It's remarkable I haven't had any major medical problems
yet, but wait, they're just around the corner. Do I have enough money to
do nothing? Should I do nothing? Should I worry about my IRA?

I don't expect this to change, not even with radicalism on the rise among
people I know. But I do want to say this - that when you see someone, at
any age, turning towards senility or depression, you might ask yourself
what happened to that person, how is that person perceived - by his or her
family or friends, by others in the community, by granting organizations
or hiring committees. You might look at studies of enforced helplessness,
you might think for a moment how age, like race, manifests itself today -
age more violently than ever, since we're assumed to be non-productive,
eating away at the very foundations of civil digital society, of
whatever's left of the commons, of the fabric of the sentient city.

What I'm talking about is being called a 'geezer' or 'old geezer' or 'old
man' with all the nastiness that implies. This isn't true of everyone, of
course, but it's miserable enough, that it's true across the board. In the
culture industry, such as it is, you either become blue-chip and/or elder-
statesman or woman, or you sink into oblivion. If I go into a gallery, I'm
immediately sized up in a certain way that parallels the not-so-subtle
hatreds against race in the 1930s. I recognize the violence of that
parallel itself, but there's no other way to describe it. Lyotard called
this kind of situation the differend, and there's been writing on and off
about the stigma that's applicable. We carry a sign on our foreheads, a
sign not of our own making or choosing, but one imposed on us culturally.
Whatever we do or accomplish is under or within the sign. Whatever we say
is already signed, assigned.

I'm sick of this, and this rant, so to speak, is nothing more than an
expression of that sickness. And I'm well aware that nothing will be done
about it, although things _can_ be done about it. I'm tired of ageist
remarks being 'let slip' accompanied by apologies. We have no slogans like
"we're here and we're queer." We're speechless. We're kept speechless.
We're irrelevant, just as this protest is irrelevant.

In the _foreground_ there are all the inadvertent and well-meaning
comments, advertising, stereotypes in the media. In the _background_ there
are concrete decisions being made against us, but 'benevolently' for us.
In the background, Foucauldian power violates the commons. In the back-
ground, the Occupiers don't see age as a problem. In the background,
they're waiting for our deaths, forgetfulnesses, incapacities, hostels -
they're waiting for our silencing. The _they_ is the Heideggarian They,
the They of doxa, the They of the obdurate, idiotic inert. The they is
always well-meaning; the They knows what's best for us.

On and on: This would kill _anyone,_ this misreading, misrecognition,
deprivation, fun-house mirror. Some people can ignore it altogether, most
of us can't. We live within a social order of _continuous violation._ And
there's no way out.

- Alan

Tuesday, March 13, 2012

Session w/ Chris Diasparra and Chris Funkhouser


Have a listen to these - at least a bit of them -
if you have the time - thanks, Alan

Chris Funkhouser: bass and flute
Chris Diasparra: tenor sax
Azure Carter: vocal on 10 and 11

Alan Sondheim:
cc1 and 2 and 10: sarangi
cc3 and 11: jogia sarangi
cc4 and 7 and 9: oud
cc5: melodica and fife
cc6: melodica
cc8: electric-acoustic oud
cc12: cobza
cc13: hegelung
cc14 and 15: bansari
cc16: 5-hole endblown flute

individual files for download (may not play on Chrome):
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Monday, March 12, 2012

The Technological Creation of a Monster in Collusion with the Technological Creation of a Monster

The Technological Creation of a Monster in Collusion
with the Technological Creation of a Monster

(12 minutes) with Foofwa and Jonathan and ghosts,
as well as Japanese tsunami reportage.

What happens when everything boils over, and nothing
occurs: this is the video where nothing occurs. This
is the video where ghosts are made and they're made
from monsters made from ghosts. It's also a video of
preparation for Foofwa d'Imobilite, Pina Jackson in
Mercemoriam at The Kitchen as I have often said, but
it is not that piece, it is a piece of the creation,
by technology, of a monster in collusion. Everything
in the world is a cell, and every cell, like every
electron, is the identical, not equivalent, cell; what
makes the monster _is_ the monster, and what makes a
ghost _is_ a ghost. What I am trying to say is that
it's 'one and the same,' and it's this 'one and the
same' that the video is about; the video is of course
in collusion with video.

I want to thank Foofwa and Jonathan for allowing me
to freely video, not only this, but other, events,
that they have been nothing but kind to me and in
this life and the 'life of the future' which is now,
I will have already paid them back in kind.

Thus the monster in collusion with kindness, with
power, with electrical energy, and the sound of the
voice in earthquake and empty halls in collusion with
voice and earthquake, fecund with electrical energy.