alan.sondheim's blog

 

Millimeters to go before I sleep

"Hi,
I have checked the stats of your account and can found that there is nohacking issues with your account. But the majority of the bandwidth wasused by downloading the mp4/mp3/mov and jpg files on your account - alongwith spiders/bots used 112 GB of the bandwidth for this month so far. Andof course, you are getting hits to those media files from almost aroundthe world including the regions you specified on the tickets.
You can either use hot link protection for the media files - to denyhotlinking of files and can use robots.txt file to deny unwanted bots fromaccessing your account."

 

playing together

http://lounge.espdisk.com/archives/773

or

http://espdisk.com/alansondheim/sess1m.mp3 (mono)
http://espdisk.com/alansondheim/sess2m.mp3 (mono)
http://espdisk.com/alansondheim/sess4m.mp3 (mono)
http://espdisk.com/alansondheim/sess5m.mp3 (mono)

Chris Funkhauser, flute
Chris Diasparra, baritone
Azure Carter, voice and songs
Alan Sondheim, saz, oud, pipa

 

Angelic


Azure Carter, song and voice, Maya Maya, and saz

http://www.alansondheim.org/angelic1.mp3
http://www.alansondheim.org/angelic1.wav (slightly better quality)

I think I'm happiest with this rendition of Maya, which owes
something to the Cocteau Twins, cathedrals, the Grand Canyon,
the Cayman Islands, tourmaline, Eyebeam, and Ackermann's
Repository. When I can sink into music, when music envelops me
like an uncanny dwelling moving among the worlds, I'm sublime,
content, and there are rooms open in each of the ten directions.

And saz

 

Broken Angel

http://www.alansondheim.org/borr.mp4

debris located in the corners of the hard-drive,
where three vectors meet and dissolve, as if there
were a spherical geometry at work, or topology
dissolving within the field of the image: something
crashed and slid across the screen, the file no
longer carrying the random access of truth, and
therefore of great or greater interest, than as if
the screen appeared a featureless window or cloud
containing not just the simulacrum of the real, but
that corner of the real itself, within the sectors
of the hard drive, where three vectors meet and
dissolve, as if there were

 

Monday


In the year 5000, my birthday falls on a Monday, I won't be around.
Somehow, this makes me unutterably sad, weeping.

Our span is so short, we all know that, but this, this concrete
instance, tears through me. And I won't make it, to be sure, past
2020...


February 5000

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