urban research

Millimeters to go before I sleep

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://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


my writing of infinite depth
my writing is my most important medium. it lacks the seduction of image
and sound, of performance and the smell of bodies; it lacks the arousal
accompanying the dreams or deliriums of the residue of flesh. instead,
there is always a substitution: that of the body flailing behind the
horse-drawn cart, bouncing from field to field, until not even the bones
are left, just the broken skein of tissues that once harbored thought.
it's here in this delirium that thought is born, out of exigency, out of
urgency, before its disappearance into the lost furniture of the world.
but it's where depth occurs in my work; nowhere else are wonder and beauty


foreign voices


well, foreign voices are the swallowing of unaccustomed throats,
taking advantage of vocal apparatus designed around the halo
of a species, everything is built from phonemes and bandwidths,
onsets and denouements, and every language is a language, well,
every sound a language meandering, from the depths of the world,
a tree falls and no one is around, ah well, the tree speaks to
others of its kind, or the tree speaks and speaks, and listens,
there's that failure, of its falling and its failure of hearing,
another language disappearing, another skein, interrogatives and
interjections, nightly murmurs, bamboo, this isn't foreign,


Invisible City


the Newtek Toaster was an analog/digital fx unit that
was widely used 15 years ago. it's possible to recreate
the fx in digital with some degree of accuracy. that's
what's going on here. I write with a 'slight fever'
brought on by who knows what. the result is Invisible
City which reverts the real back into the layering of
Second Life. the city dissolves, or rather the always
already dissolved city is reeled back into the apparent.
I insist this is the truth of the city, that everything
else is fiction. my insistence is performative.

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