printers models for 3d-laser printing

but they make their own world here, they've come home

they've come from here - go to
and click on printer01.png - to printer.20.png - they're all there

tags: pain, artifice, virtual, worlds, wounded, dead, aroused, gone

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On Being Dead / On My Deadwork / My Work is Dead

Deadwork is invisible work; deadwork is virtual work. When there is
nothing but the image and the memory of the image, there is deadwork. When
the producing tribe cannot read, can only reinterpret, there is deadwork.
Deadwork does not enter the cycle of capital; it no longer exists; it
never has existed. Deadwork is deadly work; it is the death of the
producing culture. The culture knows it. The culture is ready for its

My work is dead. It is not spoken. It is invisible in the building at
Eyebeam and disappears as a future anterior online. In the space, it
huddles. In the space it hides in cracks in crevices, in the remains of an
s/m parlor perhaps, in the remains of a parking garage perhaps, in the
remains if a silent film studio perhaps. The building is scarred; my work
devolves, unscars, dissolves. It is a shadow on a scar. It is the huddle

People: Alan Sondheim
Tags: Work, pain, death, dead

So how do we listen to the dead? The dead have spoken over wires laid across long distances, the wires picking up the 'dawn chorus' of very low frequency (vlf) radio, that appears around 4 a.m. in the morning. I think WWI field telephones were susceptible. In NYC the problem is the power grid; we're contaminated by radiation from all directions (as Marko has pointed out). You might find a silent spot somewhere inside your apartment, but you'd need a Faraday cage to weed out the electromagnetic buzz - and then you'd have your dead zone, but no dead. So you want to record signals that are either on top of the 60 hz buzz, or that appear if and when the buzz is cancelled out. I picked up faint crackles at one point in Brooklyn with the magnetic field antenna at a particular orientation. There's also the possibility of going out somewhere on one of the piers - but the grid follows you there, follows you everywhere. 

The dead are drowned out.

People: Alan Sondheim
Research: Sound
Tags: sound, dead
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