34 35th St., Unit 26, Brooklyn, NY, 11232
http://espdisk.com/alansondheim/flutelegie.mp3 as my father is dying, as passing transforms from intermediary states across themselves, so what i can do, what i do here, utter sound, which is no longer speaking, phrases going nowhere, curled back upon themselves, as if there were a syntax trying to free itself. what can be done when one believes in absolutely nothing. i had a nightmare helping an elderly nobel laureate down the stairs of a corroded portico, out into the stormy night, he wanted nothing from me, i saw a great black shadow of a bird which was the bird, staining the sidewalk next to him, opening up an other space where alterity disappears. i recognize it all disappears, it's all immutable, obdurate alterity in the final moments where the strangeness of the world suffocates, there is no resolution, no time for resolution. i breathe in and out of the instrument, it's a left-over life as my father is dying, it resonates, no longer signifies. in the end one writes only into oneself, and that, too, disappears.