Alan Sondheim – Birthday Poem + Philosophy, Simple, Pretention

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

February 5000

Su Mo Tu We Th Fr Sa
2 3 4 5 6 7 8
9 10 11 12 13 14 15
16 17 18 19 20 21 22
23 24 25 26 27 28

Happy birthday Alan Sondheim.

  • Coming event..

    February 6th, at 7, at the Granoff Center (see below)
    Broken World, Steerage
    thinking through blankness, terror, and broken worlds
    There is material from distorted motion capture employed in
    virtual worlds; considerations of terror and genocide in terms
    of anguish and the unutterable; phenomenology of blizzards and
    whiteout; revrev ? live reverse reverberation or anticipatory
    music; and practical-theoretical issues of gamespace/edgespace.

    Join Alan Sondheim for a talk and presentation at 7pm on Friday,
    February 6 in Englander Studio, Granoff Center at Brown
    University. This event is free and open to the public.

  • One more poem..

    Philosophy, Simple, Pretention

    Phenomenology doesn’t rhyme, all the time.
    Philosophy in this form isn’t serious.
    Aphorisms are always suspect, unpacking
    revealing the dirty laundry of language.
    You have to develop an argument and
    neologisms help with their wayward vacuity.
    Pictures are more suspect, and Wittgenstein’s
    formulas appear to be the bones of an
    irrelevant animal.
    On the other hand, the formulas of physics
    and cosmology contain an absolutely
    untranslatable grain of truth, do you hear
    that, Badiou?
    Our place in the world is indeterminate but
    that doesn’t interfere with description and
    the latitude or epigenetic landscape of the
    resulting deep sketching.
    Violence threatens everything but not the
    world, nor mathesis.
    Violence is not violence until you are
    physically touched by it, and philosophy
    in this form, that of the witness, is always
    serious and always correct.
    Do unto others is senseless unless one
    believes in the imperative.
    There is nothing that can be _said_ about
    A picture is the decay of the word; neither
    mathematics nor mathesis are languages.
    Mathesis and the world is closest to the
    film which binds, not sutures, the viewer.
    Meaning washes out of the aphorism; meaning
    washes out the aphorism.
    There is no point to decay.
    On the phenomenological level, decay is
    everywhere and inconceivable.
    One can never explain oneself; and the
    attempt to explain one’s writings just
    increases the bulk of them.
    Hence the mark is always and already the
    same, every mark the same mark, except the
    number; it is the number which may
    function as the sign of violence, and the
    word which becomes the diacritical mark.
    Narrative never understands that thinking
    is thoughtless.
    The philosophical example is already lost
    in thought.
    Philosophy is what I am; writing is what I