urge

[Alan Sondheim]

urge


did i say dissemination? darwin's dis/ease. i'm too smart, too aware i'm
writing just to continue, assert presence, inscribe. place my mark like
every other smart little boy and girl. graffiti the indefinite walls of
cyberspace. what i say is irrelevant. it's all in the action, spraying
this, that, every other site, building up recognition capital on google.

i want to escape my genes. i can't meditate for more than thirty seconds.
my shakuhachi playing lasts a couple of minutes and i'm on to something
else. i have to leave my mark everywhere. i recognize the compulsion. i
write about the compulsion and against the compulsion.

i'd like to see bush dead. his compulsion ruins the world. i see my ugly
face reflected in his ugly face. i scrawl here; he scrawls there. i scrawl
virtual; he scrawls real. maybe he even thinks about it.

if i don't spray nightly, i'm lost. my body turns against me; my dreams
become nightmares worse than usual, endless, vicious. the flesh deflates,
potency gone; the mind evaporates. i'm aware of the illness. i can
deconstruct the illness. i can work through it and the illness is at the
other end.

the illness is our illness.

contrary to belief, there are no borders to the blog, just boarders. there
are borders on the list. one comes up against another. one response is
always out of control of the other. list territory is psychological
territory, a wager. it is a wager of the real, not of the virtual, but in
the virtual.

it is useless at this end, my end. every publication is another brick,
another ward against death. the recordings, books, videos, anthologies,
magazines, tapes, dvds, cdroms, pile up like debris. i look on one side
and see nothing. i look over to the other side; there's nothing there.

there's the urge and it pushes. it mixes with wonder which is perhaps its
excuse or perhaps what's left of a humanity i want to hold to. but the
urge is a sickness, the sickness of a mad species, a mad specimen, the
madness of the obsessive individual. write or die.

years ago i had up on the wall: i write myself into existence. i write
myself out of existence. the inscription is all there is. the inscription
gives me the fairy-tale, the fantasy, fantasm, imaginary, image, of
survival after death. of promulgation ad infinitum. of gene-pools no
longer at the mercy of the flesh.

this is my politics. it is probably everyone's. we take positions,
backwards and forwards, of withdrawal as well. meditation is a position as
rigid as others. we hold to them. we work with them, work towards them.
we're genetically driven. we're tagging everything in site. we're tagging
everyone and every other. we're tagging the planet, we're sprawl/scrawl.

there's false joy in this. i'm aware of the falseness, crash constantly. i
write another, yet another piece. 'artist' is an excuse for tagging of
every kind, out of control, unstructured, desperate. tagging is an excuse
for inscription, leaving genetic debris, named or anonymous, but always
named, everywhere in sight, in site, in cite. the wonder follows, fallow.

bush kills, bushwhacks. we are responsible for millions of tiny murders,
day by day. powerless, we do the same. every letter is a violence,
occupies space, defends itself, within and without spell-check. it's the
urge. i know it and can't fight it. we're talking, scrawling, unto death.

the light that can be seen and can't be named: the brain shutting down,
just before everything goes black. we'll all be there, emptied out. we're
gone before we started.

    	nm.txt
and !assassinations mc terrorisms !and !assassinations !them !A !fray !is
!a !fight mh missiles !on !the !mossy !sward !there !are !assassins !they
mi to !chiagas !darwin's !disease !also !to !kissing
C:\image\nm.txt - 1 cached - Nov 19
    	mi.txt
arms.at last i came to the eastern blood-sucking conenose and it seemed
pinned down for the moment. this led to chiagas, darwin's disease, also to
kissing and assassin
C:\image\mi.txt - 1 cached - Nov 19
    	lk.txt
Corporate Fascist -what everyone else is Crash -not my fault Cybercash
-never safe Cybersex -never as good as the real thing, not real sex Darwin
-someone who says we descended
C:\image\lk.txt - 1 cached - Nov 19
    	mi.txt
arms.at last i came to the eastern blood-sucking conenose and it seemed
pinned down for the moment. this led to chiagas, darwin's disease, also to
kissing and assassin
C:\sampler\mi.txt - 1 cached - Oct 13
    	lk.txt
Corporate Fascist -what everyone else is Crash -not my fault Cybercash
-nver safe Cybersex -never as good as the real thing, not real sex Darwin
-someone who says we descended
C:\sampler\lk.txt - 1 cached - Oct 13

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