The Hurtling Towards Death (& Millennium reminder)

[Alan Sondheim]

(Reminder that the Millennium show is this Saturday; please come if you can. - 
Thanks, Alan) The Hurtling Towards Death follows
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The Hurtling Towards Death


O Dance apostrophic, embrace death, the body fails and falters, expends
what remains of its energetic treasure. Forestalled by documentation's
impoverishment, your slightest gesture remains unfulfilled, latent, lax,
amidst the machinery of calculation, rigid ordination of numbers.

Translation of Dance, the capturing of death, its swallowing by ordinal-
ordination, the descent to the floor or basement of the binary, what is
analogic reproduced by raster tending towards the infinitely fine. What
is missing -

What is missing are two wildly disparate orders of calculation, of
mobility itself, orders which only approximate one another through techne
and speech, code and partition. One order, that of the calculated, the
production of parallel numerical streams representing movement and the
muscle-mind of the Dancer (who is technically _the Danced,_ the one who
_is Danced_ by the Dance), and the other, the frequency-laden irreducible
neural spill of mental activity, electrical, emission and spew.

For the mind-breath, O Dance! is reproducible only by itself, maps only
onto itself as itself, inasmuch as the ordinal-ordination-ordinateur of
the Dance reads and writes you as input/output, perhaps infinitely
parallel streams, nonetheless perhaps not even clocked, nonetheless,
across that gulf of into- or onto- mappings, or rather mappings with
continuously-modifying metrics, nano-second by nano-second, there's no end
to it, no beginning.

O Dance! you're nothing more than the ordinary-ordination body moving
through space, the body of itself, at rest in and of itself, the blessing
of the incontrovertible complexity of the world, its inhering. Any
reduction quietly speaks and conjures the factory, automaton, robotics of
precision and repetition. O Dance! We're not speaking of life-force, we're
murmuring the litany of the infinitely-small, surrounded by shells and
carapaces of computers-ordinators, maternal-paternal projection against
the pulled muscle, the sprain, the torn ligament, the bruise. And O Dance!
We would make of you an entire world, cosmos-Dance, ocean-Dance, particle-
Dance, what would we do with that?

Impossible of representation, humans never give up trying, violating voice
and mind, ordinal representation (and who said nothing about the nuggets
of the cardinal?), the numerical cut, the definition. Jump to edit-points,
application of points, applique. An imposing edifice! Numerical-numb, the
prisoner of flesh, the Dancer-manque-Danseuese -

Technology of stage and lights, phenomenologies of distribution - O Dance,
dream aloud! Dream quietly!


_