Subject: (O)
Cybermind
"As theoreticians or witnesses, spectators, observers, and intellectuals,
scholars believe that looking is sufficient. Therefore, they are not
always in the most competent position to do what is necessary: speak to
the specter." (Derrida, Specters of Marx)
You need me.
Date: Wed, 12 Oct 1994 21:28:27
From: Alan Sondheim
Subject: The Net is a Ghost Catcher. The Net Catches Ghosts.
To: cybermind@world.std.com, fiction-of-philosophy@world.std.com
Cc: dionzeek@aol.com
Dark Barrow of Ghosts within the Net
Always on fire,
I course through their lives of desire
Moving against the semblance of glass, window
Pained with the hearing of it, invisible,
The body dissolute, indeterminate, within its mire
Which had sought well, slaughtered itself, remote
The time or recompense. I'd write on the morrow
With "considerably" less sorrow.
Morrow is now, and again, more or less.
My arms have lost sensation; blood rushes
In exquisite channels, killing the flesh
Which falters, decathects, and pushes
Sullenly against each possibility it will survive
That self-same morrow's marrow keeping death alive
In order to die: Thus death by death
Defeats death; only once, this minor victory
Against all recompense or morrow, ironically.
The membrane of the Net speaks and catches ghosts
Deep within its claws of flesh; there are hosts
And servers, buried deep within its furrows.
Once the dead died, buried deep likewise in barrows
Where ghosts once later burrowed; now, these morrows
Shudder at the strain of wires; tombed, they foam
Within domain or other, search for home.
