Alvin Lucier's natural resonant frequencies

I am sitting in a room, different from the one you are in now.

I am writing on this page, trying to articulate my thoughts on Alvin
Lucier. Also, I suppose, trying to communicate the basic fact implied
by the existence of any recording, on stone or paper or magnetic
tape--that another present existed, and this was made then, and
there.
I am sitting in a room, different from the one you are in now.
I am writing on this page, trying to articulate my thoughts on Alvin
Lucier. Writing the phrase, and the name Lucier, ghost fragments of
silvery undulating pure resonance suggest themselves to my ear, and
goose bumps rise up on my arm. Darkness, and space, and echoes, and
silvery Lucier bubbles up, just from writing the phrase. I regard
this not so much as a demonstration of a physical fact, but more as
evidence of a neural recording of my intense physical and emotional
reaction to Alvin Lucier's
I am sitting in a room, different from the one you are in now.
I am writing on this page, trying to articulate my thoughts on Lucier.
I am recording my thoughts, articulated by speech, with the hope they
will reinforce themselves and gain some resonance. Perhaps if I do
this, again and again, and every time my mind wanders I simply start
over...

I am sitting in a room, different from the one you are in now.

I am recording my thoughts, articulated by speech, about Alvin
Lucier. I am trying to write them down, again and again, hoping their
natural resonant frequencies reinforce themselves, and all semblance
of my speech, leaving pure forms of thought, is destroyed. What you
will have then, will not be a physical fact, but a way to smooth over
the differences between thought and speech, between right now in my
head and the moment you read this in yours.
I am sitting in a room, different from the one you are in now.
I am recording my thoughts, articulated by speech, about Alvin
Lucier. I am growing bored of this process, and simply want to tell
you: do this live, in the room you where are, right now. Record the
sound of your speaking voice and play it back into the room, again
and again, until the resonant frequencies of the room reinforce
themselves so that any semblance of your speech is destroyed. It is
different from understanding the process and hearing the recording.
As a demonstration of a physical fact, the room comes alive around
you, tuning you to the internal logic of its existence.
I am sitting in a room, different from the one you are in now.
I am recording my thoughts, articulated by speech, about Alvin
Lucier. Once I breathed life into a large globe, exhaling once and
then hearing the globe inhale, again and again, reinforcing its
natural resonant frequencies until the breath became its own.

Squashes also work well, coming to life with a chorus of resonances

animating spongy flesh.
I am sitting in a room, different from the one you are in now.
I am recording my thoughts, articulated by speech, about Alvin
Lucier. James Fei once told me that Lucier would run the other
direction if I suggested his works had anything to do with Marx. When
I met Alvin Lucier at Mills I asked him about the importance of the
text to I am Sitting in a Room. He couldn't remember the name of the
dancer he borrowed the idea from, the idea of literally describing
what you are doing as you are doing it. Ill always remember his name,
and his turtleneck, so perhaps it is ok that I borrow his process
for extracting resonant frequencies to my own Marxist ends. The
spongy squash chorus sounds best driven by the sound of the grumbly
tractor driven by the human smoothing out any irregularities in the
land- a different land from the one you are in now- a land labored
over again and again until man reinforces nature and any semblance
of alienated labor is destroyed; and a squash sings of the hand that
made it, the hand that feeds you that you have never seen, the labor
immanent to its spongy flesh, its natural resonant frequencies the
silvery transcendence of commodity fetishization.