What are examples of Spirit-driven architecture without
plans/drawings?
i have never been more moved by architectural imagination
than when seeing the work in the "Primitive Architecture"
book by some architectural press. the name is dealt with in
the preface, it is hard to get past it. as the work shows in
full westernized glossy photos, the works in and around the
African continent.
some of the most amazing constructions are shown drawn
in plan and section, but not in the way a 3d drafter would do,
more like a storyteller. they may be the author's reconstruction
of the buildings. Mosques made of mud with sticks of wood as
ornamentation. tents made of leaves that look more futuristic
than anything George Lukas could dream up.
the whole sociology of the local people, their belief systems,
their relations with one another, enacted re-architecturally.
while 'spirit' and 'religious' architecture are not a top pick
of subjects, due to their private nature, for me, this one
book, still in moving boxes nomadic, are more 'modern' and
more post- modern, and actually make the modern architecture
look very 'primitive' in the negative, condescending aspect of
the advanced versus the vanished and irrelevant culturoidism.
then there is that other side of things, darker as they are,
shades drawn in these days of sun hotter than light, nights
darker than shadows, streetlights taming heartbeat, 60 cycle
seconding the next wave of desparation. paradise long lost,
ever losing hope, and scared in Dante's infinitely ringed
circus of torment, trial, and exorsiesmic mental-helling....
those damn demons, humans even, blood-lust to compete
in social darwinized scientific drives for the utopian pseudo-
scientific objectivity, statistic, while all in mass, praying
for the fake-belief to be real enough to dream on and on,
while our friends, comrades, murdered, slaughtered, as
all genuflect to the daily breads circumcized with laughter.
watch your trash, that's where the devils dig. see how
many times they visit the dumpster a week. when it used
to be once a week, and becomes once or twice a day, then
you know hells stew is a brewing...
likewise, those nicely naughty camouflaged utilitarian
working functionaries, the technotopian despectacled
technicians, spliced boxes of wires outside house, and
making visits to drop in new gear, wireless at that, as
the phone clicks and clacks, Linda Trippy, you hear me?
don't forget those fallen angles, right- 180 degrees the
opposite of a good dream, pagers, cell phones, shades
or none, congregating as if the street circus travels
wherever you go. campers, squatters, fashionistas
and business suitors, watch the demographicalities,
especially as they cannot hide from long regularities.
find a good witches broom and sweep away all of the
dust lying around, DIRT IS EVERYWHERE, yeah yeah.
code compliance, no lying, no way around, everyone
is screwed first time, last time, no where to go but
down and out on the last of the architectural games.
preplanning sucks. but if you're a transparent sucker,
as it is hard to be honest and not say it like it is, as
the paranoia grows so large, and the spirited life is
howling around, wolves, hear them, hear them now
as the stars shower sprinkles of distant loves, dreams,
possible worlds that the heart will ever have to wait
for, until the decomposition of bodily matter, energy
cannot be created or destroyed, good and evil remain.
listen for the birds, if lucky, a cardinal. watch out for
the Damned Le Corbusier variety, cawing and swarming
around their prey, but at the same time, giving off that
tell-tale vibe of pacemaking heart skipping beats that
hell is on the way, and money will never pay this debt.
that is, truth over power, the search always ends in
that timeless escape, corporal mortality, morbid as
the dimwits sacrifice their minds to imagine, and the
hawks turn into bombers, smarting the mind into a
psycho-numbness, where one cannot see, say or
think a thing, except the silent repose of death.
that's the way they like it, and they let you know.
ahhh. architectural congregrations, praying that a
future visionary will rise up to lead the corporate
engineering of deep internal needs and desires will
somehow fakeplace the mindspace into believing that
which is not true enough for a numbnut to belief, unless
trained, certified, and then legitimated to continue on,
Son, fathering in the most unholy of ghosts. busted.
dreams will save, if the horrors can manage the living
nightmares, eyes open or shut, mind grinding on the
most minute bit of flotsam, there is a path, beyond
where the ropes breaks, free-floating, dreamspace,
filling with spiralized cruelties and escapist fantasy,
endure, endure, endure, press on, then let it all go.
far far away, charged sparking, that twinkle up in
the sky heaven-wise, dreams, thoughts, imaginations,
as the skullduggery continues on in Earthly mortalization
of the cemeterization of the internationalizationeering.
maybe we will meet there, for worse and worse still,
better likely not, eternally revolving in a gravitational
field, collecting, coallescing into forms invisible but to
those who hope, dream, and work on the ground, while
the creepy sewer rats scheme, eating away at flesh,
degredationg the soulfood, making one vomit again and
again, never to stop. purging, the will to continue on
and on, songs and lyricist dracma, there is no hell to
pay anymore, anymore, no hell to pay, no more today.
any act is disobedient. any thought illegal. any dream
insane. any hope unjustified. any work illegitimate.
any effort, rejected. any compliance, unlawfilled.
that damn trap-dooring of that shell of crust we
walk on, false flooring, through it at any moment
one begins their descent. seeing rope hanging, age-
old philosophies begging NEW ageist believing-in-it,
yet mind awash in the sadness, seeing the moon as
it falls, the crik dying, people shutting out the world
to believe in only the institutionalized interior depart-
mentalization of the human being as creative salvation.
spirits and worlds and dreams and moral righteousness,
ethics and thought and action upon action, their own worth.
die as the architectural imagination always does, mortal,
penniless, yet abundant in the gifts left behind, and the
struggle to keep such simple dreams alive. be protected.