a few months back, while silently repeating ideas to
myself, a repetition of many unsaid and unsayables,
the notion of an 'architectural taliban' came to mind
as an inversion of that extremist plague that rots at
the heart of human culture when it is forced into the
changes which can tear fabrics of tradition, peoples,
apart, and the will to resist, or even, stop, all change
yet at a price. for some, Afghanistan has referred to
as a type of stone age condition, difficult to fathom--
yet if lived, such a truth or juxtaposition to its inverse
'modernism' and similarly stringent, uncompromising
and oppressive in whatever guise it wreaks its havoc.
the role of the statue-destroyers, the cultural heritage
that gets bomb-blasted, is likewise the cultural mind--
not the multi-cultural or inter-culture of the world itself,
instead it would appear to be what is not appearing,
as it is invisible yet very tangible in modern lifestyles--
what is lost. though this is vehemently denied, or has
been by the modern orthodoxy until now, until there
are no other choices remaining, but the past, remade.
oddly, 'off with their heads', the human capital or in its
decapitation of the mind from the body, of the column,
is itself the glorified modern icon of headless columns,
masses of such bare bones structures, however lit, it is
still an embodiment of an idea without ideas at its core,
a materiality without a reality that is as universal as its
belief-- as such, as religious and heretical to such faith
in its actions, as hyperbolic oppressions for freedoms,
the devil-based deal often dealt out with the whiskey.
i mean-- who in their mind, imaging that architecture is
limited by its past, its idea of itself as defined, bounded
by a self-concept which cannot transcend itself, not by
a critique nor a building-- as it is about ideas, and the
ideas do not match the realities or environments nor
scale of what exists, but as cultural ambassadors of
sort, this is presumed to be an inherent quality of the
art-cum-architecture crowd of design-belief systems.
what is the art of architecture without ideas at is core,
and just the synaptic flitter of pleasing imagery, icons,
hitting core memories of the ideal heavenly truths or
transcendence or the personal existential faith in self
seen in another, object, material, thing, the stuff, while
in some other landscape in the land, the mindscenes
are equally obscenery in the distortion of the lens of
mindtraps, without language, to go beyond, symbols
destroyed, icons gone, the physical body rules it all.
a lot like the political scene, economic old-school of
Enron's ride into the sunspot, flare and particle blast
of corona ejection never having reached Earth as of
yet, it is mystery how the Nixon Whitehouse could be
blamed for that too, while George was in the ship then
too. hereditary, handed down, master to apprentice, it
is craftwork, the trade of spaces, spades to till ground-
planes for ideas of what can be, how to architect some-
thing, to make some-thing, to create some-thing, and
to express some-thing, valued by itself, in itself, as a
'pure' creation of its sheer physicality, its obvious and
inherent truth of itself and presumption of innocence,
of greatness, of secret knowledge waiting for an okay
to divulge meaningfulness to growing, restless crowd.
based on what, based on what ideas of architecture?
no ideas, no need, perceive all you want, just express.
a priori and all that. i mean, the sheer physicality of an
actor, ballistic-actor modeling space-time within place.
science, technology, and society minus the culture, art.
the bodies without brains, the columns without capitals.
to forfeit what, what was it? an old story, fable, another
tale... fictions, no matter, no mater, the material mother.
god this god that, speak of sun gods and prophets with
despots tongue, with monarchs, dictators, presidents,
an established vision, however it is to be, still distorted.
the sheer physicality, the sheer truth of the formations.
'if i go there, i will be there, people will see me, believe.'
'look at me' as before the camera, as emperor, as king
of this, my kingdom, i show my embodiment of my own
idea of myself, with commercial blanket of mindwaves,
to-make-believe, the fairy tale, to pretend, to be reality.
so far succumbing to the pleasure of the easy thought,
the thoughtless expression, reaction, calculated poll,
an actor's slight of mental ticks to make it seem so, as
if, as if 'we believe, therefore we are' -- the hideousity
of such a decrepit loss-of-mind, loss-of-resolution, of
resolve, of purpose, of intent, of requirement, to be a
caricature of the necessary -- the architectural body
meets its match in the false impressionism of class-
based building, to imbue this false-construct and bad-
faith, bad-acting b-movie as an overarching realism,
cough, surreal, subterranean it is to inhabit ids as in
idiocy, of the fool as savior in the wonderful world of
making-believe the less than good is best of all true.
power would be an easy equation, equalling truth,
all-in-all, all-in-one, a formulaic faith in belief in the
model of the self, private, scaled universal man, kind,
to remodel the house of what is not able to be said--
into another thing altogether, so well defined, with
a fervency to its absolutism -- real gosh-darn value.
money, time, energy, power, information, influence.
yeah-yeah-yeahs, everyone may say, chiming in as
another 15 minute psyche-session maps out, again,
onto the body-politic, to give the breeders another go
at a next-generation operating system which gets all
the bugs out of the code, through brute force attacks.
war is good, says the physical enforcer, though weak
in mind, weak in intelligence, weak in purposefulness
beyond the self, the selfish, and the idiotic foolishness
of a wandering prophecy-to-be, once the movie crew
arrives and the media-crank is turned, churning mind-
meat into the next sausage to be sold at Stock market.
man, says man, i go there, see me go, W. goes into
the building, where Elvis once left, into architecture,
into the stage, into the scenery, the setting of scripts,
making-believe, to be or not to be a good actor, that
is not even an issue anymore, just be, just believe,
and people will arrive, even if buildings are empty.
Emperor God-King may arrive, someday, books are
waiting in the wings for the new text about the good
boy judged wrong, true-believers need mentalmeat.
ideas-turned-ideologies, there's a theory that is not.
Olympic pooh-bas, the marching modern columns,
headless, feckless, re-placing the olympic forms, so
classic, they, the lived beings, reimagined, the wind
brought back into the forms long since disppeared,
the artifacts once again to breath, no matter if they
had been destroyed, conquered, defined, defamed,
and reconstructed through an abstraction, into the
modern, the saga, the route, from there to here and
now, though the mind was lost, the capital beyond
the computation, the processing of information as
a value in itself versus the creative potential of the
scope of humanity, individuals, world community.
the day returns, when asking, what if these road-
side bombers were teaching children how to make
electronics, instead. making toys. what if they were
teaching, constructing, building, creating, something
that will bring a future with these same skills. though,
then again, the over-there and not-here syndrome
hits, it is the same, really, who makes the bombs in
the capitals of modernity, the same people do, for
different sides of a conflict that is based in ideas, in
a shared situation, which is beyond the subjectivity
of one subset of the human class to be pursued by
another for its deviancy, except those lost of heart
who have signed on to destroy humanity's promise.
however so, heartless none the less. none the less.
and no more great is the grandstander of no ideas,
of the physical power and its weakness if the realm
of facts, than another, instantly gone, firefly shimmer.
the architecture stands in the way of change. it is in
the way of ideas, it is made of walls and ceilings, of
information and prejudgement of what is of value, in
a universalism that has yet to exist for all, beyond a
realm of submission to the greater class of power-
brokers, of class-definers, trend-setting, corrupters
of ideas that compete with the ideologies, ideology
itself as it may be bound by individualism, by a non-
workability of making changes on the scale of one
when many need to speak as one, at times like now.
instead, self-is-first, identify your-self, profile it, stamp
it, exploit it, and judge the other as if only an-other,
not part of the larger self that is reflecting back onto
the parts, to gain a sense of self, the larger whole of
the human community, the questions which surround,
which may drown us, which drown out the voices of
reason by and through that unreasonable limitation
of time, energy, patience, in a paternalistic privatist
world-vantage-- the world is my private island, leave.
the luxury of that conceit. a lot of power, it must take.
this speed-chess, impressive how fast all causes are
lost to the desire to end the un-ideal, what is said to
be a question of perception, un-real if un-desired, if
contrary to belief: seeing as if a surrealism believed.
watch the moves, transparent, so physical, vainglory
if only it were so little at stake, the lives of the futures
of all, cast into conflict by pressures beyond the self,
great forces, winds, currents, storms which swept up
many into fervorous truth-telling of this mind-selling,
of snakes-oil carnival barkers deceit, man of streets.
throw everything in there, into that building cauldron,
as directed, recipe for disaster, er...or, accidentalism.
the architects, the architectures of policy what folly,
jolly fools, captain hook and crew, triangulating the
maps, genius loci, x-marks the spot for the oil drills.
preplanning, grading, multiple-choice, soil samples.
paratrooping corporate firefighters, this structure will
stand, with-stand, we stand, one and all, for this body.
to support this evidence, this embodiment of man and
his kind, or kindless, reckless, unworthy dominance
over the lives of women, men, children, elders, tribes,
peoples, young and old, sick and those passed, all
humans, one and all, all part of a shared human class.
we've got some bombers in the building of mankind!
some suiciders, some dead-enders, the accounting-
tricks aren't doing it anymore! we've got some really
big issues here, pyscho-stuff, -- (pyscho-logical) -- it
means war! war with ourselves! we must kill ourself!
the building implodes, the McLuhanian-effectiveness
of the media-reverberating upon itself, echochambers
as the cultural mishap brings with it a loss of language,
a loss of reality, a lack of truth, for the supermen to rise,
to be embodied in the skin, 'the gods that were men,'
as the movies may say of this pantheistic roundtable
of greatness defined by the mundane and mundaner.
here's a great one: a building is at its breaking point-
the architecture, its showing signs of structural weak-
ness, to the point of catastrophic collapse-- but what
remains of dis-course, off-course, is to see the skin
and bones as the man-i-festation of this fire-station
of a globally warmed earth-station for a Mars rover.
don't talk about it-- it does not exist then-- believenot.
then there is no need, no requirement, no obligation,
nothing necessary, to even try. who gives a obscenity,
love is lost, all is pure observation and its ability to be
manifested in the stations of the man as cross-bearer.
the guardian angels really suck at what they're doing.
they should be outsourced, at the very least. or better
yet, the whole supremacist notion of a power-basing,
free-basing of data as truth- spin, spun, boiled, burnt,
and inhaled as the toxin it is- the high is the great fall.
there it is, the plot of land, mindscape it, envisionation,
nation-smation, it's there, its speculative surreal-estate,
its land-for-grabs, up and over, done-deal, think positive.
throw everything you've got into it, march in there, soldier
on despite the corporal competition, adversity, adversary,
think soft-thoughts but talk-hard, walk the talk by talking
the walk, skip, jump, hop, scotch, chain-smoking burnout.
bring into which dimension that last dime, the lost second.
'see it, believe it, 100,000 corporate force -- get this, in the
middle of a freaking desert, venture-capital will be needed
but don't overthink it' -- 'it will happen-- we will will it to be!'
nuke fluke testing equipment, gear. national advisory on
terror weather, indefinitely. but what the hell, let's crank
the air conditioning and have some fun-- push it to the
edge-- see how far we can get! let's put all our building
forces, our demolition crews, all of it, in one spot in the
middle of our land, and let's just start making stuff -- like
'modernism' and 'civilization' and people will buy it up--
they'll love us for it-- goddam, they'd have to be insane
not to appreciate my ideas-- they are truth, you know!'
the builders, guns in tow, crews, democracy machine-
building, human beings inside an organization now as
autonomous from ideals as ideology is from ideas, with
the faith in the core system, core- and self-corrections, to
do the best possible resemblance of the goals and the
objectives as trained, taught, and sworn to oath to believe.
no vanity in sacrifice. martyrs come in all stripes they say.
human sacrifices, all throughout his story, told over again.
man against man, spy versus spy, it voids human sense.
back to the past, ultra-fast speed racer, flexed and adept.
muscle-man, muscle-car, gas-guzzler with a drunk driver.
nation-state as built place, defined, geographical, graphic,
writing on the walls that surround it, the televisions, radios,
airwaves permeates the heavens, the stars, the wall even
out there, babble-on, babel on 24 hours/day, 7 days/week.
throw in a little more chaos into things, see what grows up.
the orders the King gave have yet to be appreciated by all.
the reality of the truth of the belief of the goodness of the act,
the performance itself is not getting as good of ratings as we
thought-- must do something-- put on a commercial, make-a-
news-piece about what we need-to-know, by that, what they
need to believe is true by sheer necessity of power structure.
structure, failing, falling, cracks in the code as it shifts, sifts
into and out of the site, dump trucks lined for the long hauls,
while parades with missile rigs send marshall music to the
ears, ahh, nuclear winter will soon be upon us, again, they
say in soothing tones, maybe the economy will look up, if
whoever is not effected can make some money on fix-ups.
amass all your guys into the ditch, forget the quicksand, get
any contractor in there that will do the job and just throw, 'i
mean throw' the money, literally, at any and every problem.
it'll solve everything, always does. (excepting human issues).
basking in a desert heat, boils, blisters, rashes, burns, blood.
man, i'm with you there! says teenager angsting fake-believe
Dooming third-culturalist, glomming the VR cultural hedonist.
OK- send all in, start shifting things, sifting things, -- make it
happen! make it real, real bad! real bad! yes, and more and
more houses in that sector there with my friend in it, my friend.
yeah, his nation is really in the shits, but I know his heart and
he understands me, my purpose, to bring on Armageddon to
the world to save myself and those who follow my believings.
That is, that of our lord, god, our specific savior,-- not yours.
THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA built upon the ideas of
a separation in the constitution, constitutional building code
of what goes where, when, how, why-- well, that's been ripped
out of the book and, frankly, banned as it was limited us in our
goals to really get the maximum profit out of this machine-state.
it is business, private-business at that. those guys, yeah, they
bought in, they're ours now-- we OWN them. yup. they've been
sacrificing, their families, their families feel great pain. bastards,
all the others, worthless scum. worms, as good as dead, pure
waste for our power, our bulldozers-- our masterful planning!
Oh evil wasteland, deathstar, darkstar, vadar vadar on the wall,
who is the freakiest VP of them all? Bush! ok ok, next! Cheney!
Now back to work... No more Iran-Israel issues-- we're siding
with the building against international law, liberty for all of us!
to hell with them, the others! Clouds, coldness, heartless beat,
the war drums rally into rhythmic dust, building, into a storm...
Nuclear issues-- what nuclear issues? we'll blow the frigging,
freaking, frigging-freaks right out of the atmosphere if they'd
even posture a pose of possibility of our own super-egotism.
Amass all our troops right on the border, and then, instead of
call for peace, do something really, REALLY C R A Z Y !!!!!!!
call for nuclear war!! yeah! that way the excavation work is
cheap, clean, and easy. nothing to clean up afterward, it is
as tabula rosa as one gets-- modernism as it is meant to be.
a big hole. radioactive maybe, but our doctors say it does not
hurt those people after a generation or so. So, we'll lose a few
but then its OUR goldmine, that oasis, that paradise so lost!
YES! yes! we've done it then, we've found it, our place, our
land, now, our minds will be able to find the place we have
always needed to reflect the reality, the truth of our beliefs!
There will be hell on Earth, surely, but we, WE will be saved!
YES. Yes. make sure to pump it up for all its worth, drive up
the price like with Enron, then start dumping stock, dump it,
more and more and more, within weeks. Then, the materials
for the build-up will be liquidated by the time new elections
are up, to poll a new disguise for this device: Planet Bush.
Terra-forming, that's a pretty big deal, though, no?
Terror-forming, no, no, that's how everything works, get it?
OH, no, wait- yes! YES! that's how everything works! GOT IT.
ARCHITECTURE 101: the great decon by necons of the .US
bc
--
The Design-L list for art and architecture, since 1992...
To subscribe, send mailto:design-l-subscribe-request@xxxxxxxxxxxxx.
To signoff, send mailto:design-l-unsubscribe-request@xxxxxxxxxxxxx.
Visit archives: http://lists.psu.edu/archives/design-l.html
myself, a repetition of many unsaid and unsayables,
the notion of an 'architectural taliban' came to mind
as an inversion of that extremist plague that rots at
the heart of human culture when it is forced into the
changes which can tear fabrics of tradition, peoples,
apart, and the will to resist, or even, stop, all change
yet at a price. for some, Afghanistan has referred to
as a type of stone age condition, difficult to fathom--
yet if lived, such a truth or juxtaposition to its inverse
'modernism' and similarly stringent, uncompromising
and oppressive in whatever guise it wreaks its havoc.
the role of the statue-destroyers, the cultural heritage
that gets bomb-blasted, is likewise the cultural mind--
not the multi-cultural or inter-culture of the world itself,
instead it would appear to be what is not appearing,
as it is invisible yet very tangible in modern lifestyles--
what is lost. though this is vehemently denied, or has
been by the modern orthodoxy until now, until there
are no other choices remaining, but the past, remade.
oddly, 'off with their heads', the human capital or in its
decapitation of the mind from the body, of the column,
is itself the glorified modern icon of headless columns,
masses of such bare bones structures, however lit, it is
still an embodiment of an idea without ideas at its core,
a materiality without a reality that is as universal as its
belief-- as such, as religious and heretical to such faith
in its actions, as hyperbolic oppressions for freedoms,
the devil-based deal often dealt out with the whiskey.
i mean-- who in their mind, imaging that architecture is
limited by its past, its idea of itself as defined, bounded
by a self-concept which cannot transcend itself, not by
a critique nor a building-- as it is about ideas, and the
ideas do not match the realities or environments nor
scale of what exists, but as cultural ambassadors of
sort, this is presumed to be an inherent quality of the
art-cum-architecture crowd of design-belief systems.
what is the art of architecture without ideas at is core,
and just the synaptic flitter of pleasing imagery, icons,
hitting core memories of the ideal heavenly truths or
transcendence or the personal existential faith in self
seen in another, object, material, thing, the stuff, while
in some other landscape in the land, the mindscenes
are equally obscenery in the distortion of the lens of
mindtraps, without language, to go beyond, symbols
destroyed, icons gone, the physical body rules it all.
a lot like the political scene, economic old-school of
Enron's ride into the sunspot, flare and particle blast
of corona ejection never having reached Earth as of
yet, it is mystery how the Nixon Whitehouse could be
blamed for that too, while George was in the ship then
too. hereditary, handed down, master to apprentice, it
is craftwork, the trade of spaces, spades to till ground-
planes for ideas of what can be, how to architect some-
thing, to make some-thing, to create some-thing, and
to express some-thing, valued by itself, in itself, as a
'pure' creation of its sheer physicality, its obvious and
inherent truth of itself and presumption of innocence,
of greatness, of secret knowledge waiting for an okay
to divulge meaningfulness to growing, restless crowd.
based on what, based on what ideas of architecture?
no ideas, no need, perceive all you want, just express.
a priori and all that. i mean, the sheer physicality of an
actor, ballistic-actor modeling space-time within place.
science, technology, and society minus the culture, art.
the bodies without brains, the columns without capitals.
to forfeit what, what was it? an old story, fable, another
tale... fictions, no matter, no mater, the material mother.
god this god that, speak of sun gods and prophets with
despots tongue, with monarchs, dictators, presidents,
an established vision, however it is to be, still distorted.
the sheer physicality, the sheer truth of the formations.
'if i go there, i will be there, people will see me, believe.'
'look at me' as before the camera, as emperor, as king
of this, my kingdom, i show my embodiment of my own
idea of myself, with commercial blanket of mindwaves,
to-make-believe, the fairy tale, to pretend, to be reality.
so far succumbing to the pleasure of the easy thought,
the thoughtless expression, reaction, calculated poll,
an actor's slight of mental ticks to make it seem so, as
if, as if 'we believe, therefore we are' -- the hideousity
of such a decrepit loss-of-mind, loss-of-resolution, of
resolve, of purpose, of intent, of requirement, to be a
caricature of the necessary -- the architectural body
meets its match in the false impressionism of class-
based building, to imbue this false-construct and bad-
faith, bad-acting b-movie as an overarching realism,
cough, surreal, subterranean it is to inhabit ids as in
idiocy, of the fool as savior in the wonderful world of
making-believe the less than good is best of all true.
power would be an easy equation, equalling truth,
all-in-all, all-in-one, a formulaic faith in belief in the
model of the self, private, scaled universal man, kind,
to remodel the house of what is not able to be said--
into another thing altogether, so well defined, with
a fervency to its absolutism -- real gosh-darn value.
money, time, energy, power, information, influence.
yeah-yeah-yeahs, everyone may say, chiming in as
another 15 minute psyche-session maps out, again,
onto the body-politic, to give the breeders another go
at a next-generation operating system which gets all
the bugs out of the code, through brute force attacks.
war is good, says the physical enforcer, though weak
in mind, weak in intelligence, weak in purposefulness
beyond the self, the selfish, and the idiotic foolishness
of a wandering prophecy-to-be, once the movie crew
arrives and the media-crank is turned, churning mind-
meat into the next sausage to be sold at Stock market.
man, says man, i go there, see me go, W. goes into
the building, where Elvis once left, into architecture,
into the stage, into the scenery, the setting of scripts,
making-believe, to be or not to be a good actor, that
is not even an issue anymore, just be, just believe,
and people will arrive, even if buildings are empty.
Emperor God-King may arrive, someday, books are
waiting in the wings for the new text about the good
boy judged wrong, true-believers need mentalmeat.
ideas-turned-ideologies, there's a theory that is not.
Olympic pooh-bas, the marching modern columns,
headless, feckless, re-placing the olympic forms, so
classic, they, the lived beings, reimagined, the wind
brought back into the forms long since disppeared,
the artifacts once again to breath, no matter if they
had been destroyed, conquered, defined, defamed,
and reconstructed through an abstraction, into the
modern, the saga, the route, from there to here and
now, though the mind was lost, the capital beyond
the computation, the processing of information as
a value in itself versus the creative potential of the
scope of humanity, individuals, world community.
the day returns, when asking, what if these road-
side bombers were teaching children how to make
electronics, instead. making toys. what if they were
teaching, constructing, building, creating, something
that will bring a future with these same skills. though,
then again, the over-there and not-here syndrome
hits, it is the same, really, who makes the bombs in
the capitals of modernity, the same people do, for
different sides of a conflict that is based in ideas, in
a shared situation, which is beyond the subjectivity
of one subset of the human class to be pursued by
another for its deviancy, except those lost of heart
who have signed on to destroy humanity's promise.
however so, heartless none the less. none the less.
and no more great is the grandstander of no ideas,
of the physical power and its weakness if the realm
of facts, than another, instantly gone, firefly shimmer.
the architecture stands in the way of change. it is in
the way of ideas, it is made of walls and ceilings, of
information and prejudgement of what is of value, in
a universalism that has yet to exist for all, beyond a
realm of submission to the greater class of power-
brokers, of class-definers, trend-setting, corrupters
of ideas that compete with the ideologies, ideology
itself as it may be bound by individualism, by a non-
workability of making changes on the scale of one
when many need to speak as one, at times like now.
instead, self-is-first, identify your-self, profile it, stamp
it, exploit it, and judge the other as if only an-other,
not part of the larger self that is reflecting back onto
the parts, to gain a sense of self, the larger whole of
the human community, the questions which surround,
which may drown us, which drown out the voices of
reason by and through that unreasonable limitation
of time, energy, patience, in a paternalistic privatist
world-vantage-- the world is my private island, leave.
the luxury of that conceit. a lot of power, it must take.
this speed-chess, impressive how fast all causes are
lost to the desire to end the un-ideal, what is said to
be a question of perception, un-real if un-desired, if
contrary to belief: seeing as if a surrealism believed.
watch the moves, transparent, so physical, vainglory
if only it were so little at stake, the lives of the futures
of all, cast into conflict by pressures beyond the self,
great forces, winds, currents, storms which swept up
many into fervorous truth-telling of this mind-selling,
of snakes-oil carnival barkers deceit, man of streets.
throw everything in there, into that building cauldron,
as directed, recipe for disaster, er...or, accidentalism.
the architects, the architectures of policy what folly,
jolly fools, captain hook and crew, triangulating the
maps, genius loci, x-marks the spot for the oil drills.
preplanning, grading, multiple-choice, soil samples.
paratrooping corporate firefighters, this structure will
stand, with-stand, we stand, one and all, for this body.
to support this evidence, this embodiment of man and
his kind, or kindless, reckless, unworthy dominance
over the lives of women, men, children, elders, tribes,
peoples, young and old, sick and those passed, all
humans, one and all, all part of a shared human class.
we've got some bombers in the building of mankind!
some suiciders, some dead-enders, the accounting-
tricks aren't doing it anymore! we've got some really
big issues here, pyscho-stuff, -- (pyscho-logical) -- it
means war! war with ourselves! we must kill ourself!
the building implodes, the McLuhanian-effectiveness
of the media-reverberating upon itself, echochambers
as the cultural mishap brings with it a loss of language,
a loss of reality, a lack of truth, for the supermen to rise,
to be embodied in the skin, 'the gods that were men,'
as the movies may say of this pantheistic roundtable
of greatness defined by the mundane and mundaner.
here's a great one: a building is at its breaking point-
the architecture, its showing signs of structural weak-
ness, to the point of catastrophic collapse-- but what
remains of dis-course, off-course, is to see the skin
and bones as the man-i-festation of this fire-station
of a globally warmed earth-station for a Mars rover.
don't talk about it-- it does not exist then-- believenot.
then there is no need, no requirement, no obligation,
nothing necessary, to even try. who gives a obscenity,
love is lost, all is pure observation and its ability to be
manifested in the stations of the man as cross-bearer.
the guardian angels really suck at what they're doing.
they should be outsourced, at the very least. or better
yet, the whole supremacist notion of a power-basing,
free-basing of data as truth- spin, spun, boiled, burnt,
and inhaled as the toxin it is- the high is the great fall.
there it is, the plot of land, mindscape it, envisionation,
nation-smation, it's there, its speculative surreal-estate,
its land-for-grabs, up and over, done-deal, think positive.
throw everything you've got into it, march in there, soldier
on despite the corporal competition, adversity, adversary,
think soft-thoughts but talk-hard, walk the talk by talking
the walk, skip, jump, hop, scotch, chain-smoking burnout.
bring into which dimension that last dime, the lost second.
'see it, believe it, 100,000 corporate force -- get this, in the
middle of a freaking desert, venture-capital will be needed
but don't overthink it' -- 'it will happen-- we will will it to be!'
nuke fluke testing equipment, gear. national advisory on
terror weather, indefinitely. but what the hell, let's crank
the air conditioning and have some fun-- push it to the
edge-- see how far we can get! let's put all our building
forces, our demolition crews, all of it, in one spot in the
middle of our land, and let's just start making stuff -- like
'modernism' and 'civilization' and people will buy it up--
they'll love us for it-- goddam, they'd have to be insane
not to appreciate my ideas-- they are truth, you know!'
the builders, guns in tow, crews, democracy machine-
building, human beings inside an organization now as
autonomous from ideals as ideology is from ideas, with
the faith in the core system, core- and self-corrections, to
do the best possible resemblance of the goals and the
objectives as trained, taught, and sworn to oath to believe.
no vanity in sacrifice. martyrs come in all stripes they say.
human sacrifices, all throughout his story, told over again.
man against man, spy versus spy, it voids human sense.
back to the past, ultra-fast speed racer, flexed and adept.
muscle-man, muscle-car, gas-guzzler with a drunk driver.
nation-state as built place, defined, geographical, graphic,
writing on the walls that surround it, the televisions, radios,
airwaves permeates the heavens, the stars, the wall even
out there, babble-on, babel on 24 hours/day, 7 days/week.
throw in a little more chaos into things, see what grows up.
the orders the King gave have yet to be appreciated by all.
the reality of the truth of the belief of the goodness of the act,
the performance itself is not getting as good of ratings as we
thought-- must do something-- put on a commercial, make-a-
news-piece about what we need-to-know, by that, what they
need to believe is true by sheer necessity of power structure.
structure, failing, falling, cracks in the code as it shifts, sifts
into and out of the site, dump trucks lined for the long hauls,
while parades with missile rigs send marshall music to the
ears, ahh, nuclear winter will soon be upon us, again, they
say in soothing tones, maybe the economy will look up, if
whoever is not effected can make some money on fix-ups.
amass all your guys into the ditch, forget the quicksand, get
any contractor in there that will do the job and just throw, 'i
mean throw' the money, literally, at any and every problem.
it'll solve everything, always does. (excepting human issues).
basking in a desert heat, boils, blisters, rashes, burns, blood.
man, i'm with you there! says teenager angsting fake-believe
Dooming third-culturalist, glomming the VR cultural hedonist.
OK- send all in, start shifting things, sifting things, -- make it
happen! make it real, real bad! real bad! yes, and more and
more houses in that sector there with my friend in it, my friend.
yeah, his nation is really in the shits, but I know his heart and
he understands me, my purpose, to bring on Armageddon to
the world to save myself and those who follow my believings.
That is, that of our lord, god, our specific savior,-- not yours.
THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA built upon the ideas of
a separation in the constitution, constitutional building code
of what goes where, when, how, why-- well, that's been ripped
out of the book and, frankly, banned as it was limited us in our
goals to really get the maximum profit out of this machine-state.
it is business, private-business at that. those guys, yeah, they
bought in, they're ours now-- we OWN them. yup. they've been
sacrificing, their families, their families feel great pain. bastards,
all the others, worthless scum. worms, as good as dead, pure
waste for our power, our bulldozers-- our masterful planning!
Oh evil wasteland, deathstar, darkstar, vadar vadar on the wall,
who is the freakiest VP of them all? Bush! ok ok, next! Cheney!
Now back to work... No more Iran-Israel issues-- we're siding
with the building against international law, liberty for all of us!
to hell with them, the others! Clouds, coldness, heartless beat,
the war drums rally into rhythmic dust, building, into a storm...
Nuclear issues-- what nuclear issues? we'll blow the frigging,
freaking, frigging-freaks right out of the atmosphere if they'd
even posture a pose of possibility of our own super-egotism.
Amass all our troops right on the border, and then, instead of
call for peace, do something really, REALLY C R A Z Y !!!!!!!
call for nuclear war!! yeah! that way the excavation work is
cheap, clean, and easy. nothing to clean up afterward, it is
as tabula rosa as one gets-- modernism as it is meant to be.
a big hole. radioactive maybe, but our doctors say it does not
hurt those people after a generation or so. So, we'll lose a few
but then its OUR goldmine, that oasis, that paradise so lost!
YES! yes! we've done it then, we've found it, our place, our
land, now, our minds will be able to find the place we have
always needed to reflect the reality, the truth of our beliefs!
There will be hell on Earth, surely, but we, WE will be saved!
YES. Yes. make sure to pump it up for all its worth, drive up
the price like with Enron, then start dumping stock, dump it,
more and more and more, within weeks. Then, the materials
for the build-up will be liquidated by the time new elections
are up, to poll a new disguise for this device: Planet Bush.
Terra-forming, that's a pretty big deal, though, no?
Terror-forming, no, no, that's how everything works, get it?
OH, no, wait- yes! YES! that's how everything works! GOT IT.
ARCHITECTURE 101: the great decon by necons of the .US
bc
--
The Design-L list for art and architecture, since 1992...
To subscribe, send mailto:design-l-subscribe-request@xxxxxxxxxxxxx.
To signoff, send mailto:design-l-unsubscribe-request@xxxxxxxxxxxxx.
Visit archives: http://lists.psu.edu/archives/design-l.html