10,000 B.C. paragraph 2
"The discovery of the sea is a precious experience that bears thought. Seeing the oceanic horizon is indeed anything but a secondary experience; it is in fact an event of underestimated consequences.
I have forgotten none of the sequences of this finding in the course of a summer when recovering peace and access to the beach were one and the same event. With the barriers removed, you were henceforth free to explore the liquid continent; the occupants had returned to their native hinterland, leaving behind, along with the work site, their tools and arms. The waterfront villas were empty, everything within the casemates’ firing range had been blown up, the beaches were mined, and the artificers were busy here and there rendering access to the sea.
The clearest feeling was still one of absence; the immense beach of La Baule was deserted, there were less than a dozen of us on the loop of blond sand, not a vehicle was to be seen on the streets; this had been a frontier that an army had just abandoned, and the meaning of this oceanic immensity was intertwined with this aspect of the deserted battlefield.
…The rail car I was on, and in which I had been imagining the sea, was moving slowly through the Briere Plains… [The sea’s] color was disappointing, compared to the sky’s luminescence, but the expanse of the oceanic horizon was truly surprising: could such a vast space be void of the slightest clutter? Here was the real surprise: in length, breadth, and depth the oceanic landscape had been wiped clean. Even the sky was as divided up by clouds, but the sea seemed empty in contrast. From such a distance there was no way of determining anything like foam movement. My loss of bearings was proof that I had entered a new element; the sea had become a desert, and the August heat made that all the more evident - this was a white-hot space in which sun and ocean had become a magnifying glass scorching away every relief and contrast. Trees, pines, etched-out dark spots; the square in front of the station was at once white and void - the particular emptiness you feel in recently abandoned places.”"
Paul Virilio, on Bunker Archaeology
as a part of the ‘architecture in the age of OMG’ competition for realitycues, danish architect francisco villeda has conceived ‘architects pay a visit to random places’, a series of manipulated images that reflect on fake utopian architectural scenes by combining random places influenced by the philosophies of famous designers and architects from the past. the images feature an interpretation based off hugh ferriss’ visions, where it tries to represent the idea of densifying cities through its historical values and local identities. in a world of constant global homogenization, the need to go back to more rooted ideas and local means might prove to be a new way of counter balancing the state of global crisis. a scene using le corbusiers projects as reference frequently generalizes the principal purposes within specific view of nature as means of establishing visual dialog.
For other geometric overlays see Erin Sheriff’s "Shadow, Glare," published in Triple Canopy Issue 9.
"For centuries after its invention, punctuation was the province of the reader, not the writer. The average ancient Greek or Roman struggled through texts devoid of commas, periods, and even word spaces, punctuating as they went to help pick apart the words and their meaning. Well into the medieval ages, even after punctuation had been established as the writer’s responsibility, readers continued to annotate their books with symbols to help index and recall the information therein."
Vertical Garden Beautifully Colors Building in Paris
A novel way to bring more life and color into the “concrete jungles” of the world is to create a vertical garden. I vote that every city street have one to make up for the loss of foliage that big inner cities prevent. It literally causes the building and neighboring areas to come to life.
Patrick Blanc, a French botanist, artist and author, whose book, The Vertical Garden: From Nature to the City, is considered a classic work on the subject, agrees that when it comes to vertical gardens, the challenges are great and the avenues varied. “In nature,” Mr. Blanc said, “plants grow in many different ways, and when it comes to creating vertical gardens, many things are possible. Different people have different approaches.”
Blanc created the vertical garden (featured above) at the intersection of Montorgueil, Reaumur Sebastopol and the Great Boulevards in Paris. As part of a private initiative to make Paris more eco-friendly, he took seven weeks in March and April to plant the seeds, nurturing over 7,600 plants belonging to 237 individual species. The stunning garden covers 250-square meters on the building’s face and quite incredible. The wall will be officially inaugurated during Paris Design Week in September, 2013.
Vertical gardens can evoke anything from a tropical jungle to a Monet landscape. But because gardens were intended to be horizontal, not vertical, and because water, left to its own devices, flows down and not sideways, they are always challenging to maintain.
"Higher there, higher, far from the ways,
from the farms and the valleys, beyond the trees,
beyond the hills and the grasses’ haze,
far from the herd-trampled tapestries,
you discover a sombre pool in the deep
that a few bare snow-covered mountains form.
The lake, in light’s, and night’s, sublime sleep,
is never disturbed in its silent storm.
In that mournful waste, to the unsure ear,
come faint drawn-out sounds, more dead than the bell,
of some far-off cow, the echoes unclear,
as it grazes the slope, of a distant dell.
On those hills where the wind effaces all signs,
on those glaciers, fired by the sun’s pure light,
on those rocks, where dizziness threatens the mind,
in that lake’s vermilion presage of night,
under my feet, and above my head,
silence, that makes you wish to escape;
that eternal silence, of the mountainous bed
of motionless air, where everything waits.
You would say that the sky, in its loneliness,
gazed at itself in the glass, and, up there,
the mountains listened, in grave watchfulness
to the mystery nothing that’s human can hear.
And when, by chance, a wandering cloud
darkens the silent lake, moving by,
you might think that you saw some spirit’s robe,
or else its clear shadow, travelling, over the sky."
Incompatibility, Charles Baudelaire
"The painter does not paint on an empty canvas, and neither does the writer write on a blank page; but the page or canvas is already so covered with preexisting, preestablished clichés that it is necessary to erase, to clean, to flatten, even to shred, so as to let in a breath of air from the chaos that brings us the vision."
Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari, What is Philosophy? (via heteroglossia)
"The blind man said that the world in which he made his way was very different from what men suppose and in fact was scarcely world at all. He said that to close one’s eyes told nothing. Any more than sleeping told of death. He said that it was not a matter of illusion or no illusion. He spoke of the broad dryland barrial and the river and the road and the mountains beyond and the blue sky over them as entertainments to keep the world at bay, the true and ageless world. He said that the light of the world was in men’s eyes only for the world itself moved in eternal darkness and darkness was its true nature and true condition and that in this darkness it turned with perfect cohesion in all its parts but that there was naught there to see. He said that the world was sentient to its core and secret and black beyond men’s imagining and that its nature did not reside in what could be seen or not seen."
Cormac McCarthy, “The Crossing” (via buffalo-divine-eden-no7)
"Listen carefully, my son: bombs were falling
over Mexico City
but no one even noticed.
The air carried poison through
the streets and open windows.
You’d just finished eating and were watching
cartoons on TV.
I was reading in the bedroom next door
when I realized we were going to die.
Despite the dizziness and nausea I dragged myself
to the kitchen and found you on the floor.
We hugged. You asked what was happening
and I didn’t tell you we were on death’s program
but instead that we were going on a journey,
one more, together, and that you shouldn’t be afraid.
When it left, death didn’t even
close our eyes.
What are we? you asked a week or year later,
ants, bees, wrong numbers
in the big rotten soup of chance?
We’re human beings, my son, almost birds,
public heroes and secrets."
Roberto Bolaño — “Godzilla in Mexico” in The Romantic Dogs trans. Laura Healy (via slothnorentropy)
"Once I thought that to be human was the highest aim a man could have, but I see now that it was meant to destroy me. To-day I am proud to say that I am inhuman, that I belong not to men and governments, that I have nothing to do with creeds and principles. I have nothing to do with the creaking machinery of humanity - I belong to the earth!"
Henry Miller, Tropic of Cancer (via human-onlyterrestrially)
"God is the indwelling and not the transient cause of all things. All things which are, are in God. Besides God there can be no substance, that is, nothing in itself external to God."