a photograph taken at the louvre on one of my repeated escapades attempting to understand a sculpture. a big hole in my memory. without the remnants of the moment, I would've forgotten. but then and again, the photograph having found some way into my present, makes it something that maybe deals with the past...
I have now traversed the the threshold of twilight, standing in a quiet building while the noise of my life crashes about like some rambunctious child within my head. The fissures are showing and I get to witness my life from the dizzying heights of remembrance, staring at the vast densities as if it was the City itself--convoluted, intricate and secret--waiting for the Sun to crash among the horizon. I cannot closed my eyes for long (one cannot wander through one's life in the dark), so I jaunt through the depths of Vertigo to see what it means to be Human. I tend to forget. The claustrophobia of forgetting forces me from its narrow hallways to the open-streets where the irony of the young are displayed among the catastrophe of architecture. Steam erupts from the hyperbole of their current flesh and I see the waste of precious energy that I secretly long for...
And I get dizzy again.
The world d'volves from saturated technicolor to somber gray-scale then black. I awake in a familiar place. "Mr. Davis, your blood pressure is extremely high and your heart... your heart is enlarged..." I tried to close my eyes again. That dizzying spell was purposely medicated and now some stranger was telling me my life is...
But I couldn't focus!
I watched my room bellow and laugh in carnival about me. Yet I laid there struggling not to be a shadow.
Now I stand at the highest point of a random building. I stare down at the cluster of pedestrians and I have the urge to fly. But I don't jump. That dizzying feeling becomes a sensation that rushes through. I still don't jump. I smile to myself wryly. I just altered the space and intended purpose of this building as this building altered a fundamental psyche I held within me. I gave up the idea of throwing myself to the mercy of the City and sat on the floor next to the window and watched the City slowly burn in the encroaching night.
I live on the 19th floor. but I don't see rooftops since this may be the shortest building in my area!though if I did, I'd always imagine jumping from one to the other!like in a roman polanski film, except there are no bad guys. just pigeons and lost pet parakeets!
I know I will die.
Tomorrow bears a scythe!
When the storm comes the Moon rises against a terrifying Night as Dawn dissipates from our memories.
When the last of the Seraphs have fallen from God's vengeance only to be consumed by Zealots, Mad-men and religious fanatics, one discovers life is not about "Life"! Life ceased to be the very moment we were taken from our Mother's womb. We breathe the air. We walk the streets conforming to the vices and virtues of Social Humanity making friends, losing lovers and crying in the ever deepening blue of twilight.
Yet we are haunted by a "good-bye" built on an architecture of dreams. Stone by brittle stone have fallen on the heads of the wise and the ignorant alike.
The mourning burns like the Sun in the minds of the enlightened!
Salvation has taken its leave
and our stones are but dust!
no more parties. no more preparations.no more late nights. it's all over.. . for a while. back to work.
We are assaulted by organized entanglements! Nets--genres, lifestyles, political stances, deviance--the demarcations are so well managed that they are almost invisible to our daily experiences. "So, you want to be a writer?" and they shove you into a net full of antiquated ideas and skeletons of the past.
Maybe I'm just paranoid at seeing this glut of repetition we depend on so much! But this too is a Net! "Are you here to learn Architecture?" and by default they bombard you with militaristic geometries where people's lives are defined by volumes and spaces and circumstantial situations. Even Freedom is a form of Net!
