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16 February 2010
Architecture
16 February 2010 16:35There's a straining groan to the architecture like it's reaching towards release.
The strain of fighting against gravity is about to find an explosive way out and then it will sleep. This is the sex that buildings have with the earth's forces. A shuddering release of glass shards and broken beams will form umbrella-arms reaching down towards the sidewalks in a crashing surf of basements unearthed. Eyes destroyed, upper levels in pieces on the street, the building will sleep, shattered in the sun and then the rain. It will have returned to a more primal state, closer to it's components before assembly. One step back towards the quiet grave from whence it came.
We are architecture.
The bones we heave through meat to reach for fuel each morning fight the pull of death. We strive against the forces of nature as destiny crawls through our veins. This rickety scaffolding balancing precariously on two points, lurching from compass to protractor in a straight line from home to work with the ocassional deviation. The freshness of the young are counterbalanced by the decay of the old. Soon the cells will replicate with errors. Soon the cells will multiply on fast forward, broken and greedy. Soon gravity will claim us with no expression on it's unfeeling face. We will go to a grave and stay there.
The city is as much meat as it is building. One created to take care of the other. The buildings begin only to see us end. The come from the earth, assembled into something greater than their parts, only to see us, one by one, find permanent homes in the earth and become disassembled.
If you are in a building, you are standing at a crossroads.
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The strain of fighting against gravity is about to find an explosive way out and then it will sleep. This is the sex that buildings have with the earth's forces. A shuddering release of glass shards and broken beams will form umbrella-arms reaching down towards the sidewalks in a crashing surf of basements unearthed. Eyes destroyed, upper levels in pieces on the street, the building will sleep, shattered in the sun and then the rain. It will have returned to a more primal state, closer to it's components before assembly. One step back towards the quiet grave from whence it came.
We are architecture.
The bones we heave through meat to reach for fuel each morning fight the pull of death. We strive against the forces of nature as destiny crawls through our veins. This rickety scaffolding balancing precariously on two points, lurching from compass to protractor in a straight line from home to work with the ocassional deviation. The freshness of the young are counterbalanced by the decay of the old. Soon the cells will replicate with errors. Soon the cells will multiply on fast forward, broken and greedy. Soon gravity will claim us with no expression on it's unfeeling face. We will go to a grave and stay there.
The city is as much meat as it is building. One created to take care of the other. The buildings begin only to see us end. The come from the earth, assembled into something greater than their parts, only to see us, one by one, find permanent homes in the earth and become disassembled.
If you are in a building, you are standing at a crossroads.
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