Intro

For moments, that I am, within this space, realities prior, to each moment, are feelings beyond it, and in it, and with momentum. Momentum is nothing, but the product of mass and velocity, of things, that are spatial, material, and over time, senses arrive, with their own directionality.

To dwell means not to, go forward only in a straight line, but often looping back, in symmetry and of repetition. The very same periodicity: dawn to dusk, dusk to dawn; spring following, winter after winter. Through spaces, my movements are, like filtration, traversing along a maze, free; while others must embark, interface after interface, formatted relations, controlled coherence, invitations given, only sparingly.

If anything is explained, by an architecture plan, it is the composition, of relations, attained. My clan, of materials’ position, with people, ordained, and by myself, the layman, encompassing superstition, within this plan, suspended. Architecture is differentiation, with respect to space, maybe material, sometimes visual; then selectively integrated, all but a limiting procedure, that approximates our inhabitatness. A unit of architecture is neither the form or the function of a space, but a lecture, on affective form, between relations, of the uninhibited.

Like art, a vehicle for observation and reflection, architecture is not, quite just that. Adding more meaning and symbols to architecture does not make it any more architectural, nor is it any less, when the only direct interventions, are a matter of practicality. The difference in its matter of practicality is, that of all its encoding of everyday reality, and in doing so inevitably provides a format, to frame everyday moments.

I am, neither this nor that, if only momentary impulses, yet it flickers perpetually. An emptiness, wanting to be whole, buffing against decaying fragility, sheltering thy sheen is ever so needed. Both intimidating and intimate, interfaces, divides the interior, the exterior, yet it also connects; the acknowledgement of my traces, is sought, by being bare, but not fully naked; oppositions, in theory, cooked into format.

If interfaces are commodities, why can they not delight? Forms are never non-functional, their utility is their beauty. Envisioning, a transfiguration; is the fulfilment of, above-described idealizations, rather than a recreation of, classified style through reduction. Please accept my invitation, come as you are, and see through the man that I am, rather than the work I have done, in making a free man of myself, in as much as I have tried to explain.

Thorough-pass corridor

To go ahead, ways leads, of order, where intuition, discerns, in order, to realize, I, myself. Never in concepts, but both in the ideal and in an actual, difficult to circumvent, yet evident in being, attempting equilibrium, but always just passing by, being of becoming, becoming of being, being and becoming. Named and nameless, a manifestation of its description, once the beginning, and in due course, flows and grounds. Unintentional or deliberate, act, without interruption, through interference, by less effort, of will, my refuge, a space of wandering, a library becoming, a hollowed-out, listlessness, of my mind.

An Architecture Plan

Inclusion is, messy, you are not quite in control. The easier unity is to exclude, isolate away all the complexity and contradiction, into a perfectness. Aim for accuracy, and it will lead to, either in imprecision or at most, accurate negligence. But to be precise within, complexities and contradictions, though it may never be absolute, it is to be determined.

Nothing architecture is ever dogmatic, Just continual affirmations of becomings. Affirming between: inhibition and inhabitation; I invite others along, while I, myself, take its own path.

A journey begins, extends, maybe it ends, need not be all terminal, but a passing of only the present, towards a future, at the same time, becoming the past, yet the path always repeats.

Archeologitecture

What remains, the remainders, and its remainlessness, has its materiality and position, and thus form. Irony and sadness are two extremes of how we cope with what has gone. Happiness and sanity are also two extremes, but of the hope we feel is coming. Depression is sanitized sadness. The tipping point of craziness is often ironic happiness. When sadness is seasoned with a few pinches of happiness, bitter-sweet, is its taste. Adding irony generously to your sane mind, as spicy as you can take, please.

When I wanted to go the loo, though this pipe was not up to the mood. However, another pipe pops up, hidden beneath, only to reveal itself after, from what was out of sight, is now a plain horror, as its asymmetry, troubled me repeatedly. Accepting as it’s kind, a symmetry, that is out of my mind.

A hole in the wall, is what we call a window; brick by brick, stretchers by headers, or shiners by rowblocks, the sizes of yesterday, may be too big for today, so some more bricks were layed, but for tomorrow I have, no more of its use, should I chip some away? Light and air comes in this way, away with tools, left like a fool, what to make of this hole? Isn’t it, that is all there is?

Master Plans

My village, roads paved, highways constructed, buildings erected, infrastructure, connecting all. The master plan inclusive: of its materials, of all functions, of its past and future, in the present, therefore, forms.

A whole lane’s width, when sun rises, outlining a horizon, perception of depth, is picture window-framed, no other mural can be more fitting. Bordering off, filtered light, enlivens, yet providing security, against dusk, and eases the inevitable, tensions of the urbanized present. A garden, on the tangent, is observed or operated, at different angles, reveals, masks, glimmers, of memories.

If an absence is, to becoming into the present, my presence is then, always vacated.

Layering

The height of rooms, is both absolute and relative, to that of our senses, adjoining, tracing one after another. Depth, is a perception of length to width, while lines are ready, constructed in degradation, in the flat, are a haggle of lurking, higher dimensions, what was, security and conventions, is at the same time, liability and uncertainty.

When one cannot, change physics, as no one can, one can only try to play, the dynamics of our senses, perceiving subtleties, like plucking the strings of a guitar. The narrow can, become narrower, and the lowest also can be compressed even further, so perception amplified, an unwrapping of spaces, warping of our senses, inasmuch as under, the absolute limits we are, all, subjected to.

Functional-form

The choices of presence and absence, solid and void, built and unbuilt, determines the locus of traces and erasures, such locus is inherently architecture.

Growing up, the language, I spoke, read, wrote, consists of, pictograms and ideograms, visual pictorial, and visual abstract, leading towards radical-radical compounds. Fragments of functions, modulated across and in, dwelling, of presence and absence.

Geometries outlining form, solids or voids, separating space for function, therefore meaning, is found in both form and function. Combining words together, a prose of dwelling is written.

Dwell without structures, is to dwell away from home, as in the forms by dwelling, reveals it, inasmuch as traces and erasure, creating a figurative delineation, that is constrained, only, by our physical impedance.

Finishedness and stability are not sufficiently the same, nor necessary orthogonal. Prefab and onsite bespoke, need not be discriminated against each other, since becoming commodities, from their original genesis, is just what we call progress.

If my dwelling is read, please read it as it was written, rather than as people speak of it, or as it was spoken by others.

Inner-outward

Solitude and loneliness, two interior orientations, that might be seen, under the same exterior, due circumstances, that are of things missing...

Though it may be transient, lapping in and out, to its external, circumstance, with voids and non-voids, yet, we are left, to make ourselves, at home, in the way things are. Life has to do with, this subletting ability, with how well, we are able to settle into life, and how much, we can bring into existence with however little control, over its design we may have. It may feel entirely isolating, a private burden with no one else to share with.

If solitude nourishes the imagination, loneliness sucks the life out of it, and grinds down the spirit, with grains of restlessness, of longing, for connection, for escape, to and from somewhere. And yet it is out of this restlessness, that creating becomes inevident, and conscious suffice intimately, during this strange elasticity of time.

Sensations supposedly perceived, our perceptions attested to being represented, and all is affirmed. Or is it the other way around, that representation is affirmed by our perceptions, the perception that is attested by sensations, while all is supposed.

Two representations of the same only world, where one is perceived to be ordinary, which I share with others and in which I am the same... The other is private, and it is in this world, my senses take up their own place, it is a world with its own passions, elations and despairs alike.

The two worlds are connected, the desire for recognition, are part of the ordinary representation, but they are among the forces of perception, which propel into the private sensually. Similarly, sensibilities in the second, have a way of merging, with less than lofty perceptions, of representation in the first. Life, to live, because it is inevitable and yet surprising.

Channel

Inter-vitals connect utilities, giveth functions, forms taken. Water pressures from atop, one inch, two three-quarters, three half-inch pipes, friction and drop, exits below ground. Electrons, charges in and out, for there is work, to be done. Gas flows aback, out it comes, combusts onto the wok. Air cycles in from the south, and out to the west, artificially, but true winter wind, blows from the north by north-west, a chill that sends shivers, down our spine, to remind us, of our survival pasts.

Straight lines, branching out, out of sight, to not be boxed in, nor painted over, that is they are not ever, an afterthought. Above ground, vertical displacements, and then underground, or behind doors, but never truly hidden, inside any faux ceilings, for that, even the thinnest additional layer, of separation, is unnecessary, nor is it any more sufficient, than just a slab ceiling, as it is.

Chance

I ponder, about my chances, of what the outcomes might become? What are the rules, determining and affecting outcomes then? By seeing, in it, still, for a duration, from the inside, transitioning outward, left to right, front to back, above to below... I understand now, but chances, are still the effect of rules, the passage of outcomes, experienced, are no more, than a roll of a dice.

Recursionless

For every seven nines, there are nine sevens, such exactness, extend infinitely.

Each nine must have a head and a tail. First nines are split into twos and sevens. Second nines, into fours and fives. Third nines, into sixes and threes. Fourth nines, into ones and ones, with a full body of length sevens to spare. Fifth nines, into threes and sixes. Sixth nines, into fives and fours. Seventh nines, into sevens and twos.

First sevens are tails of first nines. Adding tails of second nines to heads of first nines give second sevens. Adding tails of third nines to head of second nines give third sevens. Adding tails of fourth nines to heads of third nines give fourth sevens. The bodies of fourth nines are fifth sevens. Adding tails of fifth nines to heads of fourth nines give sixth sevens. Adding tails of sixth nines to heads of fifth nines give seventh sevens. Adding tails of seventh nines to head of sixth nines given eighth sevens. The ninth sevens are heads of seventh nines.

For every seven nines, there are nine sevens, such perfectness, only lies in the idea.

Eternal returning

I ponder, what is behind, from here, or there? What is behind, is it by chance, that it could be any different? Or it is only by chance, my transition from here to there? Diversity or its reproduction, difference or its repetition, are possible explanations, to that of an expression, of a principle, though never a successful attempt, of our understanding, of the eternal return. The observed is always, subject to the observer’s continual duration, seeing through, along this passage, on both sides of its wall, is not any different.

Ornament

To translate is assumed to move without altering, yet, the requisite evenness and continuity, they do not have. Deviation from, the uniform space, to meaning that glides, with modulation, precise knowledge eradicated, reflects through, the insights we may drill.

Each opening drawn into, a blended mixture of hue, no complex color palette needed, but what is only reflections, of materials, of a single point source or two, off the surroundings, again, again, again, till it is indiscernibly faded, no further reduction of the superfluous, is physically possible.

A sculpture, really only exists, after its drawing, from what was vaguely, an idea, before its drawing, can only be realized into the world, by sculpting it, and seeing only what’s left behind by movements of the scalpel. Projection frees nothing, of her lines towards emancipation, from his conceptual rigidness, towards our fluidity of materials, uniformly paradoxical, yet often ironic.

Sculpting by neither, additive or subtractive means, merely by redistribution, makes ideas, even more lossy, through drawing. A puzzle of transfiguring constant energy in space, insights light up the room, and ask a simple question of: “Where to”?

Unevidently

Chairs have forms, evidently. Starting from an idea to rest at ease, chairs are made for sitting, of materials, by tools and in space. Dining chairs, a design object, positioned, the subjects are to eat at ease, relative to the table, where food and its wares rest on. The idea of positionings is held in space by form, and via mechanisms of function.

Form chooses its desired materials based on form, forms that are enabled by the materials. Materials are then always structured accordingly by appropriate tools, thus forming the inevitable chair. Chairs are somewhere in between: functional forms to objects forming into chair functions.

The idea of a chair is necessarily composed of the forms from its materials. Materials are fabricated into various form, some evident and some inevident. Points, lines, plane, or the volume, are forms from materials, explicitly. Tools shape materials into forms as desired. Points, lines, plane, or volume, are forms of shaped materials, reduced. Joints combine materials into forms as desired. Points, lines, plane, or volume, are forms, augmented.

Tools lose its precision moving down the supply chain, from prototypes to mass-production, and back to prototypes of the next class of objects as formed by the previous classes of objects. Diverging from uniformly to individually, consistency is destroyed in search of sublime. Joints invite further deviation from the evident. To shape materials into chairs succificiently, what is left behind could also be just right, just not so evidently. But inevitably, they join into chairs, uniformly and evidently.

Garden

What seems like a miscalculation, because it never works out exactly, and this inexactitude, in its result, this irreducible inequality, distorts and blurs, the circumferential borders, of what is mine, or of what is theirs.

The garden happens, on behalf, because if calculations, were exact, there would be no garden. It can be regarded, as a remainder, as fractional, or reminder, as what to do next, and not what I did, yesterday.

The view outward, toward, into, the small hut, refers to this inequality, by which it was conditioned. Every angle and every azimuth refers, to a difference which, is each its own sufficient reason, while none of it all necessary.

The orders of difference, affirmation of differences, are the sufficient reason, to ground, of phenomena; such that if we wish, to account, for a phenomenon, we must look, to the differences, that condition it, and preside over, its actualisation, though never exact, was just a noumenon, closest to it.

Zenoing

Desire of ideas haunt us. When we are nearing towards it, desires, of ideas, has distanced itself a little further. Ideas of desire are wanted and to be satiated. While chasing, a gap between, the desire of the new and the sensibility of the real, stretches elastically, therefore desires are further away, and more catching up is needed.

If the desired destination is eight miles away, and six is travelled, then there will be, two plus two cubed minus two, eight miles more to go. By being more determined this time around, seven miles is raced through, then there will be, one plus one plus one, only threes miles away. Now closer, scents of the desired destination strong, and it clearly obvious to enjoy such aroma, so the last mile is to be strolled. But, now, how come the desires is eight miles again. After travelling fourteen miles, are we back to the start?

One will miss the journey when they try to finish the eight miles; and one cannot be still, if they are always on the chase. How do you wish forage your desires?

Cube

A roll of dice, whichever side, before it lands, time expands, as if an infinite, short duration, in spite, of anticipation, that moment, free of movement, from the inside, one must face, their decisions, but never in, complete control, at most, wanting, an obsolete patrol. Sitting still, splitting will, thoughtlessness, timelessness, spacelessness, refurnished with bless.

Structure

The humanity found, in all structures, is a perpetual revision, and construction, within the space of reasons. Never a given fact, but commitments, of reassessment, a struggle, responding to its, humanity. Its deportment, that welcomes, unlocking, understanding, practices; preserves sparingly, anchors few, tinkers with the link, between past to present, so that the future, may wash aback, with corrosion. What is left behind, after revisions, is ready to be, further revised, but only after another construction?

Pop Zen

Certain elements correspond to specific seasons, and the changing, of seasons, and changing elements, reminds the only constant, that of perishing. The only relevant test, of the validity of perishability, is comparison of, perishables with our desires, inescapable, unstable, invalid, there’s, no such thing, as a free lunch. Putting in order, whatever belonging, are at hand, or tear it up, I feel the same, at present, as I did then, and should remain, unaltered long after.

Individuals consume, a series of images, that change, as they repeat, like mirror only reflect, when without colour or shape, otherwise it would not reflect.

Emptiness accommodates, thoughts intrude at will, on our minds, because what we call minds, are vacant, so they say; if they were occupied, surely so many things, would not enter them, so they say.

Many fallacies, in forms, of the one pie: thoughts consume at will, on our minds, because what we call minds, are with desire; so it seems; our will demands thoughts on our mind because what we call minds, consume them, never a fixed pie, as it seems.

Squares are not really squared, only non-squares can be squares.

Outro

From the moment, that I am within this space, it's realities after, are feelings beyond it, and through it, exists potential unrealised. Potential is nothing but, masses ready for their velocities, direction decides, and defines its materials, interfacing space and things, along time.

To dwell as usual, paths are always followed, by another path and always with many, mistakes taken for granted, decidingly. The inexact ordering: dusk to dawn, dawn to dusk; what follows summer, is never not autumn, though never the same autumn.

Through solid volumes, my movements impeded, also like filtration, but the negation of it, constrained; while others pleased, need not it be, eyes opening, reformatted relations, incoherence flows, see you, maybe?

If anything is explained, by two architecture plans, it is the conflicts of desires. Desires of them stained, across my daily spans, encompassing satires, that is the differences, but always, incompletely. Awaking, recursively takes, its geometry and form, atoms by atoms; lines of vision weaved into fabric, that is the texture of, its architecture. A unit of architecture, has its forms, with or without function, ambiguity passes, because of the voids, it leaves behind.

Like architecture, a vessel for, dwelling and rest, less nested, art is not, exactly that. Adding more conceptual nodes and experiential edges do not make it any more art. Nor is it any less, when the only reflections, are a matter of nomenclature. The reflections on your day, of another day, and in doing so inevitably reformat itself, to reframe such moment, that has already passed by.

I am, this and that, if only momentary impulses because it flickers away. A voidless thing, wanting to be less, but against my never, resting willfulness, deconstruction is needed. A blurry and afar blur, interfaces, saturate the interior, the exterior, yet they also segregate; the acknowledgement of my traces, untraced or untraceable, I am bare, timidly naked; searching unopposed, the format will synthesize me.

Perspectives puncture interfaces, in it, and out of it. Commodities, we face, in the face of modernity, we must. Ornaments are of form, their function is never limited to their beauty. Envisioning, multiple transfiguration; a fulfilment of, above-described idealizations, rather than an arrogance of, classified style through reproduction.

Thank you for coming, go out the way you came, to see is, forgetting the name of the thing one sees. To eat is, forgetting the name of the thing one tastes.

Tastelessness

One tastes before and after a meal ends,

yet it often reminds of grandma’s braise;

people drink to toast exquisite tastes in words,

but my gut forgets thy name of this sauce.

Pre-minting Ryoanji 2022 09/15

Tension and adrenaline, brush work eases me through the waiting hours of minting gates to open.