This was 13 years, 4 months, 16 days ago

about to fall asleep on a friend's couch, thinking about buildings with psyche (what is it to have a nervous building? a schizoid building? a narcissistic building in which each encounter would be self-reflective, double back on itself, you so acutely aware of the steps you take..) I dream about architecture:

you're part of a small but long-lived culture of worshippers living somewhere on the outskirts of civilization. all your life, you have dreamed of becoming a sculpture: solid, dynamic, in stasis. at the end of your twentieth birthday, you will climb a distant foggy mountain as part of an age-long sacrifice, where you will meet a gorgon who will turn you into the stone sculpture that you have always yearned to be. in front of her gaze you will stop and freeze instantly, encapsulated in that moment for eons and eons.

the question is: in the face of this impending, inevitable, and joyous stasis, this monumentalizing death -- do you perform and act with slow motions, lumber with the weight of an anticipated mass, seek elegance and perfect composition in every pose? or do you jump and twitch and roll around with all the possible nimbleness of fluidity, muscles firing, live moment making you not-quite-posed, a little bit messy and imperfect at moments here and there? listen: petrification happens regardless. do you prepare yourself for it? or is the opposite cherished for the valuable state that it is until you slingshot from rapid energetic loose vitality into a slow, dense, convincingly solid deathliness?