This is like looking for sublets (the same intense familiarity with craigslist) except with more precision, less abandon, each time I see a place the occuring internal projection of [that place] into a [home?], [if I could just spackle and paint over a bit would that look nice oh and the windows cleaner? Would that change everything].

Sometimes I wonder whether buildings and rooms have home-ness inherent in their structure. Do the angles at which these walls intersect and the shape of these rooms -- do these things without the presence of the habitant, do these things automatically create home? A single room defined -- either home or not home? I have this image of an apartment, resisting assimilation and adaptation into a home, standing staunchly and stubbornly against tenants moving in. Hereafter lies periods of uncomfortability, the sensation of homelessness, and John and Jane always sleep with their guard up and their ears pricked and they go to sleep at night lying on their sides with the fists curled up to their chests like a resting boxer between fights. Trying to stop against the overwhelming sense of -- Not Home. Home, Not Home, Home or Not Home.


All the while I'm worried about things I'm passing by, time to do things this summer. All these ideas lolling about in my head, while productivity and looseness and errands and things to do stop things up. I would to make these things, these obj, p.b., l+c, passive/active h.n., think about these things, have them be aesthetic and mental objects, with presence, give birth somehow, time running out all the while I feel..

To want to do and to not to be able to achieve

and a desire to create to make and to make it my own

formulation, a desire to make things formulate, reify, create, present, exist. as an object, as images, presentation, perception, aura.


I'm sleepy. time to go to sleep.