15h59m38 / 01.Jan.2006
worker:
john
on these bound blue lines, with such clear definitions, on this stack of cards i will write, in words, what could not be writ in the haphazard lines and shades of the draughtsman’s pencil, the cad jockey’s click, at least not by fragments of people, barely speaking, and not over the months that eclipse into earlier darkness, when they arrive home to their desks in darkness to cough out shapes, not so quickly as those craven predetermined rote forms, i wanted to see architecture itself, as a practice, ruined, and what it wrought ruined, and i wanted it to slide onto the paper in such a way as to belie its infancy, i wanted it immediately ancient, with us erased, so that the ruinous history given to the people all at once could be immediately claimed by them, broken down, individuated, owned by anybody but me, i wanted this nightly sacrifice of my own time, my sleepless hours, my self worth to be pushed toward so much nothing that i could not be blamed for it, all of these years working out backwards why i should not have the power to put something before you, but done in the only way i know how, through perpetual creation that now continues in these cards where i sift through the ruins of an aspiration that never got to the point where it could be broken down again, by time, and by someone other than me, i give myself two weeks.
tagged: hacks, histoire, roosevelt, ruins, text
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