locus solus
raymond roussell

in defence of the transience of process in the production of work.

after attempting to model clowns in breadcrumb, he seemed to see a burst of illumination suffusing his whole life. statuary, which he had always preferred to drawing, made the mysterious abilities given him by his favourite subject blossom even further. the sculpting of clowns, he felt, would bring him fame and fortune.

but how was he to progress with only breadcrumb for clay and his fingers for tools-and without even a penny to get himself anything better.

each week he used to attend a botany lesson given by brothelande, a parsimonious bachelor settled in the suburbs and extremely devoted to his science, who put all the superfluous proceeds from his salary and lessons towards the cultivation of unusual plants under glass. finding that even the best engravings were not clear enough for his demonstrations, he would often, regardless of the inconvenience, personally transport from his home to school, some rare specimen that was to be the object of his lesson.

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the great fire of london
jacques roubaud

the great fire of london is a text in place of a text, a text in place of a project, a text in place of the life it consumed, it also makes possible the things that it replaces, the text that it replaces, that failed aspiration, is in fact contained within the text that laments it, it is nominally invoked, a luminous plasma that birthed the failure and also maintained the failure long enough for it to expire and leave a ruin, which is what we find in it, the project and the life that sought it are made palpable only through the humanity of an obscure ethos, we are assured by the failure of the author because it ensures that he was indeed there, a spectre, why trumpet success, success is an end, yet through his abandonment of the text it becomes ours, and happening across its ruins in mid-october i spun together greater yarns than could be supported knowing the fecundity of reflective failure.

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ulysses
james joyce

it may seem fruitless to convince anyone that this is a worthy text. apart from its profound effect on my interests of structuring complex solutions and deep relationships, and the potential multiplicity of forms and shades of meaning and reference, i have a much more personal, although no less covered by the critics, affinity for the text, that is the transformation of the ordinary man and his ordinary activities into the stuff of beauty and universal resonance. of course this investment is completed through the tools i discussed above, but the human idea, that the things we see every day, and the things we eat, read, say, and touch carry the poetic depth and heroic potential as observed by someone like homer or joyce, has formed the largest core of my world outlook, and my will to live.

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Co. Aytch: A Confederate Memoir of the Civil War
Sam R Watkins

“My pen is unable to describe the scene of carnage and death that ensued in the next two hours. … The sun beaming down on our uncovered heads, the thermometer being one hundred and ten degrees in the shade, and a solid line of blazing fire right from the muzzles of the Yankee guns being poured right into our very faces, singeing our hair and clothes, the hot blood of our dead and wounded spurting on us, the blinding smoke and stifling atmosphere filling our eyes and mouths, and the awful concussion causing the blood to gush out of our noses and ears, and above all, the roar of battle, made it a perfect pandemonium. Afterward I heard a soldier express himself by saying that he thought ‘Hell had broke loose in Georgia, sure enough.’”

“My pen is unable to describe…” amazing.

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Chariots of the Gods
Erich Von Daniken

you can pick up just about any of von daniken’s texts and find the same message: chariots of the gods, in search of ancient gods, gods from outer space, gold of the gods, etc. for the purposes of the work.group, however, it is not necessary to shatter all human myths; we are interested in those related to interpretation of technology and artifacts.

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the scandals of translation
lawrence venuti

here is a very rich and diverse exploration of top down politics and cultural capitalism in the translation industry:

a french poet loosely translates classical greek authors into french and puts his name on the pieces.

objectionable foreign politics are siphoned from cold-war translations of italian book-club fiction to promote a stereotypical image of the family-oriented catholic patriarchy.

a cabal of pipe-smoking professors shapes the american perception of post-war japan by strategically masking its westernization with the selection of only romanticized imperial texts for translation.

translators dont get dick for pay or kudos.

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play it as it lays
joan didion

this is one of the most enchanting and haunting texts about los angeles i have read. didion’s pace and narrative capture the desparation and dryrot of the beige city well. the portrayal of the freeway as a civic space, possibly the only space that breeds identification with the rabble, is quite beautiful, perhaps irresponsible, perhaps just dated, as a thread. although the status of the heroine as an industry cog is frustrating at times, it may be idleness, as a literary manoeuvre, that best characterizes the los angeles condition. file next to day of the locust.

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construction specs: specifications writing portable handbook
fred stitt

written specifications are where the true fluidity of the construction process lies. it is imaginable that these documents could be written in such a way as to completely eliminate the archaic pictorial mode of representation that we as architects cling to. break yourself off this book and help return the industry to the pre-architect medieval system.

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architectural graphic standards
charles ramsey

merrill elam once called me out to sweat over a seating arrangement i had proposed for a graduation ceremony. my flustered navigation through this book’s arcane indexing supplemented by some numerical doublespeak vindicated my plan. afterword by Philip Johnson.

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stolen copies are available on 6th ave in soho for $500

concrete island
jg ballard

a fictional crusoesque text set in a cavernous median at the intersection of several freeways. this is much less sensational than crash but is certainly a more clear comment on the city-dweller’s relationship with the urban landscape. also of note is the richness of the abject microcosms that the city shits out.

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