I’ve begun sketching and dreaming about architecture again.
(Thank goodness the wound of love’s sword finally seems to be scabbing over.)
20:36// Nothing quite as engaging as the seemingly impossible.
"Architects have to stop thinking in terms of buildings only. Built and physical architecture, freed from the technological limitations of the past, will more intensely work with spatial qualities as well as the psychological ones. The process of erection will get a new meaning, spaces will more consciously have haptic, optic and acoustic properties. A true architecture of our time will have to redefine itself and to expand its means. Many areas outside traditional building will enter the realm of architecture, as architecture and “architects” will have to enter new fields. All are architects. Everything is architecture.” - Hans Hollein
Atop many open windows, the backup cloud keeps flashing the message: “Repairing Database: This may take a while. Please be patient.”
21:18// “My Ghost Story” on, guy speaks of an EVP recording, “No one likes to be told ‘go away’.”
21:58// Nothing is right about how you have treated me, but I will survive, if only to spite you love. You were not always a monster.
“There is always another breath in my breath, another thought in my thought, another possession in what I possess, a thousand things and a thousand beings implicated in my complications: every true thought is an aggression. It is not a question of our undergoing influences, but of being ‘insufflations’ and fluctuations, or merging with them. That everything is so ‘complicated,’ that I may be an other, that something else thinks in us in an aggression which is the aggression of thought, in a multiplication which is the multiplication of the body, or in a violence which is the violence of language—this is the joyful message. For we are so sure of living again (without resurrection) only because so many beings and things think in us…”—Gilles Deleuze, “Phantasm and Modern Literature,” The Logic of Sense
“Much of Hamlet is about the precise kind of slippage the mourner experiences: the difference between being and seeming, the uncertainty about how the inner translates into the outer, the sense that one is expected to perform grief palatably. (If you don’t seem sad, people worry; but if you are grief-stricken, people flinch away from your pain.)”—Meghan O’Rourke on how Hamlet can helps us through grief and despair.
3:22// A solitary fly keeps landing and flying away from the screen hanging on the wall. Strange how different places impact us as if by osmosis. I suppose that is why architecture persists despite continually fearing obsolescence. We are not half as ‘rational’ as we would like to believe.
3:53// Police lights pass silently across the expressway in my peripheral vision, cool air injected into the vertical space just beyond the rhizomatic snake plants’ shoots. A moment before: I killed the fly, because it was annoying and potentially pestilent. My phone died before I could take a photo.
14:35// Where do I start? Why did you have to throw my off course a second and now a third time? Am I not human? If you cut me, do I not bleed?
Forgive, Because Humans Are Not Nice & No One Is Innocent
17:43// Waiting on my luggage at carousel #5, I wonder to myself as my phone charges, “What have you gained from your abusive treatment of me through the police state?” Surely, I have lost a great deal, but what have you gained with your violence? As I thought of that, a single pigeon flew through the underground structure, a few feet from where I stood, reminding me of the two dead pigeons I walked between last night after saying goodbye to my family. This is not all me, nor am I a mere victim. Only those who challenge us push us to become better human beings. I am not your enemy, nor shall I ever be. I understand you and my own past sins too well for any such nonsense.
17:48// My history of abuse led me to see you as a ‘bad subject’ at my sleep-deprived over-stimulated worst. For that, I remain deeply sorry. I was wrong, but that does not make your subsequent behavior right. This has never been a matter for the courts — which is why twice the absurd charges have been dismissed. I have never been a threat to you and being ‘annoying’ is no longer a crime in the State of New York. Please, do not become a monster fighting phantoms. Trust me brother, I have made that mistake myself, first triggering this elaborate mess in the first place — I am sorry. I am sorry and I forgive. I will always believe in your better self, even as I let go of feeling let down when you fail to meet my high expectations.
Took the monorail to the train, get off at Penn, walk through the air curtain to the street, walk to 6th & 34th, descend underground again, take the M beneath the city, re-emerging on the bridge from which Sam last saw me in the window.
The Borromean Knot dear.
My heart raced on the subway when the person sitting on the crowded train, one person over from me, resembled you. I did several takes, but could not be certain, the Wayfarers and hair gel making you easily confusable with someone else, especially after so much time has passed since we last met face-to-face. It’s worth noting that the last time I attempted to see you face-to-face was the weekend you broke up with me, over a year ago. That’s not exactly ‘stalking’ dear — I just wanted to exchange keys and hug goodbye as friends, but you had already developed your scowl towards me. I no longer write out of longing, but out of a desire to understand this strange chain of events for which we are both responsible.
I go to find text I read on the plane today, but see the following quotes from books read last summer instead. Thank you, because in truth I would not understand myself and humanity half as well as I (albeit dimly) do today. I am moving towards the ‘sinthome’ stage now.
You shared from Amerika: The Missing Person by Franz Kafka:
“Yes, I’m free,” said Karl, to whom nothing seemed more worthless than this freedom.
You shared from The Hélène Cixous Reader by Susan Sellers:
le trésor est enfoui, le Scarabée laché, le fouisseur est humain: qu’il creuse et fouille.
You shared from The Hélène Cixous Reader by Susan Sellers:
The suspensive modality of the possible, which seems to cause the “epoche” of a declaration of love, signifies maybe that love can belong only to the order of faith or testimony, not at all to that of proof or certainty. Neither knowledge nor assurance, only a “love, if there is such a thing, if there were such a thing—I would love you, because I love you.”
You shared from Reveries of the Solitary Walker by Jean-Jacques Rousseau:
The ebb and flow of the water and its continuous yet constantly varying sound, ever breaking against my ears and my eyes, took the place of the movements inside me that reverie did away with and were enough to make me pleasantly aware of my existence, without my having to take the trouble to think.
You shared from The Castle by Franz Kafka:
But the world puts great obstacles in one’s way, the higher one aims the greater the obstacles, and it is no disgrace to enlist the help of a man whose influence may be small, but who is struggling like you.
Yet part of the responsibility for this unfortunate but all-too-real cycle of abuse lies with forms of treatment which fail to draw clear ethical boundaries or borders… the result may be that it is left to ‘The Law’ to sort out the resulting mess in ways that just make it worse - whether by arrest and punishment of patients for misdemeanours or crimes, or by their criminal abuse… Only the establishment of clear ethical boundaries to their own ‘borderline’ behaviours can help the abuse victim undo the consequences of their abusers’ moral blindness — and prevent it becoming their own. … The difficulty for the paranoid individual… lies precisely in seeing themselves ‘from the outside’ — that is to say from the perspective of the others around them and of their inside. For… the automatic tendency is to identify the other’s external view of oneself with the bad, objectifying or abusing subject. [Peter Wilberg, “Awareness, Abuse, and the Bad Subject: Kleinian, Lacanian, and Neo-Tantric Perspectives”]
I suppose in writing, I am trying to organize my private jouissance in a way that defies analysis and requires no ‘cure’. I am sorry I projected ‘the bad subject’ onto you. We should have had more clearly-defined ethical borders (which led to ‘play’ triggering real pain, with technology facilitating the deconstruction of public/private, fiction/reality borders that caused tensions to escalate when our embodied selves were suddenly at a distance, mediated through these screens). I am sorry and I forgive you as a friend, still hoping the words of the book I was reading at the bar that day last summer (when I never saw your face or heard your voice, your head looking down at your phone as it was the day I first met you beneath the clock tower, hearing only the enraged voice of your female friend speaking of “people like [me]” — my unfair fears of you as abusive subject made reality through your sudden dehumanization of me and the state-sponsored violence you brought upon my head) prove true, that indeed, “the knot of rancor unravels.” What end does endless rancor have?
Now that I have returned, I begin translating our story, by way of The Tempest & The Knot Garden, into an architectural project. My confused words will not have been for nothing, even if I have no idea where precisely they may yet lead. Watching “Waiting For Godot” on the island, I thought of us, the Lacanian ‘bad subject’, and stuff this Jesuit I’ve been writing has to say about love, “I know, let’s abuse one another!” We really oughtn’t lose sight of the comedy in this drama.
11:38// Nor should we miss the beauty of this, our story Samuel dear. As I try to fall asleep, I recall that first evening. You were the first to ever say g.b. to me, which was hot within borders, but we both (and we are both guilty of this) let the private and the public, the play and the real, get mixed up. We both had back stories of hurting and being hurt. That is why I will always love you. I am sorry and I forgive. A Lacanian analysis of our interpersonal dynamic in terms of your referring to me as an uncouth child from the get-go might be worth exploring. We are complicated beasts, brilliant young men. I will never be your enemy. I have never seen myself so clearly in any other’s eyes.