The absence of God is another proof for his existence.
...Said the milkman to the cow.
Showing posts with label [O]. Show all posts
Showing posts with label [O]. Show all posts
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Sunday, October 18, 2009
05 Sept 2009
We are travelers, we simultaneously live an infinite number of lives. Most people do not realize it during their lives, they usually are content with what they see and what they perceive as deja-vu, chimeras, mirage, dreams and die happily after living this fulfilling life.
Not only when we dream we're living an infinity of lives in other worlds and other forms, but we're 'there' and 'here' at the same 'Time'...
If 'Time' is possible that is.
This is not a memoire of Who we are or What we are. I think it is about How[O] we are. We are more different than we think, admittingly or not we are also more alike than we would like to admit.
For us dreams are at best 'interresting' but reflecting on What they are did not get us anywhere so far. How they are or come to be, either.
They just Are... All living beings have them, all living beings share them.
I believe in dreams, not necessarily in their content or ulterior connotations I give them each morning... but more than that... I truly believe they are real, real lives we live, real identities we share, not more ilusiory/real than what we perceive as 'Reality' right now.
Everything is true, everything.
[...]
Within those lines I have just one question right now:
When/while we dream - what is there BETWEEN 2 dreams? (if one could think of them in a linear fashion) What happens while migrating from one dream to the other? How(Who) do we do that?
We are indeed Great Travelers, we are indeed interresting. We are Everywhere and at the same Time we are no-Where.
[...]
Like Maira Kalman put it wisely: " There are 2 things I want to learn in this life... How to live and how to die."
[...]
' One cannot prove with his mind, in an (cognitively)active state of mind, what is there between the dreams. How Big is that Space? How Long is that Time? How Alive is that Pause? How True is that Passage? Could we humans be only the carriers of the Pauses between the dreams?
...
Learning how to think like this ...
Definitely, just imagining it and thinking about it is our own limitation... that we must stop, in order to Be what Is...
...
" Why does something exist rather than nothing? " ( Leibnitz )
" For the being to Be, it is necessary that One is not. " ( Enneades )
Not only when we dream we're living an infinity of lives in other worlds and other forms, but we're 'there' and 'here' at the same 'Time'...
If 'Time' is possible that is.
This is not a memoire of Who we are or What we are. I think it is about How[O] we are. We are more different than we think, admittingly or not we are also more alike than we would like to admit.
For us dreams are at best 'interresting' but reflecting on What they are did not get us anywhere so far. How they are or come to be, either.
They just Are... All living beings have them, all living beings share them.
I believe in dreams, not necessarily in their content or ulterior connotations I give them each morning... but more than that... I truly believe they are real, real lives we live, real identities we share, not more ilusiory/real than what we perceive as 'Reality' right now.
Everything is true, everything.
[...]
Within those lines I have just one question right now:
When/while we dream - what is there BETWEEN 2 dreams? (if one could think of them in a linear fashion) What happens while migrating from one dream to the other? How(Who) do we do that?
We are indeed Great Travelers, we are indeed interresting. We are Everywhere and at the same Time we are no-Where.
[...]
Like Maira Kalman put it wisely: " There are 2 things I want to learn in this life... How to live and how to die."
[...]
' One cannot prove with his mind, in an (cognitively)active state of mind, what is there between the dreams. How Big is that Space? How Long is that Time? How Alive is that Pause? How True is that Passage? Could we humans be only the carriers of the Pauses between the dreams?
...
Learning how to think like this ...
Definitely, just imagining it and thinking about it is our own limitation... that we must stop, in order to Be what Is...
...
" Why does something exist rather than nothing? " ( Leibnitz )
" For the being to Be, it is necessary that One is not. " ( Enneades )
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Adrian Storman
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Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Daniel Libeskind said...[O]
Architecture, the word has lost its reputation: how is it to defend itself? Both ‘good and bad’ days are now gone. The everyday architect is dead. His body useless unless it becomes manure or kindling for the fire which, after all, is based on what is ‘no better’.
What is not alone is whole, both willing and unwilling to be named object. Once numbered and multiplied, this whole grew at the expenses of zeroes into which it has stepped. One knows construction by deconstruction and ever since Eiffel changed leisure into fatigue. The road of Architecture does not have two directions but only one – meaning that eyes are better transformers than gears, when our understanding grates on matters which will be ever resistant, incomplete. Incompleteness being the trial of psyche; bridge over skill and intelligence. [O]
Brightness of Form was a virtue when sleepy gods were doing the world’s business and helping prolong the season of All. But eventually their sons changed the rhythm of moving evening tides through errors – agents of justice – into nuclei visible on a dial. One of these is the daynight-wintersummer-warpeace. The other is too little to pinpoint since it is disguised as a city and known in each separate flavor or affliction.
The wisdom seen through the little hole cut in Knowledge appears as having been plotted in the course of history by all things other than modesty. Yet modesty alone constitutes the will named as Father who is not I, That which is not world or All-not-in-one.
What then is Architecture? Don’t notice it. However, by supposing that force relates to looks, ie to the musical instruments still harbouring weapons, one can unhinge design of things and cities, releasing the ‘more harmonious than seen’ into each architectonic device whose life lies in killing. Deadly thinking: day in night time.
The same can be said of living the death of architecture which fake lips have reduced to ‘youthful age’. What calls into being follows the thunder – process capable of reversal. Once joined by two lines and a semi-circle, Architecture becomes reductible to parts of speech or organs of the body. Hence ‘co-operation’ thoroughly overdetermines the position of the field and makes harmony into a separate or fourth element. As with knowledge the opening crisis is an anguished if inarticulate experience: partly lunar curse, partly the curled wool before its thread has been straightened.
The Vitruvian realm which limits Architecture to the Art of Building, the Construction of Machines and the Making of Time-pieces acts as the venerable liver which has been split into three and not the famous rail of Roussel on which I suspend the beginning of a circle or its violently cut end – half spurned, half poisoned. Then the doctor forgets to submit the bill to you and hands it to God, the Beautiful or theGood. (It should be a human being who sees divine, ugly, good; better yet, a boy who will never be a ‘man’, as ‘man’ was never ‘god’!)
If every construction were just smoke one’s perception would not be restricted. But dates themselves are senses giving and receiving each other’s small insanities. How to withstand heart’s desire – since editing gets what it wants – at the soul’s expense?
Stirred like a delicious drink, the recess springs forward like hot wine mixed and seasoned by a boasting harlequin who created chess pieces and a separate playing board which consists in the one step upon which the foot does not slip even when frozen.
Life is to Architecture as earth is to watery physical force. The architect has been locked in a trunk while Architecture is staggering mindlessly to lift the load back home. By now, or soon, the sweat will evaporate and be forever lost (cubes have always been pre-historic ). Thus emerges the wonderful order of a world no longer seen as the random gathering of things significant only when clumsy. A world in which each hair-pin, arcade or tribe can no longer posture in the mother’s sensus communis . The shapes are cold, handwritten, dry: one simply cannot find their boundary in the East or in the profound fairy detector with an always extended arm.
It shall remain Unaccountable, faintly whispering – clear of illogic, sure to reason on the course of heavenly bodies, the factor π, law-abiding men trying to derive absence from songs. What penetrates fools satisfaction. Humanity reposes while mighty defenders fight madness in words, gloomy origins of the igloo, the rough millennium whose thousand-year-old ray looks like a statue of a hero gossiping behind the fallen house.
Understanding is absent-minded. The unseen Design: an inorganic sediment. The Ephasians might as well rest, letting their city be governed by children.
Without ending (since the above is neither theory nor object), I believe that even the ugliest architecture is going to be clearer than the handsomest name or the wisest visage. Because what is less wide is more beautiful. To put it simply: god at a distance looks like a construction or an edifice, but only to those who have acquired form. The calculable always equals two times god.
What is not alone is whole, both willing and unwilling to be named object. Once numbered and multiplied, this whole grew at the expenses of zeroes into which it has stepped. One knows construction by deconstruction and ever since Eiffel changed leisure into fatigue. The road of Architecture does not have two directions but only one – meaning that eyes are better transformers than gears, when our understanding grates on matters which will be ever resistant, incomplete. Incompleteness being the trial of psyche; bridge over skill and intelligence. [O]
Brightness of Form was a virtue when sleepy gods were doing the world’s business and helping prolong the season of All. But eventually their sons changed the rhythm of moving evening tides through errors – agents of justice – into nuclei visible on a dial. One of these is the daynight-wintersummer-warpeace. The other is too little to pinpoint since it is disguised as a city and known in each separate flavor or affliction.
The wisdom seen through the little hole cut in Knowledge appears as having been plotted in the course of history by all things other than modesty. Yet modesty alone constitutes the will named as Father who is not I, That which is not world or All-not-in-one.
What then is Architecture? Don’t notice it. However, by supposing that force relates to looks, ie to the musical instruments still harbouring weapons, one can unhinge design of things and cities, releasing the ‘more harmonious than seen’ into each architectonic device whose life lies in killing. Deadly thinking: day in night time.
The same can be said of living the death of architecture which fake lips have reduced to ‘youthful age’. What calls into being follows the thunder – process capable of reversal. Once joined by two lines and a semi-circle, Architecture becomes reductible to parts of speech or organs of the body. Hence ‘co-operation’ thoroughly overdetermines the position of the field and makes harmony into a separate or fourth element. As with knowledge the opening crisis is an anguished if inarticulate experience: partly lunar curse, partly the curled wool before its thread has been straightened.
The Vitruvian realm which limits Architecture to the Art of Building, the Construction of Machines and the Making of Time-pieces acts as the venerable liver which has been split into three and not the famous rail of Roussel on which I suspend the beginning of a circle or its violently cut end – half spurned, half poisoned. Then the doctor forgets to submit the bill to you and hands it to God, the Beautiful or theGood. (It should be a human being who sees divine, ugly, good; better yet, a boy who will never be a ‘man’, as ‘man’ was never ‘god’!)
If every construction were just smoke one’s perception would not be restricted. But dates themselves are senses giving and receiving each other’s small insanities. How to withstand heart’s desire – since editing gets what it wants – at the soul’s expense?
Stirred like a delicious drink, the recess springs forward like hot wine mixed and seasoned by a boasting harlequin who created chess pieces and a separate playing board which consists in the one step upon which the foot does not slip even when frozen.
Life is to Architecture as earth is to watery physical force. The architect has been locked in a trunk while Architecture is staggering mindlessly to lift the load back home. By now, or soon, the sweat will evaporate and be forever lost (cubes have always been pre-historic ). Thus emerges the wonderful order of a world no longer seen as the random gathering of things significant only when clumsy. A world in which each hair-pin, arcade or tribe can no longer posture in the mother’s sensus communis . The shapes are cold, handwritten, dry: one simply cannot find their boundary in the East or in the profound fairy detector with an always extended arm.
It shall remain Unaccountable, faintly whispering – clear of illogic, sure to reason on the course of heavenly bodies, the factor π, law-abiding men trying to derive absence from songs. What penetrates fools satisfaction. Humanity reposes while mighty defenders fight madness in words, gloomy origins of the igloo, the rough millennium whose thousand-year-old ray looks like a statue of a hero gossiping behind the fallen house.
Understanding is absent-minded. The unseen Design: an inorganic sediment. The Ephasians might as well rest, letting their city be governed by children.
Without ending (since the above is neither theory nor object), I believe that even the ugliest architecture is going to be clearer than the handsomest name or the wisest visage. Because what is less wide is more beautiful. To put it simply: god at a distance looks like a construction or an edifice, but only to those who have acquired form. The calculable always equals two times god.
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