trafficking in architecture

2 May

2013.05.02 17:58

innuendo   1 : veiled, oblique, or covert allusion to something not directly named : HINT, INSINUATION esp : veiled or equivocal allusion reflecting upon the character, ability or other trait of the person referred to

...the solid/void issue, which leads directly to the intercourse building and its acute reenactment of outside/inside, figure/ground, penis/vagina, male/female, Mars/Rhea Silvia.

...the tiny intercourse building opens up a huge potential source regarding the planimetric symbolism of the multitudinous [other] building plans.
Is this where the divine rape of a Vestal Virgin occurred?
the long axis

The plan of the [Martian] temple self-evidently represents a penis and two testicles -- a fitting evocation of the male god of war.
...back to Daddy's balls, architecture halls.

Which has a better memory, the mind or the body?
"The spin-doctor I most believe in is the Earth itself, mainly because of the calendar of seasonal reenactment it engenders." he said jokingly.
"Are you paraphrasing from Hemingway's A Moveable Feast again?" the other quickly queried.
enter Eutropia
"Hey! Guess what! Frank Lloyd Wright, the Guggenheims and Sigmund Freud were all at the Vatican Museum doing a double-helix love/hate thing circa 20 January 2004. They were obviously avoiding us at Mediolandum. And that reminds me how 1699 years ago at Mediolandum yesterday my husband officially became a quondam Emperor."
Where does one stop being in Mediolandum and start being in Milan?


Hiked one of the trails that I know the least, hence currently my favorite trail. It's the horse trail between Verree Road and the run that comes down from Tabor Avenue. Part of the trail is actually part of the oldest section of Susquehanna Road, but I doubt anyone knows that except me anymore. It may well be the last stretch of road before the very young John James Audobon arrived at his first American homestead, Ury Farm.
Along the trail I spotted my first deer path. I didn't know there even were such things until two days ago when a man I met along my walk around Fox Chase Farm told me about a deer path going through the patch of woods we were standing next to. I told him about my various deer sightings right around there and he looked kind of jealous. Then I asked him if he knew anything about birds because I'd like to know what the birds are that I often see flitting and darting and diving over the pasture. He said he didn't know, so I told him I'm calling them meadow larks because of the shape of their wings (and that Fleet Foxes song).
Just as I was done the trail, a Chelsea Handler look-a-like on a 'blonde' horse came slow trotting down the paved path. She said "Hi" first so I asked her, "What color do you call your horse?" "It's palomino." "Do they ever call it blonde?" "No, just palomino. It gets browner in summer, and the mane and tail, when washed, are white." "How old is he?" "Nine." "Is that old? young?" "It's fairly young. Like a teenager." "Ah, then 'Palomino' kinda fits." "Actually, he's a bit of a brat, so 'Brat' would fit better."
Coincidentally, started reading Jonathan Franzen's Farther Away last night--bird watching on a very remote South Pacific Island, Robinson Crusoe, and David Foster Wallace's suicide. Thinking about Franzen's writing style while I was walking back along the creek made me wish I could somehow have a written transcript of all the thoughts that go through my mind while I go on my walks.



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