We are each of us a moveable piece of type, awaiting assembly in a meaningful form.
The thing you are looking for is generated by the code that does the looking.
There is just this one thing, in the world, just now; just this one thing happening.
A city, by analogy (or perhaps by structural identity) could build itself one citizen at a time.
Interior space…requires the backbone of a proper desk.
And I think we are pretty absurd, pretty good. And so that’s what I say.
The fresco as we know it today is a chemically re-engineered artefact.
Your life is not a river but a City of Images.
Profane to sacred. Or the other way around, depending on your mood.
“Be sure to get out.”
It is not meaning you should be groping for, but permutational possibility.
By night you are a Failed Animal, but to a limited extent free.
The business of memory is mostly to forget.
A city is not a microscope, nor are its citizens microbes.
The world, we can philosophically conclude, is everything that is a mess.