From the bottom line, the root, where we find ourselves then - the furthest point from now, in what is forgotten, the line we trace, naturally --without observation, undistracted by the marks and increments of life time, the supra-historical "human" line stretches back beyond humanness itself, into australopithecine fantasy, an unconscious history, to the first tools, the thought just prior to its invention, and the first occurrence of "man" ingesting animal fat... This strand is a tear, a tear from nature, previous nature, and the beginnings of something that has not yet come to a close.
The tear promotes fear because it marks a dis-integration of life from the direct "reasoning" of the planet (a form of denial)... And when one reflects, one furthers this, from the start -- entering into darkness, too curious, too human, entering into fiction -- to see what's in that cave, to find what's at that peak. Still, as of yet, there is no architecture. But, in the tumbled, jutted rock and earth one finds the conceptual foundations for all human enclosure.
Klee draws a line, a lifeline... There can be no "reasoned" horizon unless there is someone to produce the line that is its simulation... Thus all horizons, even the lowest are abstractions, cuts... This from that, tit for tat... Onward. Klee marks the baseline with two hashes, hashes that mark out a single lifetime, the lifetime of the individual in relation to the lifeline that includes all life, not just your own... Life as "always"... The hash form brackets, indicating the birth and death of the individual. What happens between these brackets is the variable we call a conscious life... The game -- to see how much of the machine drawn here you can piece together in the time marked by the start and finish lines that cross life eternally. Balance being becoming...
Yes, between the brackets we find individual lifetime, but we also are exposed to the entire history of consciousness. Klee has drawn a box using the baseline as its front edge. The entire box is subterranean really, so the box is hole... A toolbox for all human failure, an entrance into darker aspects of thought, a fissure, a hole cut into the ground in the name of archaeology... This hole, as darkness is risk, the chance involved in considering progress a human endeavor, the chance of failure... This hole, which is an ark, holds all human fear, everything we have forgotten, put behind us, and the things we consider beneath us -- the animal, the natural (the gutter)... It is the wilderness we enter -- so, we have not in all the years since learned much... We are stranded, straddling the abyss, the hole, the ark of prehistory. What we forget has no meaning, but for the fear produced from the slightest hint of these forgotten memories returning, surfacing... Any fall... The resurfacing of self-savages... We all know they are there... Even in the brightest sunlight. The source, the glow -- its simulation in the cave... Still, there is great temptation here, great and confusing, fusing one to the crust - like gravity... Resistance to this is "Reason". From the first sparks of consciousness man has been on a route of self-abstraction from its surrounding, a covering over and filling in of all holes, to elevate and make the crust impenetrable... The ambivalent castration of mythos...
From the bottom line, the root, up from the lines that criss-cross prehistory, man rises, stands tall, walks, upright... And, now from this vantage he can see, now realizes that for all this time the planet has been mocking him... Mocking the function and form of his body... From this point forward we can talk about architecture... Architecture is a challenge to nature. But, it is also a challenge to the human body...
As has already been stated -- consciousness rises lighter than air, a gas, falls heavy... Even within the brackets of a single lifetime one may feel the strange flux of all history, the entire concept of, "fight against and rise above."... And, this is not so much a mystic quality as it is a fact of human nature, now, as it turns to gas... As it falls heavy from the inside out, falling to the gutter, off the wagon... Losing ones keys or mind... I wouldn't want to contradict myself, although I am certain I have made numerous incompatible statements; however, this is the way it works... There is always a weighing, a measuring of progress and distance... The gravity of situations... This is the advent of the future, the beginnings of its concepts, so we build a tower, step upon the pedestal and proclaim that we are now our own, god's creation. God is a well plaster ceiling, a canopy, umbrella... A concept that man later takes upon himself...
There are expanses of time between the first spark and the point at which one sees the self a housed here, in the body... It takes a long time for automation to wear-off, for nature to fall away; but this is a space race, so from the first spark the human rocket is ignited. Accelerating. Abandoning. There is great loss at the moment of lift-off, all of pre-history falling, flaking, eroding, and buried... Gone.
Any mentor - for I have never fixed upon any preferred discipline, or any single field. Suffering deeply from a general, nondescript boredom, entranced into pure, bare existence, unrecognizable as "life" - this is not living... Yet, in this trance, in the darkest passages there does arises a feeling of warmth, the movement of the earth felt from deep within the thorax, radiating from the inside-out what can only be called an urge - a feeling that expresses want without any want for an object. So from the horizon that is set before me, I select, and pick at random curios - a mentor as the object of the moment.
