Oh dear. I think I need a triangular sandwich or something even stronger.
You know things have come to a pretty fucking pass when you find yourself browsing a site that begins with the following words:
"HOW do we express in garden-architectural form, if at all, the sensibility of "return", as expressed by Massimo Cacciari in the essay “Abendland”, Posthumous People: Vienna at the Turning Point (1996)?"
I must admit that evening fills me with dread. As do afternoons and late night (when it's supposedly bedtime, but who wants to lie awake in bed feeling like shit?). I want to turn back the clock or sleep it away. Or drink it away. Time is obnoxious. When is a good time? Maybe the morning; once I'm fully awake and doing, mornings aren't too bad. Immediately post-Lunch inspires feeling of self-destruction, because suddenly existence is way too irksome. Irksome, I tell you!
"HOW do we express in garden-architectural form, if at all, the sensibility of "return", as expressed by Massimo Cacciari in the essay “Abendland”, Posthumous People: Vienna at the Turning Point (1996)?"
I must admit that evening fills me with dread. As do afternoons and late night (when it's supposedly bedtime, but who wants to lie awake in bed feeling like shit?). I want to turn back the clock or sleep it away. Or drink it away. Time is obnoxious. When is a good time? Maybe the morning; once I'm fully awake and doing, mornings aren't too bad. Immediately post-Lunch inspires feeling of self-destruction, because suddenly existence is way too irksome. Irksome, I tell you!