(no subject)
The sky scraper. The thought of them, to be inside one, to function through one, provokes the anticipation of an existential terror. To be mechanically injected into the sublime, one's reality being drawn into a scale and a scope of human action beyond one's own.
I've just had, for the last twenty minutes, a dream of such, a series of vignettes. The only one I remember was the last, a one panel editorial cartoon of a dream, on the rediculousness of waiting for an elevator to exercise. The throwing together of biological and mechanical demands... where are the borders of my self drawn and where does the other enter?
I've just had, for the last twenty minutes, a dream of such, a series of vignettes. The only one I remember was the last, a one panel editorial cartoon of a dream, on the rediculousness of waiting for an elevator to exercise. The throwing together of biological and mechanical demands... where are the borders of my self drawn and where does the other enter?