ig: lulumoonowlbooks - architect: trpcarquitetos
Guy discovers open window and falls in love with the night air , Healed for 100000 points
External shots of botanical gardens by Swiss photographer Samuel Zeller
Theodora Allen - Death Mask II, 2022
SS23 Couture
Silk-mix jacquard and embossed taffeta rain coat. Hand-beaded with over 30,000 Swarovski clear crystals. Over 600 hours of hand work.
Yeah, I worked on The Machine. And, as I pried open its secret compartments and loosened its wiring harness and decrypted its memories, it worked on me also. Deep within its many hidden copses lay immense knowledge, unknown to all but those who formed it. Who built The Machine? No one knows. Everyone knows. I know. Now that The Machine works again, the person who last built it was me.
For years, I was a humble regular home-gamer mechanic. Something around the house would break. For the sake of argument, we'll use as an example the time my microwave blew up when I opened the door. One morning, it just went pop and never worked again. Well, at least until I fixed it. It turns out that the door had a little microswitch inside, and that microswitch got gummy with aerosolized food goo. Because it was gummed up, it wouldn't switch the computer off in time when I opened the door. That would be dangerous: I could get a full face shot of microwaves from the still-running magnetron. A safety interlock fired, and blew the brains out of the big fuse controlling the magnetron. It died for me. Replacing the switch, and the fuse, brought that microwave back to life. I did many such repairs. I was not prepared for this repair.
Fix after fix, I built up my confidence, and I got cockier. I'd pull broken machines out of the trash, mysterious foreign computers from another country. Some things escaped my grasp, and slipped further into oblivion. Most, though: most, I pulled back from the brink, and forced them to live again. That's when I found The Machine.
It was beautiful, intricate: thousands of parts, wedged together tighter than I had ever seen before, and a cryptic fault at the centre of it. When you cram together this much stuff, the complexity doesn't just add: it multiplies. To aid me, I looked for a guide, a factory service manual. The manufacturer laughed. The manufacturer's representative laughed. Someone who made it, who I tracked down on LinkedIn, hung up on me and refused to answer his door when I visited. Weeks later, he was gone, "dead" in a suspiciously convenient accident, a body left behind at the edge of his bleach-washed property with no identifying marks or fingerprints. I got the message: I was on my own.
This little wire just came unplugged. I guess someone must have dropped it. All better now.
L'Arlequin nightclub / discotheque, 1983. From L'Architecture d'Aujourd'hui.
Scan
"How do I stop being scared of-" You do it scared. The courage arrives WITH the action, not before it. Don't wait to feel confident before you act because the key to confidence is usually doing the thing while still scared as fuck
Edge o’ Beyond | Amelie • in teal iridescent peacock-inspired embroidery
Hilma af Klint
Group IX/SUW No. 12, The Swan No. 12
1915