Architecture of Cities: Above and Beyond

To see the night when the light is so bright,

Take the beautiful I go out to take – – the beauty and the beast; I beg to ask which is…:

So much beauty in what you don’t like- –

So much uncertainty in what I think.

Judgement is not mine- –

I merely stand and ask…:

Would I dive into the liquid that is sky?

The sky above sits by my side- -The photography that is mine I see from here- -Here, looks like the entire 1968 cover of the Whole Earth Catalog: The earth’s stars glittering but stranger than life- like eyes-akin to Francesco del Cossa’s Saint Lucy Extra Set of Eyes: Much to reveal: Much more to imagine.

If my camera is to record anything in this or next life; be warned, the breath that may expire- -I exhale to confirm I am alive: I search again for the breath that titillates the eyes: The oxygen may explode willingly atop the iris–snippety-snap-snap:

Tomorrow again one frame exhausts but I do continue through today- -for what may be tomorrow: Without that I am incomplete: Everyday is the same: The sky is me: The earth is seen spinning on the imaginary axis around: Then is there a point.

Walter Benjamin recorded time making ultra articulate observances: They are like whispering lady bugs- -alluring and luring your thoughts to the moments need: His footsteps among the Arcades will never be mine but only if…The manner in which Benjamin observed was/is an invitation to a greater voluminous dream: Events- -busts, sconces and an architectural maquette or two cut from plaster of Paris: More engravings, tapestry’s and anonymous curios rest in these Paris deposits: The Arcades that Benjamin’s mind stole just for my eyes- – set ablaze my every moment behind camera device: Razed histories abound; Unknown artifacts from nations speaking to my known histories: Lives and words become imaginary keepsakes: My heart feels like oxygen permeating my eyes- -Like the  passion for captures and living- -A new history renews old passions for yesterday’s histories: Remembering yesterday is exhausting:

Walter Benjamin animated the inanimate: The aura that inhabits my camera is all too aware of what my eyes have missed- -does my camera have time to revisit the past? Where else but in the depository’s that hold so many secrets- -our secrets: It is Benjamin’s eyes that drive me to a faster gait.

I rummage through stories that are not mine: The joy that there is too much to know: The ideas abound remind me of grattaging the sectors of my architecture’s cities- -The cities of my architectural captures: The captures have always been meaningless without the investigations:

Sometimes I dream that I walk in the shadows that were once Jack Kerouac’s:  Sometimes I allow my mind to trace the frenetic that was On The Road: I imagine his continuous scroll of frenzied excitements: I could never mimic his mind in words nor capturing frames: I do imagine emulating a fraternal companion: It is a fun place to pillow my mind:

My mind is a pocket full of tools as an archaeologist might wield line levels and dental tools: I look back at my world with incredulous fascination: I am in a constant motion of constant grattage- -My eyes see the streets I have mannered from a imaginary stepladder rotating on ball bearings: The speed seems equal to the earths rotation on an imaginary axis: My world seems to appear and vanish: Then I realize, My existence seems imaginary- -The lasting captures seem imaginary: I close my eyes and dream again.

My naked eye awakens: My camera narrates my new days: It elucidates for my eyes only architecture’s variety of vanity’s: There is a quiet whisper: I follow for more:

I have stood a top one-thousand and nine buildings: I see what a city has to offer: My lungs caught in an ecstatic ecstasy- -I “snippety-snap -snap”. An eternity of light may pass until I see more: I wait with eyes in hand: for something not yet known- -different. The precious breath rests- -the eyes follow- -then there is there again I replay the moment. The streets feel like an asylum of neuroses.

I have walked in step with many imaginary friends: Benjamin and Kerouac the alterity that is sets them apart; Yet the two flaneurs with vastly different genes compel me to dream beyond my yesterdays, todays and tomorrows:

Their minds have always seemed melded into one: Passion and Pace; grace and austerity embraces as nuptials by interest: Forever forward I tend to imagine linked to their past: What remains today is a vault of fresh thoughts to grattage over and over…