Monday, February 09, 2009

towers open fire

The building becomes the installation

The ultimate task of SA is to inform its new born structures in real time. The design task of the information architect is how to keep the process alive and apply meaning to the behaviour in real time. How can the designers tunnel a continuous stream of data to and from the built structure and give meaning to the shape and content of the structures changing in real time? To facilitate this fundamental new world view we must look at buildings as if they are instruments, which can be played in real time. These dynamic buildings I regard as running processes, which are continuously informed and which continuously inform other running processes. They are active nodes in a complex adaptive operational network.

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1 Comments:

Anonymous more optimistic than Mlr said...

Two Letters
1
I see you sweating at the typewriter
Manufacturing corruptible verse
On the death by strangulation in the network
Of necessary laws. The masons, you write
Would soon be needed as mortar
For the building of the Great Wall, and ever
And again are Great Walls built. Nothing new
Under the sun, you write. You write nothing new.
You have learned to beg questions.
The applause which deafens you: is it none?
The quickest effects are not the newest.
A meeting on the evening after our talk:
Two republicans on the way to bed
Discussing democracy
Finethatstheformbutwheresthecontent
They count the years according to wage-increases
The months after the appearance of the Magazine
Each wise in the way of Keuner
Not a thought which doesn’t go through the belly
And as in Buechner no fear before priestly garb
They have small horizons, but are right
When they say, reading your verse:
What’s this Somebody actually saying to us?
Doesn’t he understand the role of the land reform?
2
What can a rhyme do against the knuckleheads
You ask. Nothing, say some, others: little.
Shakespeare wrote Hamlet, a tragedy
History of a man whom threw his knowledge away
Bent himself to stupid traditions.
He did not stamp out the stupidity.
Did he want to write nothing more than a form letter?
Hamlet the Dane Prince and grsit for worms stumbling
Dully from hole to hole to the last hole
In back the spectre which made him
Green like Ophelias flesh in the cradle
The horizon of the armaments lasts longer
And shortly before the third crowing of the cock
A fool tore the jesters’ bells of the philosopher
Crawled a white-bellied bloodhound into the tank.
Or the misunderstood Bertolt Brecht
With great tenacity and a bit of hope
He too could no more than bend the bow
How many knuckleheads survived him.
All his life long he sought the possibility
Of not killing the next-door-neighbor. Towards the end
He saw them coming from far off
Half-hidden in a blood-drenched mist.
[Johannes] Becher sweated writing his sonnets
For the concourse of the Volga and Neckar.
Will the Jura farmers have read
the Sonnettwerk, if Communism takes
the ground off their shoulders?
For us the span between Nothing and Little.

11:10 AM  

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