13 Under the Armpits of Giants
Suddenly at the University of Glazed Hams, Pulp Architecture starting flying with the Z boys. Dogday became Dogtown became Dogbowl. Architecture crawled along the street. The shared excitement with those already on the street began to put, at greater risk, life itself. This did not always mean resisting the architecture that’s possible. But it did mean having the knack of altering it as it appeared.
Under the armpits of these giants, the Pulp Architects become programmers of mixed realities. Trans-programming became a manual always about to be written; a kind of pulp practice. A few attempted new names, called themselves trans-architects.
Under the armpits of these giants, no more the luxury of spectacle. Life was a garage, a VW Polo run as an office, a computer on the run, or a shack in the foothills of the Himalayas. Replace entertainment with passion and dedication. The hacker ethic was never the exclusive preserve of the hackers.
Under the armpits of these new giants, new Form-z boys fulfilled a long history of joyful intervention; an atavism always about to go too far, seduced as they were by constant upset.
There was a tendency in the 20th century to see architecture as a social service to greater mankind. Family and loved ones were neglected. Life itself suffered. Throughout the country, in all the Universities of Glazed Hams, on the shoulders of those giants, life had become far too comfortable. But no one was listening. Everyone mouthed the answers before the questions were out.
“Under the armpits, we work differently,” the San Antone student said, “we use our families, we use our close ones. We use our kitchens and other people’s kitchens. We live this upset to the extent that it replaces life with a constant re-programming.”
Getting the hang of this, Vegas chimed in: “Sure! Architecture or life is not a question asked anymore. Architecture is life. The street is all that matters. It is in constant labour. It has become a calling. We share with the monk and the fugitive spontaneity. We share ability. We share the eagerness to participate at an angle to another life.”
The applause was deafening.
Under the armpits of these giants, the Pulp Architects become programmers of mixed realities. Trans-programming became a manual always about to be written; a kind of pulp practice. A few attempted new names, called themselves trans-architects.
Under the armpits of these giants, no more the luxury of spectacle. Life was a garage, a VW Polo run as an office, a computer on the run, or a shack in the foothills of the Himalayas. Replace entertainment with passion and dedication. The hacker ethic was never the exclusive preserve of the hackers.
Under the armpits of these new giants, new Form-z boys fulfilled a long history of joyful intervention; an atavism always about to go too far, seduced as they were by constant upset.
There was a tendency in the 20th century to see architecture as a social service to greater mankind. Family and loved ones were neglected. Life itself suffered. Throughout the country, in all the Universities of Glazed Hams, on the shoulders of those giants, life had become far too comfortable. But no one was listening. Everyone mouthed the answers before the questions were out.
“Under the armpits, we work differently,” the San Antone student said, “we use our families, we use our close ones. We use our kitchens and other people’s kitchens. We live this upset to the extent that it replaces life with a constant re-programming.”
Getting the hang of this, Vegas chimed in: “Sure! Architecture or life is not a question asked anymore. Architecture is life. The street is all that matters. It is in constant labour. It has become a calling. We share with the monk and the fugitive spontaneity. We share ability. We share the eagerness to participate at an angle to another life.”
The applause was deafening.
posted by frank heron at 6:10 AM
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