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[ i am corey smith, 20+ year old aspiring architect.
[ i believe in the process of change.
[ i am an eastcoaster new yorker currently stranded in the midwest.

[ what can be done with one substance must never be done with another. no two materials are alike . no two sites on earth are alike . no two buildings have the same purpose. the purpose, the site, the material determines the shape . nothing can be reasonable and beautiful unless its made by one central idea and the idea sets every detail. its integrity is to follow its own truth, its one single theme and to serve its own single purpose . its maker gives it the soul and every wall, window and stairway to express it. - howard roark

[ once you have given up the ghost, everything follows with dead certainty, even in the midst of chaos. -henry miller

[ art and war are the great manifestations of sensuality; lust is their flower. lust is the quest of the flesh for the unknown - valentine de saint-point

[ protect me from what i want - jenny holzer

 [ the moment of surrender of vision over visibility ]    2009-10-19 11:17:46 ET
There have been times in my life where I wanted to reach out of my own skin. Something breaks and tells me there's a freedom outside of this and I want it beyond desire. I want it like an imperative that personified, becomes impossible to diverge from. Like a narrow path with tall thick tree walls set on both sides. A broken K-wall. A dark car crashed into a ditch. An overcast sky.

The times when pattern recognition is a burden and fate is "not without a sense of irony" to a bleeding point. Sometimes both of these shapes happen in exacting moments or spans of time that carry a certain perceived alignment. It's the moments where "alignment" is not precise enough to describe the poetry of the pattern. It's almost holy, sacred.

Like home.

It's like being chased by something that's building a path for you. Imagine the concept of an 'inverted trap'. A syzygy of bread crumbs leading to the monster at the end of the book.

But it turns out the monster is yourself. You yourself tied down the pages. You yourself nailed the barrier. You yourself laid the masonry. You alone designed the pattern. You engineered the connections. You draw the perspective, write the poem and build the model. You, however, still turned every page. You build other people homes because you can't find one of your own.

Because you're always escaping something. Yourself the impossible prison. A bird in a cage with the door wide open. The frame and the masterpiece.

I gladly am falling humbly on my knees at the altar of a dark star. In the same buildings where she started her fascination with repetitive form and where I am finding a nexus inside myself, an aleph of repetitive formz. Humble to what I have done, lost and still seek. My body has become that begging bowl and I have woven my tears into a black bhikkhu robe.

The humility of washing each others feet. Heeling sores and wrapping them in clean cloth.

My heart recedes to an acre, a clearing. Elevated over the harbor. It's beat will float gently on the surface of the Hudson, tethered to a pier by the longest cord, pulling at your stomach. A contour line on a very private topography. That leads to a little light house and never relents.

...and the moon will be damned.
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 [ new skin for the old ceremony ]    2009-09-12 17:02:27 ET
I have found myself finding value in being silent. Saying nothing and reserving my thoughts for myself. So I decide to come back here to a smaller and quieter place where I can speak softly and say less. I was invited here with an open heart and mind. While I may have lost the invitation to that heart and mind I will be here, honoring that invitation.

Through a net of lies, I'll come to you,
When the dead arise, I will wait there too.
If your heart is torn, who can wonder why?
If the night is long, here's my lullaby.

 [ 36 50' N, 76 21' W ]    2006-07-16 04:05:20 ET

my front yard

so, i'm three weeks in and the joy of being here still has yet to fade. i have seen the ocean reflect the sky. i saw the sun go down over an industrialized port skyline.

i have driven through tunnels and i have sped across highways blaring breakcore hand in hand with my partner. i have broken into buildings just to take pictures of the structure. i have drank with friends in great quantity and with great quality.

i danced hard to a few songs at a night here but spent a great deal of my actual time there talking to norman, someone i havent spoken to in a very long time.

i have rediscovered the city and revalued the worth of human experience [something i have spoken of and finally got to do on my own]. i have expanded my reading list thanks to raine.

i spent two weeks with her when i first got back to virginia. it has been the best part about returning home. sharing with her why i love this place. sharing my friends with her.

to see how happy she was and how we could close ourselves off in our own world with a gaze solidifies the importance of full integration. it's an entire conversation in a look carried by a UI i completely trust.

i have broken my glasses which means i need to get new ones. in the meantime i look 'extra nerdy' [ pic ]. i also believe i have broken my right hand again and my left one now as well. i ate it pretty bady and made an ass out of myself while rollerblading.

i've been back in a Front 242 mood again. i'm stuck on 'soul manager' and 'motion' again. the words carry a different meaning now. a very different meaning.

i always seem to catch the binary clock above the mythBOX at 2:42pm.

welcome to corey v3.0 as some people have called it.

[ listening to | nitzer ebb : in our own world ]
7 comments

 [ a question of time ]    2006-06-13 17:34:03 ET



thats her.
18 comments

 [ ...of the future ]    2006-06-12 00:11:17 ET

sometimes you have to leave behind everything for the horizon.
sometimes you have to walk out into the ocean wearing the clothes on your back.
sometimes you can only take what you can carry.

this is all of those times.

[ listening to | depeche mode : nothing's impossible ]
20 comments