I was speaking to a graduate of Notre Dame Architecture program last night and he claimed that "architecture is an art, not a science".

I think he might be right. The principles upon which the "science" of architecture are based are inherently practical. Will it stand up? How much will it cost? How long will it last? How will it fit my lifestyle? What kind of Place for Me will it be? All the rules of proportion are aimed to fulfill the answers to these questions.

Yet from principles there ought to be demonstration. Is there no demonstration in architecture? Is it not to be demonstrated that objectively the most pleasing configuration of a wall is one with an odd number of windows and an even number of buttresses, according to the configuration of the human who has an odd number of openings and an even number of supports?

People are weird. And stupid.

I'm going to go work on my th...

oww.

I liken my thesis to a large, half-carven oaken stump. With claw marks.

I'm going to be a good boy and go work on my thesis....

Writing something poetic would feel really good right now. *shifts keyboard on desk*

Reminds me of when I sit down with a blank piece of paper and a pencil with a subject in front of me waiting to be drawn. And I sit there with pencil poised over the paper. And I look at the pencil, and I look at the paper, and I remember that I have no time to draw right now.

I'm going to go work on my thesis.

It's Saturday!

I'm going to be a good boy and work on my thesis, so I can....

It's Friday!

I'm going to be a good boy and work on my thesis, and get my seminar readings done, so I can get to ride my bike this weekend! (in the rain?)

I love the new chain and sprockets, btw. Tis like getting a new transmission, or shaft drive, or something. I'm enjoying it while it lasts, or 600 miles till the new chain stretches and needs a tighten.

oh, this summer is going to be hell. I can see it coming from five miles away. I think I should find another job that I love better and other people that I love worse.

oh, never mind.

Really.

Shit.

(my profound apologies to all of you who have to put up with my dirty mouthfingers; I try to keep it to a minimum, but it won't go away, and I'm not enough of a poet to work around it. Sorry. Deal with it.)

someone grabs and squeezes the brake on the windlass and I slide

resurrection

the rope soaks in layers of skin

blood is running down my forearms over my shoulders

but I'm saved from the mossy stones

no longer falling no longer moving

now

if only the shreds can begin to climb

slimy hand over slimy hand

Yes, ordinarily I come back from a ride feeling like I'm on top of the world, but today I come back feeling like the world is on top of me.

I can't think. I did something stupid. I don't know exactly what it was. Maybe nothing.

I'm so screwed. What did I do?

what did i do what did you do what do you think you did orange eyes and a growl in the trees run dammit run, nowhere to run, nowhere to hide yes you are going to face consequences this time run run run faster i opened an old wound not far enough i didn't run far enough orange eyes and a growl and i forgot she hunts with the wolf RUN RUN dammit RUN FAST

there is not enough alcohol left in the closet