A place for meditation for one person. A place for assassination for a hundred people.
This project I call it the pretentious house. It’s an allegory of a literal ideal. That one person as the architect, and the designer of the house, meditate in the house, waiting for that hundred people to find him. Yet, the architect designs the house as a space for lost. A complex labyrinth that people came with with a neutral mind. Knowing they are looking for a person but no exact clue. As they walk around and got trap several time, they start to curse the architect - in this literal ideal, it would be an assassination of the creator.
That a hundred person come to that one person’s life in an unknown day. They walk around in that person’s mind palace...
I meditate here. In a small wood filled with mud, canopies, humid air, insects, and a hundred people appear in here trying to kill me. I know they will come to me eventually in my life but I don’t know when exactly.
I need to meditate to keep myself calm. Or I meditate to overcome the reckless and restless in my mind. These are not real. Only the cabinet I stay is real.
I heard steps. Subtle waggle of vessels from the edge of the wood I can sense. Are they coming to me finally, or is that squirrel grinding its teeth?
They are here. I can hear the steps crowding around. From one terminal to another. Shaken vessels. Talking noise. “Really, a person lives here? Must be a pyscho.” I am not. At least, I don’t kill people. Not like you.
I need to meditate. Or should I hide? They can’t find me. I design the vessel. They don’t understand. Which terminal’s the safest? The one high above the canopy floating in the air. The one hiding in the branches, hideously. The one buried underground, nearby the water puddles, shacking up with mud and worms. Eu.
They are coming. I wish they understand. Will they? Please find me. Are they sure they want to kill me? I need to meditate.
I need to meditate to keep myself calm. Or I meditate to overcome the reckless and restless in my mind. These are not real. Only the cabinet I stay is real.
I heard steps. Subtle waggle of vessels from the edge of the wood I can sense. Are they coming to me finally, or is that squirrel grinding its teeth?
They are here. I can hear the steps crowding around. From one terminal to another. Shaken vessels. Talking noise. “Really, a person lives here? Must be a pyscho.” I am not. At least, I don’t kill people. Not like you.
I need to meditate. Or should I hide? They can’t find me. I design the vessel. They don’t understand. Which terminal’s the safest? The one high above the canopy floating in the air. The one hiding in the branches, hideously. The one buried underground, nearby the water puddles, shacking up with mud and worms. Eu.
They are coming. I wish they understand. Will they? Please find me. Are they sure they want to kill me? I need to meditate.
- the architect
