the semantics of the continual-WIP-body-as-health, neglected by the identity politics of fabricated-scarcity-as-luxury
You can live in a BIG tower, work in a BIG office, send your kids to a BIG school, tell the time by a BIG watch, sit in a BIG chair, ride a BIG bike, and stream a film about BIG on Netflix. And yet the end result of this omnipresence is a kind of absence, as unique places—the heterogeneous fabric of cities, designed by no single architect, the organic sites of our lives—lose their meaning and purpose. We might be comforted by the possibility that such a self-contained ecosystem of generic buildings, isolated from their landscapes, can without much hassle or nostalgia be knocked down or reconfigured for whatever comes next.
It’s the deindustrialized locations that lend themselves best to raving. Architectural exoskeletons of buildings that once were full of people and their work—beautiful ghosts, just like exes. Tonight, the warehouse is lit blue and there’s just dance.