Creating Deconstruction

"Neither architecture nor anarchitecture: transarchitecture. It has it out with the event; it no longer offers its work to users, believers or dwellers, to contemplators, aesthetes or consumers. Instead, it appeals to the other to invent, in turn, the event, sign, consign or countersign: advanced by an advance made at the other - and maintenant architecture (...) no longer to organise space as a function or in view of economic, aesthetic, epiphanic or techno-utilitarian norms. (...) By pushing 'architecture towards its limits', a place will be made for 'pleasure' (...)."
Jacques Derrida, Point de folie - Maintenant l' architecture

And again, while Nicosia sheds its trees in favor of another lover, not me, but the car, first along Diagorou, soon along Themistokli Dervi, in favor of the car, who doesn't love her, not as much as I do, but no, she will shed her trees, she, on her own, namely Eleni Mavrou, will glare her, in a simulation of transparency, assuming what exactly, I question, porosity, no, mere functionality, making it available, not to me, her, but to her lover, not me, the car, the car, she thinks, loves her, loves her more than me, to go running to her lover, to give her lover, not me, the car, a clean run. And no more will we have somewhere to hide, as every lover does, hides, at some point or another, with his lover and with her lover, not the car, "secluded from the world (...) secluded together away from the world", not least behind bushes, or in small parks, at night, under trees, in shaded, dark corners, in cool breezes, amidst the midnight birdsong. No - the car's lights, the headlights, will glare, glare at me, who is not for she her lover, no more pleasure, my love, my lover, no more hiding, I alone, glared at , alone, a long shadow, a lonely shadow, shadowing your love-affair, and not loving you in the shadows, with your trees, first along Diagorou, soon along Themistokli Dervi, the trees, that is the shadows, shed, glared at, burning, feverish, while you run to your lover, not me, your lover, not me, the car, runs to you, burning, dying, not by undying love, but glared at, scowled, blazed, burning, blown away, again, not by your brilliance but by your lover, not me, the other, the car. Mad, commanding the final instance, alone, she, no longer, my love, my lover at the limits, no longer enveloped, folded, by you, with you, on you, over you. The car, your lover, is given a clear run, and I no, no longer at the limits of pleasure, pushing the limits of pleasure, in seclusion, as lovers do, together with you, no, she sheds your trees, she glares at you, glaring, glaring at me, scowling me, bedazzled me, burned. Out.















Photos of Sayama Flat by Schemata Architecture Office