Something Sometime

终于不用再和吕经理纠缠了，新找的模型公司的人居然在第一次通话中就听明白柱头是什么东西，而且能够准确的把这个概念与古典建筑联系起来，我说出爱奥尼柱头之后他立刻回应到“哦，就是那个罗马柱头是吧。”当然我吹毛求蚩地纠正他“这是希腊柱头，不是罗马柱头。”

下午在他们公司里我发现所有的人都把这个东西叫做“罗马柱头”，罗马就罗马吧，以弗所岛上的希腊人应该不会介意吧，这么多年大家都把我的名字写作“青峰”我介意过吗？

宁愿忍受错误也不愿意费劲地让吕经理明白帕提隆神庙外围的多立克柱廊里面还有一间两端各有6根多立克石柱的房间用于容纳祭祀用品、Demetrius Poliorcetes的女人、以及古典时代末期原来属于依瑞克先神庙的雅典娜神像。

In all these years, I actually designed only two projects. But they think it's too much, it is decided one should be demolished ASAP. So, there will be only one left. One wife, one child, one life and one building, perfect, isn't it?

It has been identified as a iron fact that no one thinks me interesting except my poor wife. Of course I also think her very interesting, unfortunately I am not the only one who thinks so, there are probably around 14 other people holding the same stance. I have been quite sure that our baby will be the 15th. After her (or his) mother continuously talked to her (or him) for more than 10 minutes, I concluded with only one sentence "let's go to bed." I am thinking of whether to transfer myself into an interesting person or not, or maybe it is essentially impossible?

    Crazily obsessed with early Christian and medieval architectures recently, as I am translating this section of a book on architectural history. Hagia Sophia, which was thought as an ugly fat monster, now becomes an enigmatic giant who gave little care to narrow human harmony, weak elegance and coward historical regulation. What a powerful existence, it silents all bullshit, it just stands there and be, and be, and be...

    Such thing can only be created by non-architects -- Anthemius and Isidorus. They might be ignorant of architectural routine, but who cares about routine, who cares about the right way, and who cares about  beauty. Asking me what architecture is needed in contemporary China? A big big big pendentive DOME, absolutely.

病房里住进来一个东北大哥。50多岁，体态发福，虎头虎脑。他是那种典型的会套近乎的人，刚进病房10秒钟，他就问我结婚了没有，如果没有的话他就把闺女许给我。

东北大哥的老婆陪着一块儿，与《乡村爱情》里那些妇女一样，她们时常会对丈夫做出语言上的批判，但是这种批判仅仅是一种姿态，在实质上她对他言听计从，完全放弃对整体局势的控制力。因此东北大哥对待他媳妇的态度缺乏尊敬，在整个住院期间，我没有看到一次他对她表现出亲昵的态度，相反她则时不时地伸手摸摸他的肚子，头顶或手。

东北大哥非常爱唠嗑，所以跟我这个不爱说话的人住一个病房实在是委屈他了。好在他有机会跟住院医生以及主刀的主任一次又一次地详细复述他的病情发展经过，在牡丹江红旗医院的遭遇，以及现在对自己视力的忧虑。他把这一切讲述得非常有条理和生动，一个喜欢唠嗑的人应该具备这个素质，而他也对我这一方面的缺陷非常忧虑。不久，他就跟对面、隔壁、斜对面的病友、乃至于75米外豪华病房中一个因为醉酒摔坏了眼眶的山西煤老板建立了良好的唠嗑关系，东北人特有的粗旷嗓音和地方俗语让整个病区响亮了很多。甚至是对我爱理不理的护士mm们也对他颇为欣赏，手术完以后护士长带着一大堆护士mm来来回回照看了他很久，而我身边的护士人数从头到尾没有超过两个。有一次，他对一个正在给他扎针的、带着大口罩的护士mm说她跟另外一个带着大口罩的护士长的很像，不清楚他是怎么隔着口罩分辨她们的长相，也可能他所指的相似恰恰就是她们的大口罩。

我已经习惯了东北大哥的大嗓门和连续语速，所以那天早上他着实让我吃了一惊。那时我还在床上发呆，他开始用异乎寻常的温柔语调讲电话：“这几天可想你了，”然后是一长段沉默，“我在北京呢，”又是一大段沉默，“心里想着就行了呗，”沉默20秒后他挂断了电话。10分钟后他媳妇拎着大包小包来了，开始给他热鸭子，热鱼，热鸽子，热烙饼，房间里，走廊上又开始回绕他硬朗而毋庸置疑的声音。

     结婚的时候老婆执意要买套婚纱，后来选了套半巴洛克风格的（因为去掉了华丽的、价值3000元的摆尾，所以只能算半个），花了4000多。后来这个衣服出借过两三次，现在还挂那儿，谁有需要的话可以免费借去用。反正巴洛克风格都400多年了，也不存在过时的问题，只是装饰有点多，不太适合有魔鬼身材的女士，她们应该穿全紧身，平滑无装饰的那种礼服。

     后来我也买了套学位服，可能还是虚荣吧，花了3000多。现在还没人借去穿过，有点浪费，谁有需要的话可以免费借用，参加化妆舞会扮个英国法官或者是哈利波特什么的还是可以的。

     岂曰无衣，与子同袍。

      一开始慌了，不知道怎么办，也没多想就开走了，也可能是想逃避吧。一路上心神不宁，想来还是应该回去找到人家车主，负责给人家维修。等老婆上了车就要安心多了，两个人确实比一个人强大一点。马上赶回小区里，那车还没动。于是写条让车主联系我，结果人家车玻璃上贴着电话呢。很忐忑的给车主电话让他下来处理，等他过来才发现车主居然是隔壁邻居，人家前两天还嘱咐我停车位要选对否则容易被蹭，没想到今天就蹭了人家还没到首保的车。实在是惭愧啊，这破车，居然不装雷达，一个倒车影像有啥用啊。还有那个津H，要不是它占了路，也不会导致我蹭别人的车。最主要的还是自己不仔细，新手就是新手。

   I bought The Interpretations of Dream and Lord of Rings on the bridge. "Do you know what this book is about", I asked the book seller. I knew the question seemed impolite, but I did want to know whose hand picked up Freud for this lady. She did not reply.

   If I were her, I would say "didn't you buy The Wealth of Nations two days ago? Read Chapter one, then you will understand what is the Division of Labour." I would reply "but Division of Labour is a capitalism evil, if you don't know what you are selling, according to Karl Marx, you have already been alienated from your work, you will feel lost in the world." She would say "how silly you are to believe that human being can know everything, that's a misunderstanding, truth is not grasped by man, truth comes into being, it shows itself to be, so what we really need to do is waiting for the call of being." Then I would probably reply "Ê%&*عئÉ₤ФŊŠγךiε√−€*)H#....." 

    I still remember the shock I felt 5 years ago, when I discovered the sale of <Critique of Pure Reason> (Chinese, published by China Commerce and Trade Press in classic series) among a bunch of pirate books sold at a illegal stall on the pedestrian bridge across the third ring road, a favourite place for DVDs and poor disabled asking for financial help.

  Yesterday, at the same place, I saw Adam Smith's The Wealth of Nations, and Scruton's A Short History of Modern Philosophy lying in the middle of the sale board. Whereas these books are less promising than Kant's work, the astonishment was no smaller than I had five years ago -- both of them are completely English, even the cover of Scruton's book is the same as the one I saw in the Blackwell book shop at the end of the Chambers Street.  Pacing the step of pirate DVDs, some Chinese people are now working hard to introduce the latest philosophical books to their fellow citizens who just entertained their stomach with instant hot pot, and paid for a new transparent mask for their new brand iphone -- all these accomplished on the same bridge.

  Never underestimate Chinese people's capability and ambition. I swear I won't be surprised if I meet Sein und Zeit  and Tractatus -Logico-Philosophicus on the bridge.

Every morning I can hear certain sound of sheep, constant and mild. At first I thought it is from somebody's clock, maybe some one with a dream of shepherd. It turns out to be wrong because this morning I heard desperate swine shouting coming from my window together with the peaceful sheep sound as usual. Clearly the swine is fighting against his destiny with all his energy. It's an ultimate discharge of power which caused a Burkian feeling of sublime: a life threatening for the swine, but a guarantee safety for me. I really admire the swine for the courage and power to fight for survival. Hope you haven't caught a cold.

The phone rings. A young voice speaking of quick Shanghai dialect. Clearly she made a mistake with the number.  Suddenly it provokes something deep in my mind. I don't know what it is at first, but truly something soft and warm.  After while I finally recall it. That's a sound that I heard about 15 years ago. The same season of a year, I was in my home in Chengdu that day. When I picked up the phone there came out a female voice asking for my sister. I had never known that a voice could be that beautiful - a sound that I wanted to knee for. It has been a long time that I feel something beautiful is missed in my life. Thanks for the call from Shanghai, it helps me recollect one of the most romantic moments in my life. Perfectly, it explains why I feel there is a reason that I am in this city, Beijing, it is the place the voice came from.

It is really good, I simply cannot imagine it better. The problem is: as it is too good, it becomes unreal, unrelated to reality which is anything but good. To change this situation, there is no other way but appreciating the goodness of reality, probably I need to be more kind.

The singer of this song passed away several days ago. One more lost of talented women. It makes this song almost unbearable. She is one of the luckiest who is able to accomplish her whole life as an artwork with death.

There is one man in my department. Perfectly combed hair, distinguished suit, shining shoes, classic umbrella and aged leather case, to sate some of his characteristics. In short, he looks like a typical English gentlemen, but a man in the period of the Great War. Especially when you see Owen Jones' The Grammar of Ornament on his desk, definitely you will feel that you are back to the age of Pevsner.

I and other students in jeans always made fun of him in private conversations, what makes a Msc student to be dressed as a professor 100 years ago?

Only after I heard Sting's "An Englishman in New York" do I realise how naive we are, "it takes a man to suffer ignorance and smile, be yourself no matter what they say." Nicolas.

have no idea what is the most nonsensest nonesense

As Wittgenstein said, you don’t need say ‘keep silent’ to keep silent

what’s the real intention?

will go home in 12 days

seems to be a vacuum Christmas

uncanny quietness

better to keep silent

"不该给他五十元，因为他伤害了我的自尊心，我很恨他，不该给他五十表示我不狠他的。我真是神经病。"

Quoted from 秘密#92193, http://secret.moumentei.com/groups/1/latest/

my first Gothic design, I am falling love with buttress.

I had a dream in which I lost my pen in a piece of grass land. When I was look for it my clock waked my up and I became half conscious. I had not found my pen so I was eager to go back to my dream and continue the searching. But another thought came in: what I want is to find my pen, I can either continue the dream and look for it in the grass land, or I and just get up and find it on my table. Even myself was amazed that how reasonalbe I was, apparently a table is much smaller than a piece of grass land, so I got up.

What you need do is to get yourself undressed, and thoroughly oil your body. Crown your head with a poplar wreath, draping you left shoulder in a lion skin and tandishing a club in your right hand, then walk around the men who you are expecting to get commision from.

These are Vitruvius's suggestions，according to him, Dinocrates won the love of Alxander by this means and became the designer of the city of Alexanderia.

Now I know why Brad Pitt decided to start his career as an architect, he must have read Ten Books on Atchitecture.

Vitruvius also mentioned, as he had been an old man, he could not depend on the beauty of face and the dignity of physical presence like Dinocrates did. So he had to depend on writting to become a more successful architect.

You are really a genius, Vitruvius. Now I know why I am writing these stuffs.

It has long been claimed that it would be the greatest Olympic. I doubted it before because didn't see any proof of this argument. But now I fully agree that it is already the greatest Olympic. And the greatest part had already gone, of course I mean the torch relay.

There's no one Olympic that had aroused so much intense interest all around the world. Million of people gathered together with various flags, boards, opinions and shoutings. We can all it a great game because no one regrets in participating in it, they all believed they had done what they should do and had archived what they want to archive. On the other hand, it caused no human life lost, which is quite hard for such a big event as this, you cannot expect any better result in an age that a single student can kill 32 persons without hesitation.

It is a great game also because you have no choice but participate in it, there's no neutral place. Normally the media is believed to be neutral, but this time no media is trusted anymore, no matter it is Chinese or western. Hence there is no ground for any neutral stance, you have to chose one side.

If Nietzsche is still alive, he must be extremely happy with this Olympic game. It is much more excited and truthful than Wagner's opera. No less passionate than Greek tragedy. And more important, as Nietzsche claimed 'God is dead', there's no value basis for right or wrong, each side claimed its own justice and righteous, since there is no neutral or objective basis for any judgement, the only criteria is the power. The one who exerts the largest power wins. Of course the concept of win is subjective, both side firmly believe that their power is bigger and they win. Isn't it a perfect to have so many winners, and nearly no loser, in a single game? That's why it must be the greatest Olympic, an Olympic of all win.

I chose the Chinese side, I participated and I think we win. We win because Chinese finally understand Nietzsche, do not care about objectivity, procedure justice or reasonable judgment. It is just a game. Because our team is one of the biggest and our team members are more closer and uniformed than other teams, which means a stronger collective power, we are more inclined to perform well in such game just as we did in real Olympic.

"Only the day after tomorrow belongs to me. Some are born posthumously", Nietzsche wrote. He is absolutely right, today is just 'the day after tomorrow'.

Are you ready to have fun, China?

All media are talking about the Austrian affair, a man fathered the 7 children of his own daughter who lived in the cellar of the man's house for 24 years. Why Austria again? Only several months ago another Austrian girl Natascha Kampusch was rescued after being prisoned in a cellar for 8 years. No body knows if there are any other people confined in a cellar deeply planted in the land of Mozart, Schubert and Strauss. But it will be less astonishing if we consider that this is also the land of Freud, Kafka and the birth place of Hitler. It was Natascha that reminded me the connection, answering the question 'Why Austria again?' she said it is because of Nazism. The argument is not quite convincing because the answer is too simple. Such an unbelievable thing needs some unbelievable reason, Nazism is not unbelievable, everyone know it's evil and blame anything bad to it is too easy an explanation of evil things to be  accepted as true reason.  Nevertheless, it is hard to deny that there may be some connection between the affair and Nazism, they are both related to this piece of land and its complex culture. Neither Freud nor Kafka's work is conventional, they both touched something deep and something dark in human mind, something you keep secretly in cellar.

In The Ethical Function of Architecture, Harries wrote about why we need cellar in our house -"An adequate understanding of human being must recognize the importance of what usually remains below the level of consciousness. Our psyche, too, has its attics, cellars, and closets. But if so, theories of dwelling should not attempt to elide them. In our buildings, too, we need spaces that play the part of the subconscious." Even in this paragraph the connection between Austria and cellar is manifest as the concept of subconscious was invented by Freud. I must admit that I did not understand the meaning of this paragraph adequately before the disclosure of these cellar stories. I am astonished by the power of 'what usually remains below the level of consciousness.' I even doubt if Harries himself was fully aware of it. In Freud, subconscious cannot be morally judged because it is natural, beyond choice and beyond reason. Although hard to accept, it remains a truth that human beings are fundamentally unreason, even Aristotle admit that all thoughts only start from intuition, not reason, and this intuition can be any thing, white or dark.

Probably it is this fundamental unreasonity that makes cellar necessary. And if you really believe subconsciousness, you will never care about morality because, as shown before, it is natural and prior to morality. In this sense, be a true human being, you are doomed to need a cellar to cover your subconscious as it cannot be fully accepted by morality although it is even more deeply rooted in your mind.

Of course these words do not intend to justify the man's behavior, they just remind me that it may not be that unusual. In some sense it is even inevitable although no one wants to be kept in the cellar. At least in this aspect, the man is a practitioner of Harries's suggestion about a house of dwelling. Not all people build really cellars for themselves, but I am sure they have cellars in their minds.

The more interesting problem is not if you have a cellar or not or who you would like to put in; it is rather:

whose cellar are you in?

One cyclist died in an accident this morning, I saw the news on TV. I obtained more details from Internet, he is a male, same as me; 35 years old, similar to me; died at the junction of Nicolson Street and West Richmond Street, the same route I took when I cycled to Department. He could be me, I can't resist the thought with so many coincidences. Normally I am more likely to be him than other cyclist: bike is old, the brake is not in perfect condition, I don't wear helmet, my light does not work, one pedal is falling down. I did feel unsafe in some cases, but I never thought the junction of Nicolson Street and West Richmond Street would be a killing place. It was really a lovely place, one of the most busiest in town, a place of Lidle, Tesco, Farm food, Apple computer, nice cafe, just opposite one of my friend's flat before she left in which we had great meals and interesting games. I mean it is really a 'place', not a spot of space, a place with sentiment, passion and everyday experience. How can you connect such a sweet place with so horrible an accident. I still can't believe he really died this morning when I was considering whether to go to Department or not. I am not extremely sad because the gap between feeling and reality is too huge to be true, and in a gentle country as Scotland, on the land where people plant beautiful flowers around tomes, you don't feel extremely sad about death. It is compassion rather than sadness that prevails, some flowers for him at the beloved place, I think.