A
abdicate, it is here, in bilious black and white, that the addition appears in the centre of the frame; it is wet, as the world is wet, as can be known from the sheen on all things - leaves, pathways, humped gravestones; still there are dry cores of bushes, dusty halos around the bases of trees; solace is to be found everywhere
abort, the porch wall bleeds tar pips underneath the line of guttering; arched headstones tilt; we are at sea here, this close to the railway line
Abraham-men, there is the question of counterfeit architecture, structures built in order to house projected forces, and those persons that build them; spectres of dysfunction that cloud the mind; such structures clasp onto the sides of known buildings like parasites
absolute, without which there is no intention to absolve these crises, the presence of spirit to take account of these accumulations of space, gatherings of forces that as yet have no place with us
absolve, not difficult to see or sense the calm that could descend if these shadowy filaments were to be loosed; if everything could be escaped, or cut away, after having at once been isolated away from all other energies, as readied for excision
Acherontic, still greyness is deathly, the eyes without their glasses already becoming blurred, overworked, seeing tomb blocks like tables, the rain-wet concrete as a river slick; death is already in the water table here, the graves are twisting like a stack of sticks under the soil
adamant, but our concern is foremost, why else would such a visit be made on a day as fearsome as this, gluey rain in plumb bands, something must be done to lift this blackness
adust, otherwise we stand to be taken back to dust, before our time, drying out even in the midst of ceaseless rain, watched being ruled, dye-straight from those cloud bellies to this city, where we are at risk of crumbling away from a baseless affliction
advoutry, without being true to that which pains, a sense of scale with whatever original proportions have been extended; a porch abutting a main chamber
affect, a process of force comes to bear, an imagined space within a house suddenly being put to the outside, a polyp entrusted to the air, wearing melancholy on the skin
affright, aware that it may startle, does not fit, perhaps with the existing architectonics of our well-being, the terrain of our thinking; this forcing-out of what may have been an internalised difference is a kind of excretion, soon to be tied off, of newly arriving thought
afternoon-men, so easy to run off these idle speculations, wandering around the graveyard in the middle of the day; naively unaware of the real scale of the problem, the stupidity of seeing significance in this dated addition, brick and mortar
alexipharmacum, as if it were constructed as both a pouch of poison lanced out from the church, as well as a container of antidote that can drip-feed inward; there is surely something about the proportions that relates to this idea
alicant, a sweetness in its banality, the humble ratios, already a conscientious relation to the existing style, even if the roof slips on the perpendicular, even so the height is like a child leaning on the endless legs of the parent
alkermes, making up a conjoined feature, church and porch, an addition that suddenly seems redundant or without obvious purpose
all out, aborted between word and object, stuttered, like some kind of miniature appendage; the rain roars at a deeper pitch as it finds its operating level, where it will stay without end
almuten, leading figure, the church building starting to grow another head, soon to increase in influence and to take over affairs of faith and address, every open question of our place in the world; this area of town is reduced to oblong plots
ambidexter, each segment of the landscape is ready to switch for another, always ready to mislead you, follow the canal line that mirrors the railway, the empty car park that fills a chevron beside the tracks; the trees make an island, the rain a stand-in ocean, out of view
ammi, kept pace with laceflower, strung as stars in the soaked shadow of the nave; whatever constellations could be brought together in a tincture, or spell out a message in white markers, a caption for this plain portico
amphibological, an adjunct to remain undecided, even in this torturous, slow approach, it looms out sidelong, barely a few yards, yet seems mountainous
ampliation, a rising volume in the lines of the church, an intonation beading on a string; changing the resistance of the structure, disabling its former balances, perhaps even setting them right; the architect's diagnoses always compendious, spun out
angust, if it were applied to a structural rather than anatomical model, then this porch is meant to be hidden by its functionality; the design is meant to disappear, blend in with the steeple, yet it is here identified: if not signed as well as dated then at least committed to memory as a selected formation by a specific mind
annexed, simultaneously with the discrepancies bound together, ideas like clasped hands; resinated cement slip around flint stones, arranged as a compendium, an intervention of thought
antic, feeling isolated here, approaching from the East you suspect (but cannot be certain), seeking out some kind of recognition in the appearance of this sheltered ante-space, some indication of strangeness or forethought
apologer, apologist, still these are nothing but impertinent fabulation, exaggerations of architecture's possession of subjective means, its embodiment of personality or melancholy
apophlegmatisms, and the temptation is to refuse any further investment in the procedure, cough up the notion of finding advisories in ancient stonework, or to see the extension of a building as a principle of volume rejecting itself
approve, a theory you cannot put to the test in this mood, on this island, cut off from the city
aristolochy, these walls studded with extended tongues, some variant of pipevine, the trees dwarfing the church
ascendant, no precise hour or marker to make out, even the horizon kept away; the trains heading to and from London announce themselves amidst the rainfall
assassinate, the sound of which is a true killer
Atellanes, to the ludicrous nature of the outing, made to seem horrifying in its desperation
Austrian planets, then to make several circuits of the church, to ring it a certain number of times, as if part of a ritual that is being composed in the moment
available, such that the construction of a process and a pattern of movement will be the first thing that will transfer this folly into something resembling productive action
B
bable, or alternatively a token to be removed, a souvenir to match an image sick in the stomach
baby, one turned into a reduction that does nothing but look back
ballet, singing songs of disgust
balloon, begone politicos, before you pass us between the hands
bangle, turned into commodity-beef, all of us wasting away
barley-break, forgetting what it is to be un-captured
bassa, a page-fold atop flowerheads, orange dusts
bastard, drinking from long flutes
Bavarian chin, until the neck bloats, clips off the air
bayard, blind, lessens self-regard only to let it swell inside, crowding the innards, spoiling like dirt in a tin
bedlam, a cell-bound granule of distemper, nothing goes right, even the arch and the banal
bewray, so far removed, separated from even the opportunity of insurrection
bezoar's stone, thinking of a resistance-germ somewhere in the lining, a porch polyp
bird, nestling in a bubble
black guard, those that are downstairs to these institutions carry their weight with them, ready to eat
bloody-fallen, even when the circulation is poor, are they even here beneath the black bushes, disenfranchised, staring at the church
bole, as if it were a clod of chewed fat, adorned with extras, when there's little or nothing to eat in all of the light reflected off it
bona-roba, the streets filled with swished disregard, unable to apportion value beyond the index, without the market glossary, making great meals of another's eyes
box, venturing with numbers corresponding only with faith-tics, the anxiety of a bramble arm hooking through every other concern, routed through city coffers
brach, guarded by dogs, hunting troupes, and every crisply folded vested interest,
Brachmanni, banging on about privilege being the ultimate reality underlying all phenomena, watching blue blood baffle the capillaries
brachygraphy, which is short for the vengeance we will bring down upon you, on sea, land, air, even from the lunar stair
brangling, if you dare to quarrel some or resist the strip
brief, when we will outline the crosshairs springing up like stars, put on pinheads,
brise, from beyond the tropics, called-in
Brontes, with one targetting eye onto your sorry state
bull's feathers, to leave you with a badge to wear
Burbonian planets, a black spot in this sunny region, pressed back into another age
busk-point, trussed against itself in sectors
by-respects, and private ends
C
calamistrate, but is it worth pulling at the hair for such an open malaise?
cample, to acknowledge disaster in the streets, all too visible
canvas, without being dismissed immediately as a naive melancholic
capcase, targeting the jackals of capital, processes of distribution
capital, from the head down, a trickle stamped at the neck,
card, when such poverty of spirit can be traced in leagues
careful,
cari,
carl,
caroche,
cast,
casting-counters,
castril,
catholic,
caul,
cautelous,
censure,
cerotes,
ceruse,
ceterach,
chalastic,
character,
chequin,
china,
chitty,
choler,
chuff,
cicliminus,
circumforanean,
civilian,
cloth,
clothing,
coal,
cockney-like,
cog,
coll,
collapsed,
collogue,
colly,
colone,
colt's evil,
combust,
come off,
comical,
commencements,
commodity,
commons,
compinged,
complement,
