Its a feeling like this that makes you architecture.
I found this remarkable text glued to a wall in Kensington Market the other day. At first glance, it looks like a classic specimen of paranoid schizophrenic writing. (Bizarre coincidence: I spent some time casting about on the web looking for a sample of a paranoid schizophrenic text, gave up, and then someone posted one in the comments section of my last blogpost. So for a very fine example of the kind of thing I'm referring to, just click back one post.) On closer examination, though, it lacks many of the hallmarks of texts of that kind. There's very little reference to massive global conspiracies or thought control, and little sense that the writer feels persecuted. Instead we have what sound like fragments from promotional, journalistic and literary writing -- that might even be a Ulysses reference in the lower left-hand sheet. Pathology, or procedural poetry? Anyone want to hazard a guess?